#but only makes them when he is given a fake superior position

[fayevalcntine]

Sleep, pray, eat, pray, swim, pray, et cetera. On days he's a plump 139, I believe he swims twice. Metronomic, my Rashid.

[shreddedleopard]

I genuinely think William’s real name is actually still William, just with a different surname.

Hear me out.

#1 — irony.

Remember the omake where Bonde asks him and he’s got his ☺️ face ‘that’s a secret, heh heh heh.’

Lol William is the biggest mischievous jokester going. This would be his exact reaction if people were asking like 👀 omg what is it?? And all along he’s like, lol will.i.am guys, chill. No-one cares about your first name, it’s your surname which means anything around here. You’ve all been barking up the wrong tree. Which brings me on to my second point ~

#2 — symbolism.

I cannot scream enough about how bloody genius it would be for William’s name to be, in fact, just William, but with a more common surname like ‘Smith.’ For the purposes of this discussion, let’s call him William Smith. As an orphan, he gets adopted into the family Moriarty, where there is in fact another William: Master William James Moriarty. Immediately, you have two boys of similar ages with the exact same first names, highlighting how, in fact, they should be equal if we’re looking at their basic information and identifiers. But what is it which sets them apart, and is the very message and theme running through the heart of Yuumori? Class inequality. And what dictated your social class at the time, so very unfairly? Your family lineage.

The name of Moriarty is what gives Albert’s little brother his superior, privileged position in life, over William ‘Smith.’ And yet, they are both young boys, both Williams, both should have the same sort of start in life in the equal world our William wishes to create. But they do not; the moment they are given their surnames — the moment those are penned on the paper of their birth records following ‘William’, the chasm that divides these boys is immense and unfair.

#3 — interesting coincidences, hints and clues in the text.

• William loves Shakespeare — that’s part of his identity in the same way being a mathematician is. He quotes Shakespeare all the time, he grew up in a library and has all of the plays memorised. Shakespeare’s first name was also William. Additionally, Shakespeare’s birthday is believed to be April 23rd. William’s birthday is listed as April 1st — April Fool’s Day, and it has been confirmed that this is a fake birthday, so we don’t know his real one currently. (But my guess is it’s still in April).

• The Moriarty’s never call William by his name, pre-fire, but the children at his orphanage do, and they call him Will.

At the Moriarty house, he is on the receiving end of more hate than Louis; they seem to despise him to the nth degree. I wonder if this might be because he shares a name with their precious William, and this irks them. They refuse to call him by his name because that doesn’t belong to him, filth from the streets, it belongs to their beloved son who can do no wrong.

I can see a mother like Lady Moriarty refusing to call another boy by the name she gifted her son, especially when William reminds her that there is something she had in common with his own mother — someone who she would view as completely beneath her: they chose the same name. What a disgrace, to be associated or viewed as having a similar mind to a woman of such low standing!?

We also see William only ever call William Moriarty with the title ‘master’ in front, as though he also feels the need to make the distinction. This could just be because he’s trying to be polite, though. I could honestly dissect the entire first chapter panel by panel and highlight how William being William is such a simple but perfect concept which highlights this noble family’s insecurities, discrimination and narrow mindedness. William Moriarty feels the need to constantly reaffirm his own identity in the presence of our William.

Because … if they share full names now, with the adoption … the lines are blurring. What makes one William Moriarty superior to the other? A worrying thought indeed for this boy. (Answer: there is no difference, they’re both equally deserving of opportunities in life.)

It all makes such perfect sense and explains away the awkwardness of the writer having to avoid use of William’s name simply because ‘it needs to stay hidden to create the mystery.’ This gives the characters themselves reason within the text to avoid using it, which makes everything so much more authentic and real. It makes sense because it does, not because it has to for the plot.

• William promised not to steal anything. Twice, we see him reassuring and then reaffirming that he wouldn’t steal anything, and both times are in the presence of William Moriarty.

If we want to take this statement in light of names, and toy with that lovely device foreshadowing, William having always shared the same first name would in fact mean that statement holds true — he did not steal William’s name; it was always his own to begin with, and Moriarty was a name given to him as part of his adoption, the same as it was given to Louis. He really didn’t steal anything, despite the fact that he was probably made to feel guilty or worthless every day because of the name he shared with William Moriarty.

This also means that William probably never actively deceived any of the townspeople, either; it really was just a case of mistaken identity which he manipulated for his own cause.

The townspeople made the mistake, rather than William outright lying. William is, by trade, more of a master manipulator who turns situations to his advantage with his quick thinking, rather than straight up lying or deceiving people (see: The Merchant of London.)

• Sherlock saw his birth name but never mentions it. And still chooses to call him Liam. Yes, we might’ve had a conversation happen off screen. Yes, Sherlock might choose to do that because that name is sentimental and William has asked not to be called his true name for reasons unknown. But it would fit so beautifully if William really is his name, and Sherlock’s realisation that day when he read the birth records was that oh, so this — William ‘Smith’ — is Liam’s real name. Naturally, he would continue to call him Liam with no discussion needed, because it’s a shortened version of William.

• We have lots of characters who share the name William, but with different variations on the shortened version; another symbol of how people can be equal in some senses but also their identity can be individual to them also. William H Bonney is Billy the Kid, the mathematics genius William and Sherlock stumble upon in Durham is called Bill Hunt.

#4 — practicality and marketing.

People become attached to characters and their names, and there comes a certain point in a work where it’s very difficult to alter a character’s first name and still retain a fan base’s sense of identity for that character. Calling William say, Robert, from now on, or revealing that as his true name while we continue to see him referred to as William is all sorts of confusing, emotionally. Perhaps it’s just me. But the idea that I’ve been calling William the wrong name all along feels off and sad, whereas the knowledge that he’s at least been able to keep that part of himself consistent, when everything else has had to be an act, is actually really comforting and empowering.

I’d love to write another thought dump on why William being William all along is also, so very emotionally delicious when you explore the implications in the story; it’s heartbreaking and makes him an even more sympathetic character who I just wanna hug, so perhaps I’ll come back to this! Because re-reading those earlier chapters with this in mind really hurts so good.

He stole nothing; he was always the true William, that at least is one thing that always belonged to him — it was only society and us that dictated there was one William worth knowing more — was more interesting and held more narrative power — than the other.

This is still William’s story.

[g0ose-bumps]

A/O/B verse Ghoap

(Dom)Beta!Ghost meets (Sub)Alpha!Soap who's a big flirt. M rated. Canon compliant to codmwii.

When Ghost hears about the new sergeant joining them, he's pays it no mind. Whether the man would be a hindrance or a help, was to be seen. Ghost worked best alone. While he could lead a squad easily, closer partnership was something he always sought to avoid. That said, the likelihood of the man being an annoyance was high and Ghost was not a gambling man.

MacTavish was apparently an Alpha, and Ghost wasn't about to bet on him not challenging Ghost's authority with some typical Alpha bullshite.

The world looked down on anyone who wasn't an Alpha. Betas while appreciated for their lack of pheromonal syndromes, were never one to be looked for leadership. They were seen as the workforce of the world, most higher ranked positions given to Alphas who were generally stronger, faster and some might even say smarter. Omegas weren't even considered for anything but breeding, the poor bastards.

Ghost didn't care about any of it.

Well to be exact, he didn't care insofar as it affected his job. He'd had many a man under his command sniff at him strangely and then open their useless mouth to decry being led by a Beta. Ghost had largely ignored their screeches, too focused on the mission to truly care. Those men never lasted long anyway.

He'd liked being a Beta. The strange smells, heats and ruts Ghost had heard about were just that—bizarre physical urges that created a scene Ghost was keen to avoid. He'd always thought Betas were made superior by not being controlled by their cocks or cunts. Ghost had seen many good men and women led astray by one whiff of something in the air. Emotions fraught on their faces as they abandoned all who they were as people and became savage animals.

The thought made him nauseated. To be at the whims of another person just because they smelt a certain way was pure insanity to him. Ghost was quite happy he never had to deal with any of that Alpha/Omega shite. He'd happily ignore the whole pheromonal debacle if it wasn't so prevalent every time he dealt with a new Alpha.

That's why when he actually does meet the man he's heard so much about–mostly from Price who never stopped bragging about this 'Soap's' achievements, or from Gaz who was apparently bossom brothers of a sort–he's fully taken aback.

He's short, is what he thinks first. Most alphas stood at least 6 feet tall. The sergeant was probably 7 inches shorter than him. Not that he's much to sneeze at either, Ghost being abnormally tall for even Alpha standards. But it's undeniable that for an Alpha, MacTavish was on the smaller side.

The second thing he notes, is that he looks soft. His face is soft, his demeanor is soft and his words are soft. It's an abrupt departure from the lean angularity that made up a stereotypical Alpha. Hell, even Gaz and Price who were both Alphas, had looked to be cut from the same stone. Acted like it too some days, exuding a comfortable confidence that couldn't be faked.

It was Ghost who stood out as a giant among the bunch, made more 'freakish' looking by his height and bulk. Aside from the others in 141, most Alphas felt threatened by him, like he'd try to steal their Omegas or their positions. He'd only laugh when they accused him of just that. Ghost wasn't interested. He never was.

This Alpha, however, takes one glance up at him and offers up his bare neck. Shadowed eyes looking up at him sweetly, pretty lashes fluttering. He gets a soft, "Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, Lt? Save ya a seat, sir..." And a slight tap to his chest (a fistbump of all things!).

Ghost is stunned. He eyes the openly barred neck the sergeant was proudly displaying to him. He's so utterly confused. Alphas tended to guard their neck at all costs. Their neck doubled up as a sensitive place for the bonds they would make or as a weak spot to instantly immobilize them. Offering up ones neck was considered a submission only given to Alphas higher up in their internal rankings or...

Ghost can't even think it. But he does, the sergeant winking at him while Ghost just stands there like an idiot with his mouth gaped open.

A barred neck was an invitation for something more intimate in nature. Something Ghost had only heard about in lurid whispers among the men. It was unheard of to have an Alpha do it for a Beta. It was even more unheard of for an Alpha to do it in plain sight of others, no less in front of the men they were to lead in a mission, 5 minutes from starting. It was dark, but not dark enough for everything to be hidden.

Despite himself, Ghost feels the stirrings of hunger deep within him. He wants desperately to take that smug look off of the Alpha's face, to have him writhing for more. To grab the man and bare his vulnerable throat further. Show Ghost more of that tan skin so carefully hidden amongst thick protective clothes.

He wants to take that submission being offered so prettily by the cocky Alpha right in front of him and cram it down his throat. Have him bouncing in his lap, insensate and screaming for more. Thrust up into that tight arse and watch as he cries fat tears down those soft, soft eyes of his. Then laugh as the Alpha struggles to fit his reddened lips over Ghost's length when he takes his mouth as well and makes him choke on it.

Ghost wants.

Soap takes one last glance at him and smirks. The other man seemed assured of whatever he saw from Ghost. He saunters off towards the transport, head held high. An Alpha to the core despite all the Very Not Alpha Behaviour he'd just shown Ghost.

"Fucking hell..." Ghost groans.

Shepherd barks, "Ghost, you copy?"

A slight pause. "Yes sir." Ghost chokes back, tongue thick in his mouth.

He can hear the worried concern coming from the older Alpha at Ghost's uncharacteristic fumbling.

"Any issues?"

Ghost has so many issues.

"Negative sir, out here." He growls, a headache growing at the thought of all the upcoming missions with Soap.

Fucking hell indeed.

*

[66sharkteeth]

Hello! Idk if you are still faking asks but of so thank you in advance if this gets answered!

I'm not gonna lie, it's a bit disturbing how the majority is cheering on Rex and the side he's taken. Though that side might have some points, I just can not see them as people I'd like to ever support or think they are doing it with good intentions in mind. But anyway, I apologize if I just can't understand or root for this gang. I know things aren't black or white but i just see more bad than good. And I hope that's ok.

The only think I dint understand and kind of made me not like Rex so much anymore is that when he is fighting Desmond he mentions something along the lines of "you already met my scyon" and that just raised more questions for me. One of the mane reasons Rex felt hurt and betrayed and thought it was all Desmon and Lys's fault for "betraying him" was because he couldn't under why they would turn on him (it was when he still didn't know about the other part of himself). But now he knows, he knows its the Scyon that hurt and attacked them. Hence why they had such a reaction. I've seen people stating that yes, Rex was betrayed! And I just...I don't see it at all especially when the og gang had every right to react the way they did.

This monnet kind of just made me distance myself from Rex I guess. Because he knew the scyon was the one to hurt the gang, the reason why they reacted the way they did and yet that does nothing for him. I don't think this is bad writing, nit even the slightest. Cause I know some people in real life would have such a reaction. We are flawed beings and some weren't thought or leaned how act to know their actions or way of thinking is flawed etc or self centered. It's a process everyone can go threw in different ways. So I hope maybe Rex one day can learn more as he goes.

But yeah, was there something behind the scenes we didn't see for Rex to not even question that the Scyon hurt Desmond or for him to not even care about that fact?

I still love the comic a lot and its one of 2 other webtoons I follow religiously and have given money for passes! The art and world building I feel like is really good and has made me so inspired to make a fan art and fic for this world (I'm just too afraid and shy to share I guess but I'd love to one day!).

I hope you have a good day and I apologize for any speaking or grammar mistakes I've made. English isn't my first language and I'm also dyslexic 😅

Tbh, I think the only people who are 100% wrong are the ones who think one side is 100% right.

Like you said, the situation isn't black and white (heck, it's even one of the major themes of the story), and both sides have points and flaws, some bigger than others. I know people are having fun cheering for Rex's "corruption arc" (I even love to tease about it), but that's exactly what it is- a corruption arc.

Rex has points and fair criticism, but it's important to also remember the environment he's in. He's Blan Corp's prized pig that they need to keep happy until they get that memory. Other than Bag Girl, Rex is basically surrounded in an echo chamber of yes-men. So no, you didn't really miss anything. Rex is just currently in an environment where everyone is telling him "Yeah! It WAS abusive of Desmond to make you do all those chores!! What a jerk! >:(" and Rex going "yeah, you're right!! I am the victim here! Tell me more."

He's with the villains now and there is a lot of manipulation* going on.(*Side note: Mostly from Jericho and his Scion, to be clear. You could argue Nia as well, but I kind of maintain that she is just as manipulated and in a kind of equally tough position. Remember, Blan Corp is the ticket to getting her mom back and she's kind of in just as big of an echo chamber of "human bad, blank superior" as Rex)

That said, please don't give up hope on him haha. Rex can get a really sharp tongue when he's pissed (as seen in the latest episode with his encounter with Lyss), but he's still the same Rex at heart. He could never take the steps that Jericho is willing to take, and I... Tried to make that clear in ep 133 with Desmond's criticism of Rex's changes. Desmond asked if he really has it in his (half-human) heart to follow in Jericho's foot steps, and I like to think (most of us) know he doesn't- At least not as far as Jericho. Desmond planted the seed of doubt in ep 133 and I don't intend to just...ignore that seed in my writing of what's coming up.

TLDR: Yeah! Rex is being a jerk right now after a lot of manipulation, gaslighting, and just all around anxiety. But that's what a corruption arc is. Only time will tell if he starts to realize what a jerk he's being, but I certainly didn't show him hesitating after what Desmond said because it went in one ear and out the other. That's definitely going to be living rent free in the back of his mind for now.

[ganymedesclock]

What are your thoughts on TotK so far?

[spoiler alert obviously don't keep reading if you don't want this]

-Gloom hands are the absolute best I love them so much never stop being horrible

-Gleeoks are nice. good to see them again. like the new look.

-Admittedly not completely wild about the fuse system but Kohga attacks you with a car and it's fun to watch people build all the looney tunes contraptions people make

-Can't believe they finally dropped Zelda's fursona only to make it a dimension of torment for her. I love the light dragon but can't Zelda have a dragon break rather than a dragon breakdown.

-In seriousness with the fake Zelda running around it could be an interesting twist if everyone believes the light dragon is hostile because it keeps randomly dive-bombing people while a Zelda who is lucid but unable to communicate is trying to chase people away from her impostor.

-Related to a prior point I like to think the Koroks kind of enjoy being yeeted. they're prankster forest spirits. this has to be at least a little bit fun.

-I'm not keen on Kilton in the first place and I don't think we needed Kilton 2: Worse Kilton. I don't like how every NPC in TLOZ that doesn't look completely conventionally attractive is increasingly signaled as either an evil overlord or a funny idiot you shouldn't respect or take seriously. I do not want to watch these clowns dance for me as a reminder to not take any sort of interest in monsters seriously. This is a vibes based thing and is not limited to the designs. I feel like you could keep those designs as-is and salvage the vibes but I'm not quite sure how.

-Narratively, Tears of the Kingdom feels suffused with a specific kind of old man sadness that he is No Longer Hip With The Kids (and this is not gender-specific but the predominant gender of the mouthpieces it is given ingame must be noted) without making any concessions to what The Kids actually care about so Rauru is here because they heard you didn't like Rhoam so now there's a super cool hip with-it dad who never yells at Zelda but also just like Rhoam his actions amount to failing her at a critical moment, leaving her alone to suffer, and then coming back as a ghost to implicitly give Link Daddy's Blessing to marry Zelda.

I want to like Rauru way more than I do because the Zonai's designs are fantastic, but I feel like the depiction of these "Sky Gods" and their role in history ends up patronizing the hell out of both the Zonai and everybody else, but especially the non-hyrulean vassal states where the Zonai are made out to be needless fairy godmothers when they have all the hallmarks of a dying people 10,000 years ago, we can only imagine Rauru's legacy was whitewashed to hell and back considering how central Hyrule positions its non-Hylian allies, But Then Also the Zonai are so beautiful and smart they created everything with their inherent superiority and if the gerudo, zora, gorons, or rito have any meaningful cultural legacy no they didn't the Zonai did this for/with them.

Also can we please not physically put the arm of the king with its power to command things and space on Link's body. This feels like a twofer desecrating Rauru even further by disembodying him down to only the useful part of him and also literally making Link just a bodily platform for the King's Authority. no we're not gonna empower YOUR hand we're gonna hack it off while you're unresponsive to make room for the real kingly authority. We've been doing this since Wind Waker and the quiet part feels like it's getting louder.

-I love Gloom I love the Depths. on the one hand yes they could afford to be a little more Actual Cave Like but as it is it kind of sends the vibe of like, a prior surface that sunk downward into the earth. The idea of moving up as well as down, this sort of heaven-and-hell motifs, are kinda great.

-As afraid as I was of this version of Ganondorf being made out to be a puppet/pawn/disciple of Demise I was actually very, very pleased to see the man just straight up eat Demise's lunch in every conceivable way. Even his demon king form which feels the closest to aping Demise replaces the primal pyroclast vibes with that saturated blood color. Demise feels like a primal titan- Ganondorf feels like a Persephone stained with the fruits of the underworld. I love his designs I love his vibes I love what they did with him. This is SUCH a good return to 'letting Ganondorf be a person rather than a screaming rage cloud'.

Literally the only thing I don't like is I think his tiny dinky oni horns are silly and he didn't need them. that's it.

-I mentioned Kohga but I'm so glad Kohga just decided that since he fell down a hole he Lives There Now.

-the like likes are excellent. If you are sensing a pattern here it's that I'm very fond of the creature design. You begin to see why I'm frustrated with Kilton and Kilton 2: Worse Kilton. Just let me hang out with the horriblins. have you seen them.

-Ok I don't really like that they had a "here, idiot, this is how you make a functional weapon" angle to giving Conspicuously Weapon Shaped horns on all the main monsters so you can just harvest them to make spears or hammers or such. This is part of the part of Fuse I'm not keen on.

-did we really need zonai device gachapons. they were not being at all subtle about how toyetic this new mechanic was, to the point of it feeling kinda immersion breaking. how seriously are we supposed to take this. Zelda is over there doing the anime fisheye stare. This is the last surviving legacy of a dead people. We are capable of recreating the Guardian Massacre from BOTW onto random blins now. But whee. Car go brrrr.

-TLOZ Please Stop Adding Gimmick Robot Characters That Obviously Have Feelings But Are Also Slavishly Bound To A Purpose Long After It's Useful To Anyone And Were Made That Way By Heroic Guys We Are Supposed To Root For And This Isn't Framed As A Problem, and other songs by Fall Out Boy,

-Yona is a good character and I like her, Sidon is allowed to be bisexual

-this isn't unique to TOTK or originating there but I have a little petty rage in my heart that goron rock food is just... comedy cartoon meat but made of rocks. I hate it. expose us to an entirely alien concept of cuisine. Make me yearn to eat bismuth knowing my human limitations would fail me. I was thinking about this the entire Marbled Rock Roast plot.

WHAT IS THERE TO ROAST

IT'S ROCKS

HEAT CANNOT ALTER THE PROPERTIES OF ROCKS WITHOUT EITHER MELTING THEM OR TURNING THEM INTO A WHOLE DIFFERENT ROCK

-I think Evermeans are good and we should live in fear of resource-useful setpieces more often. there should be hostile jar mimics next. Wind Waker had enemies popping out of jars but also you could get the drop on them by breaking the jar like normal, and that fails the mimic test of "am I now afraid to perform Ordinary Actions in places I'm not sure are safe"

[rainbowsky]

I used to love you& your blog. But I feel so disappointing today after reading your post on YSL incident. Cbiz & Chinese marketing is not that transparent. His fans are doing right. It will repeat if they stay silent. Goodbye! Hope you can maintain balanced love for our boys. Today you seriously sound unfair to XZ.

This is in reference to a previous post.

If you have been a follower of my blog for any amount of time then you will know that I don't shape or state my opinions to please other people. It would be utterly fake and dishonest to my readers if I were to do that. If you came here to read only things you agree with, then you probably came to the wrong place.

As for this whole issue with YSL, what is unfair to GG is for his fans to continually create petty scandals that make him look bad and threaten his career. When will they get it through their heads that he is a grown man who can take care of himself?

He has repeatedly, repeatedly, repeatedly implored his fans to behave rationally, stay calm, and let him take care of his own issues, and has said that he doesn't need 'protecting'; he is a grown man who can take care of himself.

IN MY VIEW (which you are totally free to disagree with), no one can credibly claim to be a loyal fan of GG while simultaneously causing disruptions and trending his name under negative topics. While going to war against a brand he's worked hard to build a good relationship with. While creating - as I said in my previous post - more negative public perception about him as a traffic star with disruptive, aggressive fans. Particularly given the openly stated position the government has taken against that type of fan culture.

And all this while people in China are watching loved ones die, and sometimes having to make the unimaginably difficult decision to cremate them in the streets because crematoriums and morgues are overflowing.

2/27 happened at a similarly troubling time for the country, when the earliest covid lockdowns were in place. It was the timing of that scandal that helped make it as serious as it was, because GG became an outlet for people to vent their anger, pain and fear upon. Now is not the time to be trending him over whether a makeup palette was attributed to his name when purchased.

His fans don't seem to GAF about his repeatedly stated wishes, nor about protecting his reputation as an artist or an individual. All they seem to care about is perpetuating their own sense of fandom consumer/traffic clout. They don't look beyond that to see that public perception and his reputation with the powers that be are infinitely more important to his long term survival in the industry, particularly given his age and background.

They keep doing this to him, over and over again. They did this with Ace Troops, they did this with ADLAD and of course 2/27. They are so full of their own sense of righteous superiority that they can't actually see clearly to realize how much they are disrupting his career path and bringing trouble to his door.

They are deluded enough to think this is behavior he thanks them for. Something tells me that is not what he mutters to himself when an issue like this arises.

But don't take my word for it, his own fan club released a statement asking people to stop.

Fat Shrimp Suggestion Book Tips

I would like to convey to you the current communication situation: the studio has conducted close communication with the business team and the brand as soon as possible. At present, the brand has confirmed the relevant reasons and apologized to the artist and consumers through customer service replies. The follow-up cooperation is also being optimized simultaneously. The shortcomings of the business team in their work have also been identified internally, and adjustments and improvements are being made to address specific issues. Here, I hope that the attention and discussion brought about by this matter can stop here. I also sincerely ask everyone to be vigilant, not to be tempted by any provocative content, not to be provoked by irrelevant or unknown people to participate, not to heat up discussions on any brand or other related content, and to avoid irrelevant disputes caused by divergent interpretations. As always, we will work hard to maintain a good Internet environment.

Here's the thing: there is never any need to go from zero to "BRIGADE AND BOYCOTT!!" every single time something arises that fans are concerned about. There is such thing as trusting GG to handle his own shit. If they'd give GG and his team time to actually address issues on their own, none of this disruption need ever happen.

If his fans really had his best interests at heart, his name would never appear on a negative hotsearch brought about by them. If they had his best interests at heart, they would take care to ensure that his name would never be attached to public disruption and disorder. They should know by now that he will be held accountable for their actions.

And if my stating my perspective on this is too much for you (while you stating your opinion - anonymously - is totally fine), then all I really have to say is,

Edit: more on why this is a problem.

[honeycreammilkshake]

That analysis about Sukuna and Gojo is SO good. I actually think they are really jealous that we love Sukuna even at his lowest. Also, why are they blaming Gege saying he treated Gojo like a tool? Isn't that what his fans do with him? Like, 90% of the discussion about him is his fight with Sukuna. Like, they NEED that fight, it's like Gojo stops existing without it

I'll tell you what, Sukuna can lose 100 fights that he will still be a character, maybe Gojo can't do that if he basically disappears unless they need to convince themselves Gojo won and how important that fight is. It's amazing how a lot of Sukuna fans don't even want that fight anymore while I saw even gojo stans begging sukuna stans to recognize that fight. Myself? I wish it never happened. Let gojo die to those supposed superior villains (aka didn't kill gojo) gojo stans say, but everytime you say "ok then Gojo should have fought Mahito or Kenjaku, never Sukuna!" They just get triggered and say NO, PLEASE, THE FIGHT WITH SUKUNA SHOULD HAPPEN

See? Now I really hope sukuna comes back and gojo doesn't. I'm sorry, but I have never been THIS tired of a fandom, and I have been in Naruto and other fandoms with shipping wars and everything, but that was never as BAD as this.

Leave Sukuna alone, not my fault he doesn't need Gojo to be a character, sorry

gooooood morning, anon. i'm so glad i woke up to this because i spent a lot of time thinking about that gojo vs sukuna last night.

i have noticed that a lot of people hate that gojo is a "tool" in the manga and yet their own headcanons about him are always that he should have to fight sukuna and win. notice that they always want gojo to win, which is never easy in a fight with sukuna. it's a lot of hard work. but besides that, wanting a character to do only one thing and have it go with only one outcome, that's about as one-dimensional as you can get with that character. they literally only want one thing to come from gojo going into that fight, and that's no better than gege treating him like a tool as they claim.

because even if they want gojo to be this complex and fascinating character (ngl i feel like a lot of his personality traits are a bit like filler - he's just a mix of all the fan favorite and common tropes of other anime mentors with some backstory to stir it all together) him only doing one thing ever (winning) is so boring and doesn't do his character justice at all. and the fans who hate on gege can't really see that.

meanwhile, sukuna is more than capable of being a strong character who can have multiple different outcomes, and not all of them have to be him winning. in fact, some of his best moments are when he has to work harder or reconfigure a different plan. it always make him more complex and interesting.

so that's why sukuna winning made since while gojo winning didn't. because sukuna actually had a plan in motion, he wasn't cheating or being fake because he needed to possess megumi to reach that level of power (he didn't even have all 20 fingers so him making up for the lack of it by possessing megumi was an intelligent move on so many different levels) and his unique cursed techniques and longtime experience made him an inherently better fighter than gojo. now i could care less if their positions were reversed and gojo was the one who had a lot more experience fighting, because it doesn't matter when sukuna actually does his best to learn from others and improve his abilities as he goes along. meanwhile, a lot of fans just want gojo to be powerful and not have to take a lesson from others in order to reach it.

another thing is, gojo was born the strongest and given so much wealth and special treatment. even if the jjk world only wanted to use him as a tool (which, cmon, they do to every sorcerer - the whole point of sorcerers is to serve as tools that restabilize the imbalances of power, even Geto's character understood they were all just cogs) gojo still had a lot of privileges and second chances given to him that not a lot of other characters could afford to have.

and idk if we can really confirm this or not, but sukuna seems to have a totally different experience, one where he was immediately shunned by the normal world and only seen as a force of strength for other sorcerers to test their skills against. i don't think anyone took ending sukuna's reign of terror that seriously, they only wanted to claim the title of being the strongest. not only that, so much about sukuna is still a mystery or very layered, mostly him being contradicting (especially where yuuji is concerned) and not revealing his past.

this turned out to be longer than i thought it would, but yeah... it's been on my mind a lot. gojo's character served a purpose when he died. not only did it show how much of a pure threat sukuna is (even if all that power wasn't inherently his own, it still shows he's good at coming up with plans that counterbalance his other weaknesses) but it also showed us how gojo's character can be seen in an entirely different light: someone who lost. he always thought he could win anything, but him dying showed a different side to him, because he even looked peaceful during death.

and if he comes back, fans don't realize it would mean that afterlife scene with geto would be simply meaningless. they adore stsg so much so i'm actually surprised that they want gojo to come back to life, bc it would mean leaving geto behind. makes no sense to me.

anyways, thanks for sharing your thoughts with me, anon. i hope this day goes well for you!

[zenosanalytic]

Owner of a Lonely Heart

Just read This Excellent Analysis of Dirk and I wanted to write some things, but not as a reblog cuz that post was already long enough and also just in case my take might set off any comments drama.

Im on record not being a big Dirk fan myself, but I love this approach. It is measured, nuanced, and interesting, and it lets Dirk be as complicated a character as he is in the comic. I’d add though that I think ego and insecurity are as much a part of it as a desire for control, but not in a “blame” way rather in a really tragic way so bear with me.

Like: Yes Dirk has control issues but wrapped up in those is that Dirk REALLY doesn’t like being seen as “Not Enough” or “Wrong” or “2nd Best”(in a sincerely fucked up way this may also be part of why he doesn’t go harder at Roxy for constantly hitting on him when she knows he’s gay, and why Lil actively flirts with her despite this: Dirk resents it, but he also blames himself for ‘letting her down’; Lil, given his awful situation, experiences her interest as positively Affirming). His freakout when Caliborn gives him the porn-challenge is a good example of how severe his need to be “Acceptable”, or better “Superior”, is, and you see a bit of that in the Splinters too.

But there’s another-nother side to this: Dirk is AWFUL to his splinters(aside from Squarewave and Sawtooth who are wish fulfillment) because asserting their fakeness affirms his “realness”, but that ALSO allows him to externalize his self-hatred. Dirk’s last convo with Lil is really the key here: he literally says he wants to kill Lil because he really wants to kill HIMSELF. All that anger, embarrassment, rejection, and denial he directs at them is really stuff he thinks about HIMSELF, but confronting that directly is painful so he instead confronts his splinters with it, which doesnt really help of course cuz he thinks they’re him. The assertions of “fakeness” thus become both justifications for his cruelty, and affirmations of the negative qualities he sees in himself(and so of his judgement as well). It’s the same sort of thing Karkat’s doing, insulting himself on Trollian.

Dirk is seriously depressed. Until the game he’s only ever had himself for physical company and, combined with the intense anxiety and sadness isolation naturally produces, he’s stewed on and amplified in his own mind his worst traits for years. “In his own mind” being pivotal here cuz literally no one else sees him as badly as he sees himself; none of his friends see these glaring flaws he can’t see past which, because he’s depressed, he interprets NOT as disproving those flaws, but as PROOF of how big a fraud he is(and thus, another source of anxiety over his own realness). Dirk is trapped in a cage of himself, and it constantly fucks up his life, and everything he does to fight his way out of it only makes that cage stronger. That’s why I LOVED his last moment with Lil because it was an example, finally, of him showing one of his splinters(and thus himself) some compassion. It was a way out for him, if only he’d build on it.

[bigbrainkatrina]

Operation: Save Byleth! - a Black Eagles Spy AU fic

Agent Byleth Eisner is kidnapped by Those Who Slither in the Dark after a mission to destroy nuclear launch codes is botched. Thankfully for Arundel, Byleth knows the codes and he intends on selling those codes to Rhea.

But the Black Eagle Strike Forces leaves no one behind. Edelgard will do everything in her power to save her beloved.

At 1400 hours, the high speed bullet train will depart from Garreg Mach Academy Station to Enbarr. The journey takes thirty minutes. In this time, Arundel (Codename: Thales) will meet with Rhea (Codename: Immaculate One) and make a business transaction. Rhea’s buying nuclear launch codes, Arundel is just taking money. 

But it’s not that simple. Never is. 

One month prior, Agent Byleth Eisner was captured by Those Who Slither in the Dark. From insider intel, Team Leader Edelgard von Hresvelg has determined that Byleth is still alive and will be onboard the, sealed off in a capsule that can only be opened by a passcode.

What Rhea doesn’t know is the launch codes were destroyed. The only one who knows them is Byleth. Rhea thinks she is buying a stack of papers when really she’s buying a human vessel. The stakes have never been higher.

Edelgard gets up from her seat at the back of the train. Brown wig and sunglasses. High waisted suit pants and a red blouse to her black blazer. She makes her way through the train. “Is everyone in position?” she whispers.

“ Yes! ” Bernadetta squeaks, crouched besides Byleth’s container surrounded by mission gear.

“ Affirmative, Lady Edelgard  ,” Hubert coos into his mic. “  Dorothea and Petra accounted for as well .” They are a mile out, prepared to steal a helicopter at any given moment. 

“Don’t move until my signal,” Edelgard mutters. “Linhardt?”

“ Yes,  ” he feigns a yawn. He’s the guy in the van. “  Caspar’s practicing his punches but he’s with me .”

“He doesn’t need to practice,” Edelgard snips.

“ You tell him that .”

“Fine,” Edelgard rolls her eyes and then narrows them. “Ferdinand?”

“ Yes  ,” Ferdinand says and there is a heavy pause. Everyone waits with bated breath. “  I’ll admit though… ”

And everyone groans.

Ferdinand continues, “ I do not understand why I cannot work on the field. I’m very good and —”

“Ferdie,” Edelgard hisses between her teeth. “You are superior to driving a bullet train when compared to me. Please.”

Another pause. “ So I am! I shall add this to my list. ”

“Good,” Edelgard mutters and steps forward. She almost calls for Byleth’s confirmation out of instinct but she knows it’s futile. 

Soon my love. Soon .

From afar, Edelgard can see the tops of Arundel’s balding scalp and Rhea’s elegant, emerald hair. Their heads bob up and down, deep in conversation. Quick round of poison darts and it’ll look they’re sleeping like the other passengers. Edelgard steals the briefcase and mission accomplished. She steps forward and something grabs her by the hand. Her shoulders retract like bat wings and she whirls around. 

“Edelgard?!” Dimitri decrees. He leans back, a fake mustache under his nose. With the thick glasses, he looks ridiculous. “What are you doing here? Can you believe it, Claude?”

Edelgard looks back. Arundel shifts to get up and she swipes off her wig, kicking it under Dimitri’s chair. “Compromised, Code Red,” she whispers. 

Claude raises an eyebrow playfully. “Ooh, Big D, why’d you do that?”

Dimitri blinks. “I don’t understand.”

Edelgard could rip his face off. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Dimitri looks to Claude. “My good friend, Claude, just asked me to wear this silly outfit and get on a train with him.”

Claude rolls his eyes. “We’re  working . And so is Edelgard, apparently separate from us.”

Dimitri lets out a hearty chuckle. “Well, there you are. So what’s the scheme, friends?”

“I’m not working with you,” Edelgard snips.

“Be calm,” Claude grabs Dimitri’s thigh as Arundel appears from behind.

“Why, if it isn’t my favorite nephew,” Arundel says with that usually oily slick that hardly passes for anything kind. “And Edelgard. What  are  you doing here?”

Edelgard catches Arundel’s side eye fast. “Just visiting my father in Enbarr.”

Arundel doesn’t flinch. “With your Academy friends? Last I heard, the three of you had a big fight.”

Claude leans, blocking Dimitri out of view. “It be like that sometimes. We just bumped into each other, and it’s pretty awkward.” 

“ Edelgard, nooooo! ” Bernadetta screams so loud into Edelgard’s radio she’s afraid Arundel will hear. But if he does, his face stays as smooth as ever. 

“Uncle, we should catch up!” Edelgard smiles. “We land in ten minutes, it shouldn’t be too much of a strain on you.”

Arundel shakes his head and swats at the air in annoyance. “Fine.”

He trails ahead and Edelgard follows, silently praying that Berandetta can come up with something —  anything  — else. 

“ Edelgard,  ” Bernadetta. “  X-Ray glove. Back right pocket. ”

Thank God. Bernie’s best when alone and surrounded by her gadgets.

Edelgard smiles to herself and discreetly reaches for it. It’s a thin screen that fits across her palm, and like an X-Ray, it can see through the surfaces of things it’s on. Powered by heat. She slides into the booth besides Arundel and locks eyes with Rhea, a briefcase on the table between them. 

Rhea’s baby soft face twists into harsh lines immediately. “Edelgard.”

“Yes, yes,” Arundel drawls. “Edelgard. Don’t lie to me.”

Rhea leans back with a pleasant smirk, harsh lines already gone. “Did Edelgard used to work for you, Arundel?”

“Yes, for a long time,” Arundel coos, playfully scratching Edelgard’s chin like she’s a cat. “She resigned after she fell desperately in love with that former ward of yours, Byleth was it?”

Rhea looks like a child sitting on Santa’s lap. “You have bad taste in partners.”

Edelgard sticks her tongue out. 

Arundel continues, “And in my mercy, I let her live with the request she leaves the country and yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Rhea repeats. 

Edelgard sighs. 

“ Tell him you want to work for him again,  ” Dorothea says pointblank. Dorothea: Master Masquerader. Perfect partner in crime to Hubert. “  That you realized in your isolation that it was a mistake to walk. ” 

Edelgard can hear choking in the background of the call. Definitely Hubert chloroforming without the signal. 

Edelgard looks to Arundel and places one hand on his knuckle and tells him just that. 

Arundel cocks an eyebrow in amusement. “Is that to?”

“Oh please,” Rhea crosses her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for that.”

Arundel glows. “Rhea, you don’t know Edelgard like I do. She’s quite proud of herself. Tell me about your friends. Have you kept in touch and are you ready to kill every last one of them?”

Edelgard double takes. “Why are my friends targets?”

“Because I  detest  you,” Arundel presses his teeth together. “Tell me you’ll kill them.”

Edelgard nods and stretches her arms high in the air, it’s incredibly awkward. She yawns and wow, it almost makes her cringe. What a horrible performance.

“ I am also a better actor than Edelgard! ” Ferdinand chimes in with inspiration.

Roasted. Edelgard rests her elbow on the table, hand falling onto the briefcase. She keeps her body open and vulnerable to Arundel, so he could shoot her if he wanted to. 

Rhea slaps Edelgard’s hand away from the briefcase. “Don’t touch that you awful girl!”

Edelgard retracts her hand, hoping that gave Bernie enough of a reading. 

In the backroom, Bernadetta drops at least five things as the code flashes on her reader. 

6-1-9-5-8-0.

She runs to the capsule and begins mashing buttons.  Please be it, please be it…

Mid speech about her new allegiance, there is a soft  click from underneath the table. Only one of Rhea’s hands is visible. She cocks an eyebrow. “Arundel, you take Edelgard back to Those Who Slither, and we don’t have a deal.”

Arundel turns to Edelgard and laughs. “Well, then. Poo poo to you then, my child. I assume you are about to poison her with that gun.”

“Any sudden movement and yes, I will,” Rhea might as well lick her lips at this point. 

Edelgard leans back, eyes frosty. “Rhea, do you know what’s in this briefcase?”

“It’s paperwork,” Arundel answers, a little too fast. Ha, Edelgard knew it. She knew Rhea didn’t know.

And Rhea notices Arundel’s haste.

Out in the backroom, the code flashes red. Every single time she tries it. 6-1-9-5-8-0. 6-1-9-5-8-0. 6-1-9-5-8-0.

6-1-9-5-8-0.

6-1-9-5-8-0.

6-1-9-5-8-0.

Red red red red red RED RED RED RED.

“ Edelgard, I need a second read, ” Bernadetta squeaks.

“ Hold on  ,” Linhardt cuts in. “  Let me take a look, hold it in front of your cam please. ”

Edelgard smiles to herself, and speaks very slowly. “I’d explain Rhea, but unfortunately we’re about to pull up in Enbarr.  Oh, if only we had more time. ”

Up at front, Ferdinand repeats that to himself. “If only we had more time… oh no, she doesn’t mean…”

“ Yes,  ” Hubert says fast, always first to criticize Ferdinand. “  Miss the stop .”

“But I practiced so hard!” Ferdinand whines. “It’s my landings that make me superb at—”

“ I will   burn  your tea collection. Oh and Lady Edelgard will die if you don’t. ”

“...very well.”

“In the backroom,” Edelgard starts with a coy ass smile. “Is Byleth. They’re alive, trapped in a capsule, and they have the nuclear codes. Arundel is merely selling you the code to open that capsule… you will need to transport Byleth and get the codes from them.”

Rhea looks to Arundel very slowly and her voice is sharp as icicles. “Is that so.”

“ Bernie  ,” Linhardt says, jolting Bernadetta back to reality. “  You had the code upside down. Try again. ”

“Oh,” Bernie’s face goes so red, at least no one can see. “Don’t tell anyone.”

0-8-2-6-1-9.

The capsule opens and Byleth flops forward, landing in Berandetta’s arms, knocking the two of them to the floor. 

Bernadetta rolls over and looks at them. They’re pale, skin sweaty and clammy. Just black slacks and a loose white blouse that looks very lived-in. It’s what they had on when they got captured. “Byleth…”

Byleth’s wide eyes snap open and their limbs move like noodles. “I’m drugged,” they croak, reaching out with their hand. “Adrenaline. Now. While you set it up, explain what happened.”

“ Ooh, Caspar, get ready,  ” Linhardt chides. “  Welcome back, friend. ”

Byleth smiles through the pain. “Operation Uppercut?”

Caspar then proceeds to blow out everyone’s ears with a mighty “ OPERATION UPPERCUT HUAAAAH!”

Everyone on the train starts screaming at once as Enbarr station zooms past in view. Both Arundel and Rhea turn to see the commotion, and that gives Edelgard the chance. She slips halfway under the table and wraps her ankles around Rhea’s calves, yanking her under, Rhea’s chin smashing against the table and drawing blood.

“Okay,” Bernadetta winces as she prepares the adrenaline shot. “Caspar, stop swinging! I need them to stay still.”

“ Sorry. Excited. ”

Byleth’s hands drop to their thighs, encased in iron gloves synced with Caspar in the van. He swings, Byleth swings in sync with him.

It gives Byleth the fighting prowess they’ll need when drugged like this. Even the adrenaline can’t help that. 

Needle goes in and Byleth howls like a Wall Street tycoon reeling from a bump. They pat Bernie on the side and sprint out the door.

Bernadetta goes to a crouch again. “Hubert… we need the helicopter I think.”

“Of course we do,” Dorothea laughs into her walkie, standing over the dashboard. “Sorry, Hubie’s indisposed.”

Besides her, the final security guard is making out hard with Hubert’s poison lips, and then slumps. 

“I hate leading people on,” Hubert groans, looking out the window. Petra’s already on board and lifting off. “ETA five minutes.”

Byleth runs like Hell, stumbling through absolutely everything. But they have speed and they blaze ahead. Even if it takes grabbing onto passing seats to stay afloat, they do it.

It’s El after all.

Byleth sees Edelgard going hand to hand with Rhea — who of course is an expert grappler — and with Arundel who only knows how to look cool like he’s fighting hand-to-hand. 

Caspar swings so hard that the punches literally propel Byleth forward, and they make such short work of Arundel, Byleth is embarrassed for them. The guy just bounces around like a ragdoll and hits the floor, bleeding from everywhere he can. People are screaming and backing off as the fight with Rhea gets wild. 

“Byleth!” Dimitri calls out from the back. “Byleth, do you see me? It’s me, Dimitri!” 

“D,” Claude whispers. “Even if Edelgard gets what she wants out of this, a shit ton of people are watching. Black Eagle Strike Force is compromised… and the jobs go to us.”

Dimitri shoots Claude a look. “Claude.” He holds this gaze for a long time and Claude looks away.

So Dimitri grabs Claude by the chin and makes them lock eyes. “I’m upset with Edelgard too, for refusing to collaborate with us. But she’s our friend and was under a lot of pressure back then. Have a heart.”

“God dammit,” Claude says in a tiny voice, and pulls out his briefcase from underneath, and hands Dimitri a gun with a satellite dish on the end. “It’ll knock everyone out and wipe memories. Move fast.”

Dimitri holds the gun to his face and nods.

Byleth gets between Rhea and Edelgard, clobbers at Rhea. God they hate Rhea.

Their fists match and crash into each other, and even though Byleth has iron on and Rhea is bare fisted, she just doesn’t seem phased. 

Byleth is pretty sure the woman is on some kind of steroid — and it’s killing the circuitry to the gloves. That becomes obvious when one of their arms just loses all sense of direction and flops over, with the rest of Byleth. 

Rhea yanks Byleth in by the blouse and trains a regular gun on Edelgard’s head. She smirks. “What’s your exit?”

Edelgard doesn’t say anything. 

Byleth coughs and looks over to their beloved El. A long hard look. No tears, just a quiet nod.

“Helicopter,” Edelgard grunts. 

“Good,” Rhea backs up. “You follow me. No funny shit. And tell your driver to slow this train down so we don’t fall off.”

“Ferdie, did you catch that?” Edelgard asks. 

“ Yes,  ” Ferdinand tells her with some sorrow. “  Edelgard, you are the superior field agent and you will make this work. ”

Petra flies over the train, kicking out the rope ladder to run along the carts. She dips down and God this is dangerous. She is  just  skimming the trees but that is what it takes to save Byleth.

She doesn’t even know if they’re coming with her; walkie died when she hit the air. 

So she sighs with some relief when Byleth stumbles over the top of the train. They all expected Byleth to be drugged up, so that makes sense that they can barely stand.

Though it does fill Petra with rage. 

And it makes her even more angry when Rhea climbs onto the top, holding something that is almost certainly a gun. She kicks Byleth in the stomach and they roll over, fingers feebly gripping onto the metal plates to hang on. 

And then Edelgard comes on. The gun is on Edelgard. 

 “Stop hurting them!” Edelgard screams, lunging at Rhea, backing off when the gun levels with her chest. “You’re awful.”

“Eh,” Rhea snarks, lifting Byleth up by the hair. 

Edelgard winces, fists curled up. There is nothing she can do here.

The rope ladder lowers and Rhea hurls Byleth into it. “Climb, you idiot.”

Byleth hangs there for a second, corpse-like, and then finally starts moving. They climb slowly, but Rhea doesn’t seem to mind. She’s got the gun, she’s got the power, and she can still have one hand on the ladder so there’s no easy out for Petra.

When Rhea feels good, she latches on and waves Petra off. 

The helicopter pulls away, it’s up to Petra now to save Byleth. It’s out of Edelgard’s hands.

Fuck that’s not fair.

Rhea still has a gun, and she catches up with Byleth fast. Petra can’t even cut the ladder before Rhea makes it.

A good agent would just crash the helicopter and kill the three of them. That’s how Arundel runs his ops, it’s how most people do it. 

But the Black Eagle Strike Force is different. Petra is different. 

Edelgard sprints down the train, fighting the velocity that wants to throttle her into roadkill. She uses everything she has and leaps off the train, grabbing onto the bottom rung of the rope ladder, dangling from it as it pulls hundreds of feet into the air. 

Don’t look down , she says as she does that very thing. Her whole body waves in the wind but she is not dying here. She reaches up and grabs the second rung. She pulls up and she moves. 

Rhea hasn’t noticed yet. 

Edelgard moves far faster than recommended, nearly slipping off five times. But she moves faster than a normal person would and it’s not long before she catches up with Byleth and Rhea, all three of them at the top of the ladder.

Edelgard grips Rhea’s ankle hard, and pulls really fucking hard.

Rhea screams and falls off of Byleth, flying off the ladder—

—and grips onto Edelgard’s ankle, taking her with her.

The wood burns and shreds Edelgard’s palms as she is torn down the entire rope ladder, but she manages t hold the fuck on. Bleeding palms and all, Edelgard hangs from the bottom rung again, Rhea holding onto Edelgard’s ankle, Rhea’s entire body weighing down on bleeding hands that are about to tear into two.

Edelgard doesn’t know what to do. She can’t move, her whole body is at capacity. This is it. She looks up, Byleth makes it into the helicopter at least. Good. They deserve to live. 

And then Byleth leaps out of the helicopter and throttles towards them.

It’s a massive drop, but Agent Byleth Eisner pulls it off with splender, dropkicking Rhea in her stupid face. Rhea’s scream is ear splitting and can only be heard for a half second before she drops out of range. 

Byleth catches the final rung at the last minute and that’s it. That’s the mission.

Edelgard glances down. She can’t help it, she wants to see that body hit the ground—oh no, maybe she doesn’t. That’s gross. Don’t do that.

She looks to Byleth whose face is twisted in agony.

“I just broke my fucking foot,” Byleth moans. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…”

Edelgard feels the pain too. She grits her teeth and throws her arms through the rung and hooks in by the armpits. It hurts like a bitch, but at least that area of her body isn’t torn yet. They’ll land soon. 

Edelgard looks to Byleth. “Focus on my eyes, my love.”

Byleth nods through the tears. “I always am, El.”

“I’m here with you,” Edelgard rasps. “We’re…”

Byleth doesn’t let her finish, they just go for the kiss. 

This is the Black Eagle Strike Force. They do missions that no one else can. Fuck the other spy groups, none of them have regrets. Wait. No. Edelgard… does, yeah, she has a regret.

Edelgard looks at the rolling green below, looks at the train. Thinks about the corpse that will be found in a few days. This was Plan  B . 

There was a Plan A that was so easy and simple. But  someone blew her cover.

Byleth kisses Edelgard again and it makes it hard to think. 

But Edelgard knows that next time, she is going to text Dimitri and Claude in advance not to show up at her ops.

[ppersonna]

my only wish - knj | m

“ santa can you hear me? i have been so good this year. and all i want is one thing. please tell me my true love is here ” - my only wish (this year), britney spears

✹ summary- There are few things you hate most in this world. Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange… But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things. Christmas. And Kim Namjoon. So why did you agree to pretend to be Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend at his family Christmas party? Bah-Humbug.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

✹ word count- 15.1k OOF

✹ genre- smut, fluff, tiny tiny angst if you squint, enemies to lovers, fake dating au, idiots to lovers, brief mention of YoonMin

✹ warnings- penetrative sex, unprotected sex (dont do it), daddy kink lolol, namjoon has a big dick, oral sex (m/f receiving), cum swallowing, light cum play, dirty talk, light degradation (very light tbh), praise kink, lots of mentions of joon being a beefy boy, masturbation,

✹ a/n- its here!! finally! my contribution to rockin around the christmas tropes. big big big shout out to @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @untaemedqueen​ @underthejoon​ @yeojaa​ @snackhobi​ for being my co collaborators. and a warm shout out to @wwilloww​ and @hobi-gif​ for being some very lovely betas. thank you thank you! i hope you enjoy!

There are few things you hate most in this world. 

 Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange…

 But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things: 

 Christmas. 

 And Kim Namjoon. 

Christmas, in your opinion, is nothing more than a consumerist holiday, anchored on ensuring you’re guilted enough from November 1st to the 25th of December to spend your hard earned money on shit your friends and loved ones won’t even use. It’s a time for people to pretend they love giving and caring, while shoving you out of lines in stores, buying up all the groceries as if it’s the end times, and forcing party after mindless party for “celebration” that ends in seeing your boss drunk and pants-less by the punchbowl. 

 And don’t even start on Kim Namjoon. 

 On paper, he’s your colleague, to put the terms friendly. In reality, he’s your opponent, your adversary. He’s annoying, rude, stuck up, and not to mention a douchebag heartbreaker. He’s everything you hate wrapped in one disgustingly handsome face. 

 The man never misses a chance to steal a case from underneath your nose, rub the praise he receives from your bosses in your face, and look ridiculously delectable in his tight suits that he insists he wears around the office. He absolutely infuriates you. 

 And now, as you sit in the company-wide meeting, your heart sinks as you realize the worst thing about Namjoon—he’s about to get the promotion you’ve been vying for your entire career.

 That position was as good as yours—at least, you had thought.

 That was until lead counsel, Seokjin, stands in front of all the attorneys present and calls out Namjoon’s name, commending him on winning his latest case—the case that you had done the bulk of the work for. Seokjin even tells the rest of the lawyers in the room that Namjoon is “someone to watch” with a glint of pride in his eyes. 

 The smug smile Namjoon sends in your direction as he teasingly nibbles on a pen with his sultry mouth is enough to make you want to tear his eyes out and use them as olives in the martini you sorely needed.

 Namjoon smirks as he walks past you once the meeting ends.

 “Make sure you watch me, baby,” he whispers into your ear. 

 His hand rests on your lower back and you hate how much he aggravates you, and hate even more so that he frustrates you sexually as much as he does intellectually.

 Unfortunately, your body can’t keep up with your mind’s distaste for the elder lawyer. His presence around you makes your blood vessels tighten and your head feel light—nipples prickling against your bra when he winks at you.

 “Asshole,” you whisper under your breath as you pack up your notebook.

 “Oh, ___!” Seokjin calls out just as you’re about to leave the all-glass meeting room.

 Your head suddenly screeches to a very frustrated, sexual halt when you turn to face the lead counsel of your company.

 “Yes, Mr. Kim?”

 “I’ve got a case for you.”

 The smile on his face makes you relax. Maybe he sees your potential. Maybe he’s testing you just as much as he’s testing Namjoon. Maybe you’ll be the “one to watch” and you can rub that right in Namjoon’s perfect, stunning face.

 A thick manila folder slides across the oak table towards you from Seokjin’s hands. The impressive volume of the dossier makes you giddy with anticipation.

 “I know you won’t let me down.”

 You nod, nibbling at your lips, before bowing to your superior and dashing out of the room as fast as your Louboutins can handle.

 It’s not until you sit at your desk, a cramped little cubicle next to Park Jimin, your best friend and paralegal assistant, that you open the folder.

 Your heart sinks as your eyes hurriedly rush over the title page.

 Personal Injury Suit.

 A dejected sigh leaves you as you throw the folder onto your desk and slouch back in your ergonomic office chair.

 “What’s up, pussycat?” Jimin smiles as he rolls his chair over to your side of the cubicle. “Namjoon got you worked up again?”

 You groan as you take off your reading glasses, setting them aside to rub at the burgeoning headache building at your temples. You had momentarily forgotten all about Namjoon in the hurried hope that you’d land a case of significance, something you could finally use to prove yourself.

 Instead, you gained yet another in-and-out, settle outside of court case. Likely some elderly geriatric suing a corporation for too-slippery floors.

 “Another fucking personal injury suit,” you whine as you thrust the folder into the lithe paralegal’s hands.

 He looks over the documents and sucks his teeth.

 “Man, Seokjin really has it out for you.”

 You level a look at your best friend, before nodding and holding your head in your hands.

 “Namjoon is getting all the good cases! He gets the media attention, the litigation deals, everything! It’s like I’m not even given a chance to show what kind of lawyer I can be when I’m stuck with all the nursing home and car accident suits!”

 Jimin bows dutifully, nodding his head as you express your woes.

 “I can do more than just personal injury litigation… and Seokjin knows that! It’s just that Namjoon keeps getting all the air-time!”

 “I know, babe. I know.”

 With one last sigh of disbelief, you take the folder out of Jimin’s hands and sit upright at your desk.

 “Well, I guess if I’m going to be a personal injury lawyer, I’m going to be the best fucking one yet. Let’s get to work.”

 “Yeah! Fighting!” Jimin cheers.

  Namjoon sighs as he listens to his mother blabber on and on through his phone. He leans back in his chair and surveys the wide expanse of his corner office.

 Seokjin gave him this space, an upgrade from the desolate cubicles when he won his last big case, Kim Taehyung, artist v. the city of New York. He can’t help but smirk as he glimpses you from his window, pouring over a case file. He notes the curve of your back in the silk blouse you’re wearing and the way it tucks into your pencil skirt. He wishes he could see the outline of your ass and watch as it sways back and forth when you walk.

 “I just don’t understand why you can’t ever bring anyone home for the holidays!”

 His mother breaks him from his silent reverie of detailing every aspect of your backside.

 “You know your grandmother will not be alive much longer! And all she wants is her only grandson to be happy and in love! And a few grandchildren won’t hurt!”

 “I am her grandchild, Mom.”

 She’s silent for a moment.

 “Well, I wouldn’t mind some grandchildren either.”

 He groans again and presses his fingers to his forehead, a headache bubbling up behind his eyes.

 “Don’t you act like that, young man! You have a big empty house, big car, big life, and no one to share it with. I just want you to be happy.”

 She continues on and Namjoon can’t help but let her words sink in.

 He has it all. Expensive luxury apartment, enormous bed, gorgeous kitchen, money to spend on traveling and enjoying life. Yet he spends most of his time here, stuck in his office. He’s utterly alone, regardless of how many social guests he tries to entertain, horrid dates he attempts to go on. He’s always left alone, and he feels it deep at the very bottom of his heart—the loneliness and desire for a companion.

 “Mom! Mom!” He interrupts her diatribe on the futility of his adult life. “Stop!”

 “Namjoon, I’m just conce-”

 “I’ll bring home my girlfriend for the holidays, okay?”

There’s a stunned silence on the other end.

 “A girlfriend?” she asks, tentatively. “Really?”

 “Yeah,” he breathes, wincing already at the lie he’s spoon-feeding his poor mother—all in the name of getting her off his back. “She’s kind of shy, so I didn’t want to tell you about her yet, but now seems like the best time. I’m... I’m even thinking of proposing.”

 The words come out of Namjoon’s mouth before he can stop them. His mom bursts into screams of delight, and he can tell she’s running to his beloved grandmother to tell her the news.

 “Oh, Namjoon! This is all we’ve ever wanted for you. I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to meet her! Oh, goodness, I can’t want to tell your father. Goodbye, son! I’ll see you two soon!”

 She hangs up before Namjoon has a chance to even breathe.

 “Fuck.”

 He drops his phone to his wooden desk and grimaces. 

 How the hell is he going to find a fiance in the next 3 days before the holiday break? 

 There’s Jennie, his ex.

 He thinks about it for a moment, before quickly dismissing it. No, much too clingy and possessive. She’d take it to be real, and he’d be stuck with her.

 His last hookup, Jihoo?

 No, too aloof. His mom would never buy that they were a love-sick couple on the brink of engagement.

 A crash outside his office startles Namjoon, making him stand and exit the large corner suite.

 The commotion is coming from your cubicle, where he can see you’re struggling to use the decrepit computer. The crash must have been from you slamming the keyboard to the desk, causing the individual keys to pop off the board.

 “Shit! Jimin, help me put this keyboard back together!” 

 You shimmy out of your chair and onto your knees, an excellent sight for Namjoon if he wasn’t so concerned about your well-being.

 The paralegal is standing above you, watching as you kneel to gather the pieces of the obliterated keyboard.

 “Oh no, honey. It’s against my personal constitution to be on my knees unless it’s for a handsome man.”

 “God, Jimin, come on.”

 “Hey, it’s not my fault you hulk-smashed the life out of that poor keyboard.”

 Namjoon smirks, turning back into his office and sliding into his desk. He easily opens his MacBook and emails Yoongi in IT, requesting a brand new computer for your desk—no holds barred. He wants the top of the line for you.

 He suddenly has just the person in mind to be his fake fiancée. 

  A brand new, gorgeous computer is at your desk the next day you arrive.  You nearly spill your hot peppermint mocha when you see the sleek machine atop your old plastic desk instead of the broken clunker that was there the day before.

 “What the hell?” You ask Jimin as you set your coffee down gently as if any movement might scare the new computer away. “Did you order this?”

 “I love you, but I would never order you something this nice.” 

 You can’t help but roll your eyes as you sit down to marvel at the modern machinery. At least Jimin is honest.

 “Maybe I’ll call Yoongi and ask him where it came from,” you wonder aloud, hand hovering over your phone.

 “YOONGI?” Jimin screeches, eyes suddenly wide and crazed.

 “Yeah? The IT guy?”

 “I know who Yoongi is, you dumbass! Here, let me call him! I’m your assistant!”

 He scrambles to grab the phone out of your hand.

 “You literally refuse to do anything I ask.”

 Jimin smiles cherubically, completely ignoring your confusion. He’s suddenly the picture of a model employee.

 “Don’t you worry! I’ll be right on it!”

 He hops from your desk with your cell phone gripped tight, and saunters away to a secluded area out of your eyesight.

 “What the fuck is going on today?” You ask out loud, settling into your chair and unloading your bag of files.

 “How's the new computer?”

 The sudden intruder makes you jump, nearly spilling your coffee, yet again.

 “Fuck!” You shriek as you attempt to right yourself and the dangerously hot liquid sloshing in the paper cup. “You scared me!”

 The chuckle that comes from behind you makes your stomach flip. You know that laugh. You could recognize that laugh a hundred miles away, in a hurricane, with headphones on.

 That laugh is the sultry demon himself, Kim Namjoon.

 “I—How did you know about my computer?”

 Namjoon takes a knee, bringing his face to your level in your chair. He’s close to you, so dangerously close. You can smell the Giorgio Armani cologne applied to his pressure points—the heat of his skin warming the scent and mingling with his own subtleties. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head. He smells so comforting—like a home you never knew you were missing until he arrived.  

 “I saw it when I walked in this morning.” 

 He breaks you from your daydreaming of warm, firm hands caressing your body and you’re thrown headfirst back into reality—the reality where you can’t stand the man mere inches from you.

 You push back from where you are and stand, eager to get away from Namjoon’s sudden interest in close proximity. He smirks and rises from his spot, pocketing his hands in his tight cream suit.

 “Care to join me in my office for some coffee?” He asks.

 His office. The one he scored after he won the Kim Taehyung case. The bitter betrayal still lingers in your mouth. 

 For the longest time, you had been equal in every sense; both living in the dingy cubicles with the computers long-destined for retirement. Then, Seokjin awarded him with the corner office, the one with the view of the entire city. You’d never forgiven either of them.

 “I have my own coffee.”

 Namjoon smirks as he eyes your paper cup, clearly a quick grab from the 7-Eleven around the corner.

 “Looks fancy.”

 You purse your lips and clutch your coffee even closer.

 “Please,” he asks again. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

 Namjoon’s face loses its snark, and you’re curious about what could cause the man to become so serious.

 “Fine.”

 You motion with your arm towards his office, encouraging him to walk ahead. He smirks again, ah—there’s that smirk, before he turns and heads into the gorgeous corner room.

 He lingers by the door as you enter, waiting until you’ve crossed the threshold to close the door behind you. It surprises you. Something about being in a closed room with Namjoon sets you on edge. You can nearly imagine the man bending you over that fine oak desk, hiking your skirt up and spanking your ass until it’s red.

 “Coffee?” He asks as he moves towards the in-office espresso machine.

 “Are you fucking kidding me? You have a Nespresso in your office?” 

 All desperate and wanton thoughts of Namjoon sliding into you leave once you see the stainless steel contraption in the room's corner. Of course he has a $500 coffee machine in his office. He has everything you want.

 “You like it?” His question is cocky. He already knows the answer.

 “Fuck off.”

 Namjoon grins and turns the machine on, pulling out two mugs while you sip your now lukewarm coffee. It suddenly tastes disgusting.

 “So, what’s the deal, Namjoon?” You ask as he rests against the wall and waits for the coffee to brew. “You said it was important.”

 Namjoon nods, a more reserved look taking the place of his usual cocky grin on his face. His gaze turns down to his shiny dress shoes.

 “I need a favor.”

 “No.” Your answer is quick.

 Namjoon looks up at you in surprise.

 “You haven’t even heard it yet!”

 “Yeah, well…,” you huff. “I’m not interested in helping you.”

 Namjoon leaves his post by his elaborate coffee maker, forgetting about the piping-hot liquid drizzling into white mugs, as he stands in front of you. There’s that fucking cologne again. Why does he have to smell so good?

 “You’ve got to help me. Please.”

 His sudden closeness to you sets your brain off—your steely resolve begins to crumble.

 “Fine, I’ll bite. What is it?”

 His face lights up again. God, he has such a handsome mouth.

 “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for my family Christmas party.”

 If you hadn’t had such a good grip on the convenience store cup of coffee, it’d surely drop from your clutch and splatter on the expensive carpet of Namjoon’s office.

 Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls agape.

 “You—You what?!”

 Namjoon sighs and lowers his voice.

 “Look, I…” he struggles. “I told my mom I have a girlfriend, so she’d get off my back about it.”

 “And why am I suddenly your best option for that?!” 

 You step away from the man, determined to clear your mind as the scenario weaves its way through your head. 

 Namjoon’s girlfriend. He wants you to be his girlfriend.

 Well, his fake girlfriend.

 He would hold your hand. He would kiss you. He would touch your body in ways you convince yourself you don’t think of often. 

 “You’re the only girl I know who’s got a good enough poker face to go along with it. And honestly… you’re the only girl I really know well enough.”

 His last admission shocks you. Namjoon seems like the womanizing type—one to bring a different girl home every night.

 “That doesn’t explain why the fuck I would want to help you.”

 Namjoon steps back and moves towards the coffee machine again.

 “If you help me, I’ll take all your shitty cases that Jin is giving you.”

 Your eyes narrow at the tall man. It seems too good to be true.

 “How d'you know about them?”

 Namjoon shrugs and grabs a mug full of freshly brewed expensive coffee.

 “I can hear you complain to Jimin about it every day.”

 You grumble under your breath, sucking on your teeth as you try to process the terms of Namjoon’s deal.

 “So you want me to be your fake girlfriend for your family…” you muse.

 “Yes,” he agrees. “And I’ll do all your worst cases for the next 2 months. I’ll even give you my next big one. I know you want that.”

 God, he’s right. That’s all you want. A chance to prove yourself to Seokjin, to the company.

 With an aggravated sigh, you relent. 

 “Fine! But it better be a good fucking case. And, I’m using your coffee maker every morning.”

 Namjoon can’t help but chuckle, loving the fire in your voice. 

 “Deal?” He murmurs.

 He holds out his hand to shake on it, and it takes you by surprise how warm and soft his large hands are once you slide your own into his grip.  

 “Deal.”

 Jimin is not going to let you live this one down.

  Jimin doesn’t let you live it down.

 He’s sitting on your couch, legs crossed underneath him as he hoists his wine glass filled to the brim. He holds it away from his body as he shakes with laughter.

 “You’re telling me,” he wheezes. “That you agreed to be Namjoon’s fake Christmas girlfriend? You hate that man!”

 Flopping into the couch beside him, you sigh.

 “Yeah, well, it was my only option. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

 “Okay, Godfather,” Jimin snickers. “Lord knows you still want to bone that man, anyway.”

 “Jimin!” You admonish. “I do not! And that wasn’t the deal!”

 He sips at his red wine with an impish smile. You hate it when Jimin looks at you like that, like he can see behind the lie you’ve so carefully crafted of your hatred for Namjoon.

 “Then tell me, what was the deal?”

 You fiddle with the stem of your own wine glass, sighing.

 “He’s offered to take all our shitty personal injury suits for the next two months. And he’s giving me his next big case.”

 Jimin actually looks surprised—as if he didn’t expect Namjoon to provide a deal so worth the cost.

 “Wow,” he breathes.

 You nod in reply, taking a large gulp of the pinot grigio in your glass.

 “You’re still going to fuck him though, I know it,” Jimin adds.

 You splutter your wine from your mouth, hand reaching over to gently slap Jimin on his taut abdomen.

 “Shut up!” You cry.

 Jimin looks proud of himself, sipping his red wine gleefully while he settles further into your couch. Wine nights with Jimin is the highlight of your weeks. Together, you bitch over cases, coworkers, dating struggles, and eat too much cheese and cured meats and nurse a hangover the following day with brunch.

 “Hey,” you say to Jimin as you set your wine down on the coffee table. “Did you ever talk to Yoongi?”

 Jimin’s cheeks immediately turn a shade of rouge.

 “Yoongi? Yoongi who?”

 “Oh my god,” you groan. “Yoongi from IT. You stole my phone to call him today? To ask about my new computer?”

 Jimin swallows a large swig of his wine.

 “Oh. Yes, I did.”

 “And?” You encourage the blonde to answer further.

 “And he’s doing well,” Jimin replies demurely.

 “Jimin!” You huff. “The computer?!”

 Jimin makes an ‘O’ shape with his mouth and bites his lip.

 “I… might have forgotten to ask.”

 Your mouth drops open.

 “You literally stole my phone out of my hands to call him! What did you talk about?!”

 There’s his blush again. The shade of pink on Jimin’s cheeks would be adorable if you weren’t so flabbergasted by his answers.

 “I have a date tomorrow night.” He takes another sip as you let the reply sink in.

 “Oh. My. God.” You gasp, a smile now overtaking your features. “You have a crush on Min Yoongi!”

 Jimin sets his wine glass down next to yours and turns to you.

 “I had no idea if he was into me! But when I called, I totally forgot why I was calling him and we sort of just… started talking and next thing I know, he’s asking me out to dinner tomorrow night.”

 You playfully slap at Jimin’s thigh.

 “You little slut—using my phone to get yourself a date. On company time!”

 Jimin sticks his tongue out at you, before grabbing a pillow and slapping you with the overstuffed cushion.

 “At least I didn’t agree to be his fake girlfriend!”

  It’s the sound of your phone ringing at 7:32 am that wakes you from your spot on the couch, wine glass still clutched in your hand.

 “What the fuck?” You grumble, eyes blearily seeking the offending object disturbing your sleep.

 Jimin grumbles next to you, kicking at your foot as if it will stop the phone from ringing.  

“Stop,” he whines and cuddles into his fetal position. “Turn it ooooff.”

 You locate your cell phone and groan as you recognize the name on the caller ID. Namjoon. What the fuck could he possibly be calling for? And why did he have to call at seven in the goddamn morning? 

 “What do you want?” You snap as you hold the phone to your cheek and throw yourself back onto the couch.

 “Well, good morning to you, sunshine.”

 Namjoon’s voice, as sexy and sultry as it sounds, still aggravates you.

 “Why are you calling me? It’s Saturday. Its seven am.”

 Namjoon chuckles and you fight the shiver that works through your spine at the sound.

 “I tend to keep human hours on the weekend.”

 You can’t hold back the sarcastic guffaw that escapes you.  

 “Okay, Mr. Perfect,” you sigh. “That doesn’t explain calling me.”

 Jimin kicks at your foot again. 

 “Stop talking,” he grumbles.

 God, Jimin is such a diva when he’s hungover.

 “Meet me at the cafe on First Street,” Namjoon says casually. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

 “Right now?!” You ask, incredulous.

 “I’m literally already here. Hurry before your coffee gets cold.”

 You let out a whine that could rival a 5-year-old’s temper tantrum.

 “Fuck you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

 There’s no care about your phone when you end the call and throw it to the floor.  Jimin grumbles and rubs at his eyes.

 “Why the fuck are you having phone sex with Namjoon so early in the morning?” He asks.

 “Jimin, I swear to God.”

 He wraps himself in the throw blanket and buries his face back into the couch while you stand and retreat to your bedroom to throw on some semblance of appropriate clothing for the occasion.

 “Fucking Namjoon,” you grumble under your breath as you change into jeans and a sweater. “Fuck him and his stupid, sexy face. And his unbelievable ass. And his stupid, probably enormous penis. Man, I hate him.”

 As you’re re-entering the living room and grabbing your important items (keys, wallet, lip gloss just in-case), Jimin pops his head out of his blanket cave.

 “Where are you going?” He asks, suddenly less annoyed and more pathetic. “You’re leaving me?”

 “I have to go meet Namjoon for coffee. I don’t know why, so don’t ask.”

 “You’re really going to let me suffer here? Alone? With no coffee?”

 You spin around to face your best friend, who’s giving you an absolutely soul-crushing pout and puppy eyes.

 “Yes. Call Yoongi.”

 His precious pout is wiped away, and a devious smirk takes its place.

 “Great idea!” He says as he digs around for his phone. “Be careful out there! It’s icy! Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall on Namjoon’s dick.”

 Your only reply is one singular middle finger in Jimin’s direction as you exit your apartment.

  Namjoon can’t help but smile as he sips his warm coffee. The cafe is warm and bright, despite the chill outside. 

 Things feel peaceful. Tender flakes of snow trickle down outside and frost up the shop’s window. There’s something about this time of year that strikes him down to the core. Something cozy, something warm.

 It’s odd to think this will be his first year not celebrating the holiday alone.

 Even if it is... well, fake. 

 The bell over the door chimes an arrival, and Namjoon can tell by the grumbles and grunts and stomps of snowy boots that it’s you.

 “Over here!” He calls, raising a hand and turning to face you.

 Wow, he thinks. You look gorgeous, even without trying.

 You hurry your way over to the booth and plop yourself on the opposite side, immediately lunging for the obvious mug of coffee waiting for you on the table. You don’t waste a minute gulping the liquid down your throat, then spluttering when you realize it’s still hot.

 “I thought you said it was getting cold!” You cry, airing out your burnt tongue. Namjoon can’t help but imagine that tongue sliding up and down his cock.

 Not now. Wrong time and place to get a boner.

 Namjoon smiles as he sips his cappuccino. 

 “I got you a fresh one.”

 You make a face, but your features soften. As if you’re pleased with the idea that Namjoon cared to freshen up your cup.

 “Oh, well--”, you manage. “Thank you.”

 Namjoon doesn’t reply, but merely tips his head. The silence is thick enough to cut with a knife. Normally, you’re both normally so wound up in aggravating the other that a moment of calm is strange, but not unwelcome.

 “So, why the early morning wake up?” You finally ask, fiddling with the handle of the mug.

 Namjoon settles his cup down.

 “We need to get to know each other. Deep shit, you know. The shit that lovers would know about each other.”

 He notices you, watches as you nibble at your lip. You try hard to hide it behind the mug you lift to your lips, but Namjoon notices. 

 “I’m hoping maybe we could spend the day together,” he adds. “I need to get some Christmas gifts for my family and… well, it’s rather lonely doing it on my own.”

 There’s a slight smile at the ends of your lips.

 “And you needed me at seven thirty in the morning to do that?”

 He stifles a laugh.

 “Like I said, I operate at regular human hours. Even on weekends,” he replies.

 With a dramatic sigh, you agree.

 “Fine,” you say. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

 He watches as you settle into the seat of the booth, hands gripping the warm mug like it’s a personal heater. He notices you’re only wearing jeans and a sweater--no properly warm clothing for the snow storm ahead. He’ll have to fix that, and soon.  

 “What are you doing for Christmas?” He asks.

 You level a look.

 “Spending it pretending to be in love with you.”

 Namjoon can’t help but snort a laugh.

 “I meant after that.”

 You shrug as you settle back into the seat.

 “I don’t like Christmas. I don’t do much other than force Jimin to kiss me under the mistletoe and watch shitty movies with a gallon of boxed wine.”

 “Hmm,” he hums. “You’re sort of a Grinch.”

 A scowl comes over your face.

 “I am not! I just don’t buy into this whole ‘prove how much you love me by buying me things’ shit. It’s a big scheme, I tell you! Capitalist propaganda! They encourage you to spend all your money, and if you don’t, they shame and guilt you by telling you you don’t love your family enough.”

 Namjoon can’t help but laugh as you rant. It’s what makes you such a talented lawyer—your ability to feel a passion so deep within you you’re able to convince a stone-faced jury of your side.

 “Don’t laugh at me!” You cry. “I’m serious! My family doesn’t celebrate, I don’t celebrate. I’d rather just buy gifts for my loved ones when I see something they’d like. Why do we have to put a time of year on it?”

 He shrugs and scooches his mug around the carbonate table.

 “I suppose that makes sense,” he muses. “But you’re still a Grinch. And a Scrooge. You’ll definitely get visited by some Ghosts at midnight.”

 “Ha ha,” you snark sarcastically. “Hilarious, Namjoon. Don’t tell me you’re a big festive guy.”

 “Somewhat. It’s my Mom’s favorite holiday. It’s why she’s so bent out of shape about me having a girlfriend. Something about family and love and shit.”

 You nod, understanding him completely. Your own mother, despite her reservations towards the holiday, still makes a fuss over your single status. There must be some Mom code to obsess over your children’s woeful dating life.

 “Well, I say let’s get on with it then. Ready to hit the shops?” He asks.

 You’re mid-sip of your finally cooled coffee and you send a desperate look to the man in front of you.

“Already?!”

 “We’re burning daylight, baby.”

 Namjoon stands and you can’t help but feel a roar of flames in your belly at the pet-name. Your cheeks are surely flaming up and you admonish yourself for getting so peaked about such a trivial name.

 “Please don’t tell me we’re walking,” you murmur as you sneak a peek outside.

 The snow is falling down harder now, and you’re dreadfully underdressed for the weather.

 Namjoon tsks at your lack of outerwear, but then shakes his head.

 “No, we’ll take my Range Rover.”

 You roll your eyes and grimace.

 “Of course. You have a fucking Nespresso machine and a Range Rover. Asshole.”

 Namjoon doesn’t even think about it as he grabs your hand and laces his fingers in between yours. If anyone asked, he’d say it’s practice—to familiarize himself with the way your fingers slot between his own so it’s not such a foreign concept when he does it in front of his family.

 “Yeah, but I’m your asshole now, princess.”

 Christmas shopping with Namjoon is mostly painless.

 Normally, you dread the lines and the crowds and the confusion and the expense.

 But with Namjoon, you relax and banter away with the tall lawyer. You’re completely at ease as you walk through crowded aisles and sort through racks of cashmere sweaters and stacks of fuzzy blankets.

 “Mom will love this, don’t you think?” Namjoon asks, holding up a thick, exquisite looking blanket.

 You’re about to answer with an affirmative when you catch yourself. You don’t even know his mom. You’ve never met the woman. Why does it feel as if Namjoon is someone you’ve known your entire life? 

 Why do things feel so easy with him?

 “Sure, Namjoon,” you reply. “Seems like something most mother’s would be into.”

 He smiles at you. It’s a genuine smile too, one that nearly knocks you on your ass. Your body is sent into overdrive constantly. He holds your hand, he places his hand at the small of your back to guide you through a thick crowd. He calls you baby and princess and doll.

 It’s confusing.

 It’s amazing.

 You can’t tell if you love it or hate it.

 Namjoon pushes the shopping cart and walks beside you, chatting easily about his various aunts and uncles names that you likely must remember at some point but you just can’t think about anything but Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon.

 You hate him. He stole that corner office from you. He’s going to take the promotion you want from right under your nose. He has a goddamn Nespresso in his office and a Range Rover. 

 And yet, you can’t help but fall in place next to him and listen to him tell stories of his childhood, weaving tales of uncles who snuck him his first sips of alcohol and aunts who spoil him rotten. He’s easy to listen to, a natural story-teller. Your body feels warm, as if you’re sitting on a large hearth by a roaring fire. He’s comforting.

 It’s infuriating and wonderful all at once. 

 “And that’s when my cousin Jungkook got caught smoking cigarettes. My grandma beat our ass so bad I couldn’t sit for a day.”

 Namjoon finishes his story and turns to look at you. You’ve been staring at the man for nearly a minute straight now.

 “Hey,” his voice is soft. “You listening?”

 You shake out of the trance Namjoon’s deep voice sends you into.

 “Yeah!” You reply with a smirk. “Sounds like this Jungkook is a guy I’d like to meet.”

 Namjoon sucks his teeth and nudges you.

 “Hey, you’re my girlfriend, remember.”

 You stick your tongue out at him playfully.

 “Fake girlfriend. I’m still a single, desirable lady at the end of the day.”

 Namjoon hesitates before answering. He wants to reply something snarky, something sarcastic and witty. But he takes a moment to pause, allows himself to fully immerse himself in you. Even hungover, in yesterday’s jeans and an old sweater, you’re still an absolute catch. You’re the definition of desirable and Namjoon can’t help but allow himself to desire.

 “Hmm, is that what you call it?” He asks, now allowing the sarcasm to permeate his words. “I was thinking you’re more of the spinster, cat-lady type.”

 “Hey!” You pout as you slap at his arm. “I’m allergic to cats!”

 “But you don’t deny being a spinster.”

 “Fuck you, Namjoon.”

 He grins and pushes the carts towards the candle aisle, a sure-fire gift for his aunties.

 “In due time, my love.”

  By the time Christmas Eve arrives, you’ve spent nearly every day with Namjoon. At work, he brings you fresh coffee from his Nespresso and buys you lunch. You’ve even landed his big case, an incredibly complex lawsuit that will showcase your skills. Namjoon gives you pointers and space to talk through the case with him.

Namjoon is, in fact, simply being kind. And it unsettles you.

 Your heart and brain are at war with each other constantly. You should hate him, loathe him. He’s going to nail that promotion regardless of what you prove to Seokjin.

 But your heart tells you he deserves it. He’s an incredible attorney and has earned every ounce of respect. You want Namjoon to get that promotion just to see that smile on his face. He’d do incredible things as Seokjin’s protege to take over the firm.

 You hate to admit it, but Namjoon has melted the ice around your heart. And you’re dreading the day after all this is over, because it will be the day Namjoon stops holding you close and pressing soft kisses to your temple. It will be the day he stops pretending this is all real.

 It’s Christmas Eve and you’re sitting in Namjoon’s expensive Range Rover, plush leather seat toasty from the built-in seat warmer. You can’t help but marvel at the way the oncoming headlights brighten up Namjoon’s features as he drives you down a snowy mountain lane. They always hold the Kim family holiday party at Namjoon’s late grandfather’s cabin in the mountains, a quiet getaway for the family to gather and spend the night together to wake up on Christmas morning and gather around for presents and food.

 Which means waking up to Kim Namjoon.

 It’s something you’ve dreamt of often, but denied yourself any actual possibility of it. Namjoon was always out of reach, and it was easier to hate him for his success he rightfully deserved than it was to admit the feelings that were always inside.

 And now, although it’s artificial, you can’t bear to think of not spending your time with Namjoon anymore.

 You steal a glance again at him, and smile as you hear his faint humming. He loves Christmas music. You learned that early in the week during another early morning coffee and ‘get to know you’ before work. Namjoon couldn’t stop singing Mariah Carey’s classic pop song under his breath as it played over the speakers in the cafe. 

 “It’s so pretty up here,” you muse as you force your vision away from Namjoon’s gorgeous face to the snowy scenery outside. 

 The snow is falling gently, not enough to cause a blizzard but enough to make it seem like you’re trapped in a picturesque snow-globe. Leaving the city and entering the magical forest stirs an emotion inside you you hadn’t felt in some time.

 It’s Christmas Eve and there’s just something magical.

 Ugh. Unbelievable.

 Namjoon has even made you actually enjoy Christmas.

 He nods. “Yeah, it’s my favorite place in the world, I think.”

 “I can see why,” you sigh. “It looks like a painting.”

 Namjoon glances over at you peering through the window. His heart hammers in his chest hard as your glittering eyes bounce around from tree to tree, a pretty smile on your face. The diamond ring in his pocket feels like it weighs a literal ton and he nibbles at his lip.

 He bought it for the showmanship of it all, initially. It was his first purchase he made when he set up this whole rouse.

 But now, it feels real. It feels like he’s really about to get on one knee and ask you, the girl he’s absolutely head over heels for, to marry him.

 And then it will be over.

 He’ll make up some story to tell his mom about how it didn’t work out and you’ll go back to being his coworker, and nothing more.

 Namjoon can’t fight the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 Nothing more.

 He pulls into the driveway before you even have time to realize you’re there. He puts the car in park and smiles over at you. 

 He looks so cute in his puffy winter coat, hair pushed to the side and a smile that’s all dimples and cheeks.

 Fuck.

 “We’re here,” he whispers. “You ready?”

 Suddenly, the nerves of meeting your fake boyfriend’s entire family slap you right in the face. You hope that you’re a good enough actress to get Namjoon through the night and into the morning.

 “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 He nods and squeezes your hand, an unspoken comforting ‘I got you’.

 Namjoon gathers his wrapped gifts and stacks them all in his arms, ignoring your pleas and giggles to help carry them in.

 “No, no,” he assures. “I have to make sure my mom sees me being manly and helpful.”

 As if on cue, the front door opens and Mrs. Kim is bursting out into the snowy night.

 “Namjoon!” She shrieks, completely overjoyed. The rest of the family is standing by the door, eyeing you carefully with smiles and whispers. You pray to whatever Christmas God that’s listening that you can do this.

 Namjoon sets the pile of gifts down just in time to wrap his delicate and tiny mother in his arms, hugging her tightly while she gleefully buries her face into her tall son’s chest.

 “Oh, my son, I’ve missed you.”

 Namjoon kisses the crown of her head and smiles.

 “Missed you too, eomma.”

 The scene has you misty-eyed and you swipe at your eyes to stop the tears. There’s no way you’re ruining the fantastic makeup you did for the occasion, but the reunion of Namjoon and his mother is heart-warming. He clearly cares for his mother more than he would outwardly admit. 

 Namjoon and his mother unwrap from each other and Namjoon turns towards you.

 “Everyone, this is ____,” he breathes. “My girlfriend.”

 His mother’s gleeful squeals now turn to you, and within an instant she’s gathering you up in just as tight of a hug as she did to her son.

 “Oh, darling, we are so happy to meet you,” she beams.

 The excitement in her voice makes you feel bad—like you’re conning an old woman out of her retirement. You’re instilling a sense of hope in the kind woman, and you can’t help but send Namjoon a look as you wrap your arms around her and return the embrace. His eyes sparkle with something you can’t read.

 “I’m happy to meet you too,” you smile as you pull apart. “Thank you for letting me come.”

 “No thanks necessary,” she admonishes with a wink. “We had to beg Namjoon to bring you. It seems he wants to keep you all to himself.”

 “Eomma!” Namjoon snaps. “Be appropriate!”

 She nudges you with her elbow knowingly, which makes your cheeks flame hot, before she leads the way back into the house.

 “Come in, come in! Let’s get out of this snow.”

 Namjoon encourages you to step inside with a gentle hand at the small of your back—a touch that makes your body light up brighter than a Christmas tree.

 “Thank you,” he whispers in your ear from behind. You can feel the warmth of his lips and your body reacts.

How is it that any simple act makes you desperately horny for the man? You pray for some respite from your sexual frustration over the next day. How are you going to last over 24 hours?

 Namjoon deposits his massive haul of gifts under the tree and returns to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you close. He introduces you to uncles and aunts and cousins. He even introduces you to his infamous cousin, Jungkook, who smirks at you in a way that makes Namjoon pull you in closer to his body.

 “Are you doing okay?” Namjoon finally asks after the rush of relatives greeting you dies down. He turns you towards him, to face him directly with his hands on either of your shoulders. “You’re killing it.”

 You can’t help but smile. Namjoon’s family is all incredibly kind and funny. They welcome you into the family with ease and it chips away a little more each time at your heart.

 Because this is all fake. 

 One day, Namjoon really will have a girlfriend to bring to Christmas and to show off to his relatives and it won’t be you. You’ll be back at your apartment, watching shitty TV re-runs and binging on Chinese takeout, as you do every year. It’s a jab at your heart each time the bitter truth rears its ugly head.

 “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m great.”

 “Look!” Jungkook shouts. “They’re standing under the mistletoe!”

 Namjoon blushes a shade of red that likely matches a blush on your own cheeks. Sure enough, the green branches of the mistletoe taunt you from above. 

 You’ve never kissed Namjoon before. In all the skinship and closeness of the last week, you’ve still yet to close the gap to kissing the man. 

 “Oh, come on Kook, that’s a stupid tradition,” Namjoon murmurs awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 Jungkook smirks as he steps up next to you.

 “Well, if you’re not going to do it, I’d be more than happy to take your place.”

 Jungkook wraps a loose arm around you and gives you a charming smile. He must be very popular with the ladies, you think. That’s a charming smile.

 “Hey!” Namjoon grabs for your hand and tugs you out of Jungkook’s predatory gaze. “She’s my girlfriend.”

 Namjoon looks at you for a moment, assessing your comfort level with everything about to take place. His lips look so inviting, so plush and warm. Now that you’re thinking about kissing him, you can’t help but focus on the way his lips pucker so gently and naturally.

 And then it happens. Namjoon lowers his face towards you and it feels as if the world is in slow-motion. It’s happening.

 The first press of his lips is soft and conservative. You take a split second to register, but instinctively you press against his lips with determination and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

 He groans softly as you trail your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opens for you without hesitation. His hands grip at your waist and bring your body flush against his. You can feel his cock twitching and rising from the kiss that’s gone from innocent and playful to passionate and deep. It feels like the world around you has stopped and the only thing that matters is Namjoon, his mouth, his body against your own. He tastes like hot chocolate and peppermint, and you want more, more.

 “Oh my god, stop,” Jungkook’s voice shatters your illusion of being all alone with Namjoon. “Now you’re just showing off.”

 Namjoon pulls away from you, eyes dazed as he tries to right himself. 

 “You two are just so perfect for each other,” Namjoon’s mother says, who’s suddenly appeared in Jungkook’s place. “Let me show you your bedroom.”

 “Oh, we’re sharing?” You ask without thought. It’s a large house, with ample bedrooms surely for you to have your own space.

 Namjoon nudges you in the ribs gently, eyes widening and mouthing a ‘what the fuck do you mean?’ 

 “Of course dear, don’t be silly,” his mother replies with an eyebrow waggle and a chuckle. “I remember when your father and I were dating. He would sneak into my room after my parents went to bed and keep me up all night long. Your grandfather would ask me if I had terrible dreams that night, because I looked so tired.”

 Namjoon makes a face. “Eomma, please,” he begs. “Please don’t talk about my parents like that.”

 As his mother guides you down a long hallway, your mind is whirring with too many thoughts of Namjoon, of sharing a bedroom with Namjoon, of seeing his sleeping face and waking up next to him. It’s all too much, too overwhelming. You pray there’s a couch in the room you could sleep on, because you’re far too weak and you’d rather fight the desperation in your body than face the fact that you want nothing more than to curl right into Namjoon’s strong arms and let him hold you all night to sleep.

 Fuck.

 “Here we are!” 

 His mother opens the door with grace, and flicks on the light. The room is beautiful in its simplicity. A king sized bed, a fireplace, and a balcony with a view of the sprawling snowy scene outside. It’s cozy and warm and decorated with its own Christmas tree.

 “Wow,” is all you can muster.

 “Aish, Mom,” Namjoon sighs as he drops his bags. “You didn’t need to do all of this for us.”

 Mrs. Kim holds his hand in both of hers. “Well, I know how special this Christmas is going to be,” she winks. “I want you to enjoy your time here. Now, I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Dinner is in an hour, so ‘freshen up’!”

Another wink, and Namjoon makes another face. She definitely wants grandchildren, that much is for certain.

 She closes the door behind her and you’re left standing in the room, overnight bag in hand.

 “This is—Wow, this is amazing.”

 You’ve never experienced Christmas like this—with decorations and warmth and family. It’s as if the love of the Kim family permeates the very walls of the expansive cabin, like it’s built into the foundation itself. For a moment, you allow yourself to soak it all in. This is all yours. It’s your Christmas and you finally understand why so many make such a fuss over it. The results are nothing short of remarkable.

 “Yeah, she really does the most,” Namjoon laughs. 

 He takes the bag from your hand without your notice and you step towards the balcony to peer into the night. The landscape looks as if everything has been covered in soft marshmallow. The snow is untouched—picture perfect.

 “I’ve never had anything like this before.”

 Namjoon settles your bag and his on the bed, watching as you soak in your own wonder. The smile on your face is not one he sees often, one of pure joy. Namjoon swallows hard as he realizes he wants to be the one to always put that smile on your face.

 “Not such a Scrooge after all, eh?”

 You turn from the still-life view outside and back to Namjoon, where he stands at the foot of the bed. He looks so different outside the office. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a flannel shirt, his puffy jacket hanging by the door. No cream suit, no slicked back hair or shoes shiny enough to see your reflection. Just simply Namjoon.

 He’s no longer the man who steals the limelight in the office. He’s no longer the man you see as your adversary or your rival.

 He’s the man who’s showing you the magic of Christmas, the spirit of love and kindness that embodies the season.

 He’s the man you’ve fallen in love with.

 And yet, he’s the man who will leave once this is over and return to his proper life, and you to yours. He’ll return to sleeping with models and movie starlets, and you’ll return to binge watching Great British Bake-Off with Jimin and a carton of Chicken Tikka Masala.

 And Christmas will never feel as special as it does now. 

 So, you’re determined to soak in it for a little longer. It’s going to hurt regardless, so why not push that hurt off until tomorrow and allow yourself to pretend you live the lie you’re spinning for Namjoon’s family?

 “I think I’ll just freshen up and change into my dinner outfit, then?” You ask out loud, grabbing for your overnight bag and heading towards the ensuite.

 Namjoon, who expected a witty retort, takes a moment to reply.

 “Oh,” he coughs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll err—, I’ll just get ready out here.”

 You quickly escape into the bathroom, closing the door and resting on it as you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

 The tension in the bedroom with Namjoon was too thick, too powerful, especially after the kiss you just shared. His cock had been there, straining in his jeans as you licked into his mouth. The kiss felt so natural, as if you had always kissed Namjoon like that. Your heart beats loud and hard in your chest just from the thought of it.

 You really needed to get a handle over yourself. You still have dinner to get through, and an entire night in a bedroom with Namjoon. A bed with Namjoon.

 No, you won’t allow yourself to go that far. You can pretend you’re his girlfriend, but all thoughts of his delectable body doing scintillating things to yours is strictly off-limits. You shake all thoughts of a thick, heavy cock sliding into your mouth and warm hands spreading you open, and set about fixing your makeup and changing into the gorgeous cocktail dress you purchased for the occasion. It wasn’t often you got to get dressed up. The emerald green velvet dress clings to your body and highlights your curves. It’s a sexy dress, definitely, but also appropriate for a formal evening with your boyfriend’s parents.

 Well, your fake boyfriend. Right.

 After fixing your hair and buckling your heels, you take one last glimpse in the mirror for good luck and exit the room.

 Your breath is nearly knocked out of your lungs as you see Namjoon. 

You’ve seen him dressed up for court and for TV appearances millions of times, but you’ve never seen him like this.

 He wears a blood red button up without a tie, a few buttons open to emphasize the casual look, tucked into the tightest and sexiest slacks you’ve ever seen. They hug his thighs and sit at a spot on his waist that you just know is rippling with cut lines from his work in the gym. His hair is tucked back with a bit of hairspray, and he’s fixing the sleeves of his shirt when he sees you.

 His eyes widen and his hands fall to his sides as he soaks in your appearance.

 An absolute vision.

 He can see the gentle valley between your breasts and the way your dress pushes up your cleavage and displays your collar.  The dress follows the delicate curve of your waist and hips and ends at your knee, but teases him with a glimpse of thigh that has him wiping his mouth in case he’s drooling. 

 “You look incredible,” Namjoon murmurs as you step closer.

“So do you.”

 You swallow hard as he continues closer to you, breathing harshly as he stands right in front of you. You could reach out and unbuckle his expensive slacks and fist his cock right there. You’d fall on your knees for him, if he asked.

 There’s a moment of silence as Namjoon’s face inches closer and closer to your own, each unable to verbalize just how desperate either of you feel for the other.

 “Namjoon, I—,” you start. You want to tell him. You want to tell him everything—that you don’t want this to be fake, that you want this to be real, and you want to be his and his forever.

 “Yes?”

 You swallow hard, shaken by just how close his lips are to yours. He’s inches away and all you can focus on is the way his plush lips look and how well they fit against your own under the mistletoe.

 “I just—, I really um, I’m just very…” 

 You’re not making sense. Comprehension of language is quickly soaring out the window because the only words you know are ‘Please, for the love of God, kiss me and make me yours’, but you can’t bring yourself to speak them out loud.

 Namjoon’s hand cups your cheek, as if he can tell what you’re trying to say.

 “Yeah,” he breathes. The inches between you turn to centimeters, to bare millimeters. Your eyes flutter close as you feel his breath dance over your lips and your heart beats so loud you’re sure the entire household can hear it. He’s right there and moves in to close the distance—

 “Knock Knock!!”

 The forceful, cheery voice of cousin Jungkook forces both of you to jump away from each other as if you’ve touched a burning stove. Your head feels light, like you’ve forgotten to breathe for the last ten minutes and you’ve suddenly taken in too much air.

 The wooden door squeaks open and Jungkook pokes his head in, a shit-eating grin on his face.

 “Auntie sent me to get you. It’s dinnertime!”

 Namjoon rubs his face frustratedly. “Yes, thank you, Jungkook.”

 Jungkook doesn’t leave, however. He smiles at you and winks. 

“Would you like an escort to dinner, madame? You look tastier than the roast beef downstairs.”

 A blush creeps over your cheeks as Namjoon storms to the door where his cousin laughs.

 “That’s enough, Kook. We’ll be down in a minute.”

 He sends you one more grin, then retreats from the door and closes it behind him.

 “Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologizes. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for—Jungkook, or the moment before.

 “It’s alright. Let’s go?”

 Namjoon nods and holds out his hand with a smile.

 “Let’s go, girlfriend.”

  Dinner with the Kim family is as delightful as every other interaction with them has been. They’re polite and funny and ask questions about your life and your family.

 They ask how you met Namjoon (at work), what your favorite quality about him is (his smile and his ass), and what your first date together was (coffee at seven in the morning).

 You tell stories of Namjoon in the office, of your best friend Park Jimin who’s secretly trying to date the IT manager, of your parents and Christmases past.

 By the time dessert is served, Namjoon’s mother looks at you as if you’ve put the very stars in the sky.

 Namjoon doesn’t miss that look either. He can see the way his family is falling in love with you and somewhere deep in his stomach, he feels the guilt rising. All of this is a lie. Not only is he going to break his own heart, but every heart of his family member’s too. 

 “We’re all just so overjoyed that Namjoon has found someone to share his life with,” his mom speaks softly. It’s the first time she’s been thoughtful and quiet. She’s a woman who’s larger than life, you’ve found, so the softness in her tone strikes a chord. “You’re absolutely perfect for him. I’ve never seen him happier.”

 Fuck. 

 “Thank you,” you murmur sincerely to his mother. “I’ve never been happier.”

 Namjoon peers up from where he’s been pushing around his uncle’s famous chocolate cake on his plate to watch as you speak.

 “Truthfully, I never cared much for Christmas. I thought it was a rubbish holiday and spent it alone every year with a bottle of wine and some takeout. Namjoon really changed that for me,” you smile at the man and place your hand in his lap to hold his free hand. “He showed me more about Christmas in one week than I’ve felt in my entire life.”

 Namjoon’s mom wipes away an errant tear and he squeezes your hand under the table.

 “I guess the Grinch’s heart has grown 3 sizes, after all.”

 Namjoon’s joke lightens the soft mood, and suddenly there’s chatter around as the family members move about to wash dishes and clean up the mess of dinner. Everyone leaves the table except for you and Namjoon.

 “That was some good acting,” he whispers with a sad smile.

 “Right,” you whisper back, nibbling your lip anxiously. “Acting, of course.”

  You should have thought through the bedroom sharing thing more.

 Because sharing a bedroom is one thing.

 And sharing a bed is another.

 And of course, the only pajamas you thought to bring tonight is a very sexy long shirt that says “no coffee, no talking” with a bedazzled pair of shushing lips. That’s it. Just a single shirt. Not even a pair of shorts or pajama pants.

 You slip into the bed first, as far onto one side of it as possible. It’s a king sized bed, and it still feels too intimate, too close.

 Namjoon exits the bathroom after his shower, rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of flannel pajamas, leaving his bare chest on display.

 Sweet lord in heaven, you nearly cry out loud. He’s absolutely ripped, pecs defined and droplets of water from his hair streaming down. You want to chase each drop with your tongue and circle back again. You shut your eyes tight and clench your teeth. Why, oh why, does he have to look so fucking sexy at a time like this?

 Namjoon sees you at the edge of the bed, shutting your eyes closed like you’re a shy schoolgirl afraid to see a naked man’s body. He feels guilty for making you be here. He knows you’ve likely got better things to do than spend time with a man you openly hate.

 “I’m sorry,” he apologizes for nothing in particular. 

 You ignore it. Instead, you’re trying to think of every un-sexy thing in the world you can possibly imagine. Taxes, a bunch of bees, old people, shark attacks.

 There’s absolutely nothing that can stop the image of Namjoon’s perfectly sculpted body from bursting into your mind. You’re nearly pleading with yourself to just go to sleep and contemplate how hard you’d need to hit your head to knock yourself out as fast as possible.

 “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says as he grabs a small throw blanket from the closet and throws it to the ground by the fire.

 It snaps you from your musings of how best to forget how badly you want to suck Namjoon’s cock through his pajama pants.

 “What?” You sit up in the posh bed and finally make eye-contact. “Why? It’s freezing. There’s a literal snowstorm outside.” You motion to the window of the balcony. What was once a gentle snowfall is now a full-on winter storm.

 “There’s a fire. I’ll be fine, I sleep hot anyway.” Namjoon’s voice is low and without energy. He almost sounds sad.

 God, is being with you that hard for him? You know you’re just the artificial replacement until he has the real thing, but you’d actually hoped Namjoon had found it as comforting and warm as you had.

 “Namjoon,” you sigh. “This is a king-sized bed. You don’t need to be waking up with back pain because you gallantly slept on the floor.”

 To emphasize your point, you tug back the blankets on the other side, beckoning him to join.

 He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s weighing the pro’s and con’s and sliding into bed next to you in his mind, then stands and pads his way on the plush carpet towards the bed and slips in.

 There’s an entire football field of distance between you two in the bed, but it feels like he’s right beside you. You imagine sliding in right next to him, wrapping your arms around his taut chest and pressing soft kisses to his stomach.

 You squeeze your eyes closed again. Stop it, you horny slut.

 “Thank you, again.” Namjoon breaks the silence. “I really appreciate you helping me out.”

 “Yeah,” you swallow hard. “Of course. What else was I going to do? Jimin’s probably sucking Yoongi’s dick right now, so I’d be watching baking shows alone.”

 Namjoon laughs for a moment, then quiets.

 “You know, I don’t even really want that promotion at work.”

 You’re surprised by the sudden change in topic, but you turn over to face Namjoon.

“What?! Really?”

 Namjoon nods and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’m that good of an attorney to get it, anyway.”

 His statement makes you sit up in bed again, staring at the man in disbelief.

 “Are you fucking kidding me, Namjoon? You’re the best lawyer in the firm.”

 Namjoon says nothing, just turns to stare at you curiously as you continue.

 “You’re like… literally better than Seokjin, too. The way you handled the Taehyung case was nothing short of historical. Like, that was an impossible case, and you nailed it. That was your ‘OJ’ case, you know?”

 Namjoon barks a laugh.

 “My what?”

 “Your OJ case!” You use your hands to emphasize the importance of what you’re saying. “Like, they’ll write about you and how impossible the odds were of winning that case. And you won it! Not even Seokjin could have won that case.”

 He’s silent again, watching as you speak directly from your heart with all the fire and passion you feel about the things you care about. It’s what makes you such an incredible lawyer, too.

 “Wow,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

 You settle back down from your excitement, suddenly bashful at how fanatical you became.  

 “You’re welcome,” you murmur. “You deserve that promotion. And the office.”

 Namjoon smirks.

 “And the Nespresso?”

 Your eyes narrow and send a glare to him he can see even with the faintest of light in the room.

 “No, no one deserves the Nespresso, except for me.”

 He chuckles and settles down into his pillows.

 “Goodnight,” he whispers.

 “Goodnight, Namjoon.”

 There’s a beat of silence and your eyes flutter shut easily. It’s quiet, and all you can hear is the crackle of the log in the fireplace and the wind blowing past the balcony windows as the storm outside rages.

 “Oh,” Namjoon whispers again. “And, Merry Christmas.”

 You can’t fight the smile that creeps onto your face.

 “Merry Christmas, Joonie.”

  “Happy Christmas!” A voice bellows through your bedroom at approximately seven fifteen am.

 You groan, immediately grimacing and burying your face into your firm, warm pillow.

 “Nooooo,” you whine, trying to hide from the offending noise.

 Namjoon shakes awake, and notices Jungkook standing at the bedroom door once again.

“It’s time for presents!” He giddily explains. “And, they gave me the job of waking you two up.”

 “Of course,” Namjoon yawns.

 “You look a little wrapped up,” Jungkook smirks, eyeing your sleeping body. “I’ll give you two a minute. Don’t get distracted.”

 Namjoon rolls his eyes and watches as the door closes, before he turns his attention towards you.

 Somehow, in the middle of the night, you’ve scooched yourself to his side of the bed and draped your body around his. Your face is buried in his chest and your legs are haphazardly intertwined in his own.

 He bites his lip. His cock is rock solid, not just from his usual morning wood, but from the way he can feel your tits through your shirt, and from the sight of your pink panties. Namjoon wants to take them off with his teeth and bury his face in your delicious cunt, and his cock is nearly screaming at him to get on with it.

 “Hey,” he whispers to you, actively ignoring the demon that is his turgid length. “Wake up.”

 This causes you to cling harder to his chest, rubbing your sleepy face on him.

 “What is it with you and early mornings?” You ask, blearily raising your head to peer at him judgementally.

 Namjoon bites his lip, curious about your reaction to the tight embrace you’ve got on him. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to break the spell. Frankly, he wants to push your sleep shirt up and stuff you full of his cum.

 “Merry Christmas?” He offers shyly.

 You take a full minute to recognize what’s happening.

 You’re no longer on your edge of the bed. You’re wrapped around the man like a koala, legs strewn over him without care and clinging to him like he’s a lifeline.

 “Oh!” You gasp as you jerk out of his grasp. 

 In your movement, your leg brushes over an obvious tent in Namjoon’s pants, making him groan softly. You shut your eyes, embarrassed at how disgustingly horny you are for the man who’s not even interested in you sexually.

 “Christ, I’m so sorry,” your cheeks flame bright red and you scoot further from him.

 “No, no, don’t be,” Namjoon wheezes as he tries to fix himself. “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s great. It happens. Don’t worry.”

 He continues to stammer out reassurances as he leaves the bed and bolts into the bathroom to fix his unruly tented pants, leaving you sitting atop the bed washed with shame.

 “Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you rub at your cheeks. “Get a grip of yourself.”

 Inside the bathroom, it only takes Namjoon a few fisted jerks of his cock and the mental image of you beneath him, begging for him, until he’s silently cumming on an expensive towel. He bites his free hand to stifle the moans he makes as his cock pulses.

 By the time he arrives back in the bedroom, you’ve changed into a hoodie and yoga leggings that accentuate your ass so delectably that Namjoon thinks about turning right back into the bathroom for a second round.

 “I’m sorry!” You nearly shout when he walks into the room. “About the bed. You were warm and I was cold. That’s all.”

 Nmajoon simply nods, doesn’t want to have to explain how he wishes he could wake up like that every day. Doesn’t want to describe in vivid detail how he’d wake you up with his tongue buried deep in your cunt.

 “Let me grab a shirt and we’ll head out, yeah?”

 Your eyes dance over the defined ridges of his body, a little crest-fallen at the idea that this might be the last time you see him shirtless, but you nod anyway.

 “Yeah.”

The ring box sits in a deceptively large box beneath the tree. Namjoon wrapped it last night and hide it at the very back. His heartbeat hammers in his ears as his family passes around gifts and opens each with squeals of delight.

 His mother gave him new ties for the office, ones that Namjoon prefers. She’s even gifted you with jewelry, which makes your eyes water at the sentiment.

 It all begins to be too much. It’s harder and harder to hold back the tears as each of Namjoon’s family members gives you gifts. It doesn’t matter the value, not at all. The fact that they specifically set out to include you in their gift-unwrapping makes your heart snap in two.

 This is all too much, it’s too real.

 It’s everything you never dreamed you could have. A loving partner who lets you sit in the space of his legs and rubs your arms soothingly. A family who goes out of their way to include you in the abundance of love and company. A cabin so warm and cozy.

 The tears don’t stop.

 It’s at the end of the gift exchange that you finally allow yourself to breathe. 

 “There’s one more,” Namjoon whispers as he moves from behind you and fetches a large box from behind the tree. “It’s for you, princess.”

 Curiously, and suspiciously, you eye him as he sets the enormous gift in your lap. You had done nearly all his Christmas shopping with him, and can’t remember a single thing he would have gotten for you.

 “I hope it’s the Nespresso from your office,” you snark with a smile. His family members all laugh and exchange knowing looks to each other.

 Namjoon doesn’t think he can breathe. He watches as you begin to carefully unwrap the large box, which reveals another box, slightly smaller. He can’t help but grin as you continue to unwrap the nesting-doll style gift until you’re down to the smallest one, the one that holds the ring box.

 With one last tear of paper, your eyes widen as you recognize the velvet box.

 “Oh--,” you breathe as you delicately pry open the gift.

 Inside sits a dazzling and gorgeous diamond ring. It catches the light from the fire and sparkles like a firecracker.

 “Oh my god,” you whimper as the tears flow again.

 He’s proposing.

 Namjoon settles himself onto one knee and tucks an errant piece of hair behind your ears.

 “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I knew from day one that you were always the girl I wanted to marry,”

 Namjoon’s speech sends daggers to your heart. He’s so convincing for something so counterfeit. 

 “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, much longer than we’ve been together. You’re who I want to come home to every night, and who I want to wake up with every morning.”

 It hurts. It hurts so badly that you’re crying even harder as he continues to speak. His family must think you’re simply overcome with emotion and love that the crying doesn’t give it away, but inside you’re absolutely dying.

 There’s no way you can recover from this.

 Tomorrow, Namjoon will take the ring back to where he got it from and return to what he had before. He’ll leave you behind, broken and hopelessly in love with a man who faked a relationship so well that you fell for it, hard.

 “____, will you marry me?”

 You take several large, gulping gasps to reply. You can’t shatter the illusion. Namjoon’s parents are weeping with joy, while his relatives record the moment on their phones and wipe away errant tears. Even Jungkook looks soft, proud of his cousin for taking the next step in his life.

 Oh, how you wish this were all real.

 “Yes,” you lie with a smile. “Yes, Namjoon, of course!”

 Namjoon grins and pulls you to standing, gathering you in his arms as he hugs you tight. His family cheers and hollers in the background, and you sob into his shoulder as you cling to him.

 He easily slides the diamond ring out of the box and onto your finger, where it sits and taunts you. The weight is heavy, and you whimper at the realization that this will never be for you. It will sit atop a pretty model’s finger sometime soon, when Namjoon resumes his regular life.

 “Oh, my darlings, I am so happy for you!” Namjoon’s mother appears and wraps you both in a hug, weeping and kissing cheeks. “We must discuss planning!”

 It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The tears and weeping turn to wracking sobs, which quiets the family as they watch you hold your face in your hands.

 “I’m sorry,” you apologize through your grief. “I—I just need a moment.”

 Without another word, you turn from the scene and bolt back towards the bedroom.

 It’s silent and Namjoon’s heart sinks. 

 This must be too much for you, too much for you to pretend to love him. He knew it was too much and he should have discussed it with you beforehand.

 “She’s just a little err--,” Namjoon tries. “Easily emotional. I’ll go check on her.”

 His family understands as Namjoon hurries towards the bedroom and gently opens the door.

 You’re sitting over your overnight bag, trying to shove any clothing into it you can, while you sob openly.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have told you. I sort of... told my mom I’d be proposing to my girlfriend.”

 There’s pain in your eyes as you snap your head up to look at him. It nearly destroys him.

 “You should have warned me!” You gasp. “Namjoon, I can’t do this.”

 Namjoon lowers his head and shoves his hands into his pockets of his pajama pants.

 “I get it. I know you want to go back to your regular life. I can take you home now.”

 You’re silent for a moment, standing and moving towards the man.

 “Don’t you get it, Namjoon?”

 He raises his head to look at you curiously, brow knitted together with confusion.

 “I’m in love with you, you asshole!” You cry, pushing at his chest. “I can’t continue to pretend this is real anymore. I love you, I absolutely love you and I can’t go on watching you pretend you love me too. It’s too much for me to handle.”

 Namjoon’s world freezes in time as he watches you slide the ring off your finger. He grasps your hand to stop you, his eyes boring into your own.

 “I never had to pretend.”

 Before you can speak, Namjoon cups your cheek and pulls you in close, mouth sealing over your own in a desperate kiss.

 You don’t fight it, not at all. You sink into his grasp and kiss him back with fervor, with all the pent-up emotions you’ve held back all this time.

 “I’m in love with you,” he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss. “I meant every single word I said.”

 More tears stream down your cheeks, and Namjoon is quick to wipe them away with his thumb.

 “I know it’s maybe too soon for us to really be engaged, but I—I want that, with you,” he adds. “I want you to be my girlfriend… for real.”

 “Are you being serious right now?” You ask as your hands cling to Namjoon’s waist.

 He can’t help but to laugh, nodding in reassurance as he leans down to press his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

 “Never been more serious in my life.”

 “I can’t believe you’re mine,” Joon murmurs into the nape of your neck.

 You were supposed to be driving home to your apartment now, back to real life, but the snowstorm raged on and Namjoon decided it might be best to spend yet another night in the cabin. Together. As a couple. A real couple.

 You didn’t put up much of a fight.

 He’s pressing soft kisses into your tender skin as he closes the door to the bedroom.

  “All mine, all mine.” He chants it like a mantra. 

 You’re trying to maneuver your way into the dark bedroom, only guided by the light from the fireplace. Namjoon stops you and pulls away from your neck, eyes soaking in every inch of you.

 “You have no idea what I’ve been dying to do to you,” he speaks after a moment of appreciating your beauty.

 “Hmm, I think I have some idea,” you say, a finger at Namjoon’s chest, directing him towards the bed. “I’ve been dying to suck your cock, Joon,” you whisper in his ear as he makes his way backwards. “Will you let me?”

 Namjoon nods in a daze as he sits on the edge of the bed and watches as you kneel. Your eyes are full of hope, full of lust. It makes his cock harden further.

 “Please do,” he breathes. “I’ve wondered what you’d look like with your mouth full of my dick.”

 You smile as you tug at his flannel pajama pants, pulling them down thick thighs and calves until they’re completely off. Your mouth waters at the sight before you. Namjoon’s cock is thick, head weeping with pre-cum and straining hard against his taut chest. He’s been working out more, you can tell. His arms are full and strong, and his chest is so firm and defined. 

 He’s an entire three-course meal.

 Before you move closer to his cock, Namjoon stops you.

 “Take your shirt off.”

 You comply easily, already settling well into an obedient role. He discards the shirt to the side and marvels at your breasts. He can’t wait to mark them up, suck them until you’re crying.

 “Perfect,” he sighs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

 He allows you to resume your work, eyeing the length of his cock before wrapping a hand around it and gently pumping.

 “Shit,” he breathes as his head falls back. “I’ve dreamt about how it’d feel having my cock in your hands.”

 “What else have you dreamed about?” You ask with a teasing smile, bringing your lips to the tip to paint tiny stripes. He tastes salty, somewhat earthy, and the pre-cum that’s gathered at the top gets swept up by your tongue. 

 Namjoon can’t believe how lucky he is. Can’t believe how incredible it feels to have you here, licking at his cock like a lollipop. He’s enchanted by the way your delicate tongue swirls around his head, testing and teasing.

 “You look so good, princess,” he whispers as he tucks stray hair behind your ears. 

 You’re encouraged by his sweet-talk and soon descend to take his cock fully in as far as you can go. You’re definitely out of practice, but you steel yourself up to take him completely to the back of your throat. Namjoon’s desperate moans and cursing only encourages you further.

 Soon enough, you’ve started a rhythm of bobbing your head and swirling your tongue and pumping your hand down his thick length. The noises leaving your mouth are sinful—slurping and sucking and whining around him. Namjoon’s got a hand on the back of your head, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail and coaxing your bouncing head further down his cock.

 “Oh, shit, baby,” he grits through a tight jaw. “I’m gonna cum baby girl, fuuuuckkk—oh god, yes baby, just like that.”

 You slurp and swallow around his cock as much as you can, head bobbing at a frantic pace while you cast your eyes upwards to the man to watch him come apart. He meets your eye contact and loses it at the fire burning in your beautiful eyes.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps as his cock pulses. “Cumming, baby—ohhhh, shit, take it all, baby.”

 After slowing your pace completely, you sweetly moan around his length as his salty cum splatters on your tongue. Bringing Namjoon to climax with your mouth is already one of your favorite hobbies, and you’re desperate to do it again.

 When he’s completely spent in your mouth, you pop off carefully and present your tongue to your boyfriend, who smiles.

 “You gonna swallow my cum, baby girl?” He asks, cupping your cheek sweetly.

 You nod in reply, and he groans as he watches you close your mouth and visibly swallow his load.

 “Fuck, that was so hot. Fucking kiss me already,” he demands, pulling you up gently by the hand and pressing his mouth to yours. He doesn’t care if he can taste himself still lingering in your mouth. In fact, he thinks your mouth should always taste like him.

 Namjoon holds you close as he kisses you, tongue diving around and seeking purchase in your mouth. His hands are roaming your body, cupping your breasts and caressing your curves. He can’t get enough. He doesn’t think there will come a time in his life when he won’t love touching you.

 His hand smoothes over the satin of your panties and he smirks into the kiss as he feels how wet they are.

 “Oh my,” he tuts as he rubs at your clothed slit. “All this from sucking my cock, princess?”

 It’s too late to be ashamed of it. You simply nod and whimper as his thick fingers rub at your core. You’re dying to feel those fingers inside you, scissoring you open to prepare you for his massive cock.

 “P-please,” you gasp, needing more of him. “Please, Joon.”

 He lets out a breath of contentment, loving the way his name sounds in your breathy moans. In one quick swoop, he flings your panties off and onto the floor and slides down to his knees where you knelt moments before.

 “I want to see this pretty pussy up close,” he murmurs as he lays you out at the edge and spreads open your thighs as wide as he can. 

 You’re gorgeous, absolutely mouth-watering. He licks his lips as he watches your folds drip with arousal and takes a delicate finger to trace the slit gently.

 “Fuck,” you gasp as he swirls his finger around your sensitive clit. It’s been so long since someone else has made you orgasm, you’re sure you won’t last a second with the man of your sexual dreams face-first in your cunt.

 “This is my pussy now,” he states as he leans in close and licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. “I’m going to make you cum every fucking night, baby. Gonna claim this cunt as my own.”

 You’re trembling from his words and his actions as he soon buries his face into your pussy and eats as if he’s a man starved. His tongue swirls around your hole before swiping up to your clit, making your back arch and keen off the bed. His lips wrap around your throbbing clit and sucks gently, lewd noises echoing off the walls of the bedroom.

 “Namjoon!” You squeal as he slides two of his fingers inside you and slowly pumps. They’re thick and perfect, and they’re better than you could have ever dreamed.

 “Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes as he licks at your clit. “I know you want to.”

 He’s right. You’re desperate for it and the string inside your belly that tightens with each thrust of his solid fingers has it nearing a snapping point.

 Namjoon speeds up, adds a third finger and fucks into you like a man on a mission. He watches your face pinch in agonized delight and is hypnotized by the way your tits bounce with each thrust up. His cock is rock solid again, aching to bury itself deep inside your womb and coat you with his cum.

 “That’s it, baby girl,” he breathes as he watches your body quiver. “Cum on my fingers, let daddy see you fall apart.”

 He presses his lips to your clit one last time and sucks, and it sends you reeling over the edge into bliss. Namjoon moans as he feels your cunt convulse and squeeze his fingers as if they’re his cock, and he nearly whines at how good it’s going to feel when he’s balls deep inside of you.

 “Fuck!” You cry as your back lifts off the bed and your legs shake. “Oh, my god!”

 Namjoon kitten licks at your pussy as you come down, cleaning up the juices that coat his fingers. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does it, sucking up your essence like it’s an expensive wine he won’t waste a drop of.

 “You’re so fucking sexy,” he says as you try to catch your breath. “I can’t wait to fuck you in my office.”

 The smile on your face turns lustful as you spread your legs open once again and present yourself to him.

 “Why don’t we practice right now?”

 Namjoon grips the base of his cock and gives himself a few pumps as he stares at your gorgeous body—laid out and ready for him.

 “Merry Christmas to me,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your lips and lines himself up.

 In one swift motion, he slips inside your juicy channel and buries himself to the hilt. You’re so wet and warm and tight that Namjoon falters and groans out loud.

 “Holy shit,” he cries. “Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt in my life.”

 Namjoon filling you up to the brim is something you’ve only ever dreamt of, and now that it’s happening you feel intoxicated. He’s so thick inside you, stretching you past what you thought you could handle, and the burn is so sweet.

 “Fuck me, Joon,” you beg as he continues to still inside you. “Please, fuck me, daddy.”

 It’s the magic word for Namjoon and instantly he’s snapped back to feral, ready to claim you as his own. He grips your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, delighted by the squelching juicy sounds of your cunt as he takes you.

 “That’s right, baby girl, I’m your fucking daddy,” he grunts. “Take this fat cock for daddy.”

 Your legs quiver with each thrust and Namjoon sucks a nipple into his mouth, nibbling gently on the bud which makes your body thrum with electricity. He’s marking you, claiming you inside and out, you realize. You whine and keen for him to continue, and Namjoon growls as he doubles his pace. 

 He thrusts into you without abandon, desperately seeking his release that will have him spilling his cum anywhere he possibly can.

 “Mmm, look at my pretty princess,” he groans as he stares at your blissed-out face. “Taking daddy’s cock so good, being a perfect little slut.”

 His words make your eyes roll back into your head. You’d never had someone speak so nasty to you while being so kind and praise-worthy that you don’t think you can now ever live without it.

 “G-gonna cum, daddy!” you cry as you feel your body nearing the edge. “Please let me cum!”

 Namjoon gasps for air and drops a thumb to your clit to rub circles on the sensitive bundle.

 “Yes, baby girl, cum for daddy. Cum on my cock, princess.”

 Namjoon’s unrelenting pace and thumb handily stroking your clit brings you to the end, sending you screaming into orgasmic delight.

 Namjoon nearly weeps at how good your cunt feels convulsing around his cock, walls coaxing him and gripping him tight as if your pussy is begging for his own release. 

 “Cum inside me daddy, please,” you beg as you try to catch your breath. 

 Namjoon needs no more permission. He gasps as your channel tightens around him impossibly and sends him into his own release. He whimpers as his cock pulses with ferocity, loads of cum splattering your walls.

 He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he rests his sweaty forehead on yours as you both try to catch your breath.

 “Holy shit,” you gasp as you feel yourself returning to Earth.

 Namjoon laughs and presses a kiss to your lips, before nodding.

 “Yeah,” is all he can manage.

 After a few shuddering breaths, you wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s naked body and hold him close, as close as you can.

 “If this is what Christmas is all about, sign me up.”

 Namjoon buries his face into your neck and kisses you sweetly, before lifting and giving you a playful smile.

 “I guess all Scrooge needed was a good fuck. Dickens got that part all wrong.”

Returning to work after the New Year was easier this year than it had ever been in your career.

 Namjoon was given the promotion. He told Seokjin he wanted to keep his corner office near you because he “likes the view”, and that he would give all his top cases to the best lawyer in the office—you.

 Jimin won’t stop screaming when he sees the diamond ring on your finger. You haven’t wanted to take it off since the moment you put it on. Maybe it’s not an engagement ring quite yet, maybe it’s just more of a promise. Either way, Jimin is ecstatic and confused as he shakes you down for answers.

 He walks with you to your desk, chattering away about his week with Yoongi, while you sip your convenience store coffee.

 “What the fuck?” Jimin asks as he notices something on your desk. “What is that?”

 As you round the corner, your eyes catch sight of a gleaming silver contraption on your desk, right next to your brand new computer.

 A Nespresso.

 A smile crosses your lips as you approach the expensive machine and notice a folded up card on top.

 Inside, the card is simple.

 “To the only girl in the world who deserves a Nespresso. Love, Namjoon.”

taglist - @ardoren​ @devilion14​ @bykookie​ @rageyoudamnednerd​ @holynamtiddies​ @thejooncrew​ @dee-ehn​ @yrc1963 @fireheart2003​

[adorable-deku]

ok so hear me out: an au where like... baby izuku 'saves' afo

baby izuku (lets say hes like 5 yrs old here) is running away from some older bullies. he succeeds in getting away, but he ends up stranded in a neighborhood that he doesn't recognize. it also looks kinda dangerous.

he tries to go back in the direction he came from but he was so stressed while running away he cant quite remember the turns he took.

while trying to find his way back, he sees a tall man in a suit being ganged up on by three guys way bigger than him. the guy in the suit doesnt look very strong, and izuku assumes hes just a normal businessman (the man in question is of course in no danger at all, but izuku is five years old and doesn't really understand nuance)

of course, this is cause for concern to izuku

izuku runs up (with no sense of self preservation, worryingly enough), grabs the man's hand, and pulls him out of the situation, which he is only able to do due to the stunned surprise of every person in the group (except the bastard in the suit, who had heard him muttering from the very beginning)

izuku pulls him a few streets down, the man in the suit sending a warning glare to the guys who had him surrounded (they are his subordinates after all) so they wouldnt follow him. once izuku is satisfied with the distance, he looks up and asks if the man is okay

afo looks at the bigass puppydog eyes and squishy cheeks of the baby child who thought he'd just rescued him and his heart does the grinch thing and grows a couple sizes

absolutely unused to this feeling, he asks izuku what his address is, teleports him there, then bounces

after spending a couple weeks getting himself together and creating a non villain persona, he begins to insert himself into izukus life because "cant you see kurogiri, the child needs to be protected!"

kurogiri kinda just glances at shigaraki

afo poses as a parttime counselor at izukus school, and gains izukus favor by never letting him get bullied ever

in this au, bakugou does not have a superiority complex. no, that is crushed before it can fully develop

over time, afo becomes kind of a surrogate father to izuku, and shigaraki a surrogate brother bc one year after kurogiri was sure that afo had developed one singular ounce of moral conscience he mentioned that izuku probably wouldnt like how he was treating his enemy's child

afo makes a face of pure disgust but resigns himself to treating the shimura brat with a modicum of decency

how does inko feel about all this? well, afo is very good at acting and although she gets some Off vibes from him at times, he's also the only person in their lives who shares izukus near obsessive fascination with quirks

that being said

for solidly the first three years, inko would not let them be alone together, for reasons that we all understand

but she grew comfortable with him too, eventually

when afo is not off committing villainy, he can be found hanging around izuku, the only source of positive emotion other than revenge

the only cause for concern to inko is that afo gives izuku some pretty expensive stuff and parttime counselors are not paid that well. given his formal demeanor and dressing habits tho, she just kind of assumes hes from a wealthy family

afo pretends to have moved away when izuku is nine bc thats when all might fucks up his face, but he still sends books and videos and games that he thinks izuku will like. izuku and shigaraki often meet up online and play video games.

so izuku grows up a lot more confident, and also learned how to fight from light sparring with his fake dad and brother, so hes not weak at all.

still quirkless, but all might changes that.

how do afo and shigaraki feel abt izuku becoming a hero? he can do whatever he wants. literally. whatever he wants

if izuku asked them not to kill all might theyre so fucking weak for him they probably would listen

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Continued from this post, Part 3 of my discussion of Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage. This time: what happens to espionage assets in the long run? Do they break contact, and why? What might have been in store for Essek?

At the treaty meeting Essek tells Ludinus to his face that he wants no further contact with the Assembly, not even to learn what the Assembly discovers via their own beacon. He’s far from the first asset to try to sever their relationship, and it ends in one of three ways: they don’t manage to break contact, they break contact but voluntarily return, or (rarest of all) they end the relationship permanently. 

Most attempts don’t go beyond option 1, because intelligence agencies are not in the business of respecting their assets’ choices. Handlers are skilled in keeping the upper hand in their asset relationships and will take any further opportunity to gain leverage by compromising the asset. For instance they’ll often pay for information even if the asset hasn’t requested it, because money changing hands makes it far harder for an asset to frame their activities positively to their own side if they attempt to confess (”You expect us to believe they were blackmailing you when you got $10,000 to hand over the secret manual?” etc.) And when push comes to shove most people aren’t willing to accept the severe punishments for espionage. An asset’s threat to confess is more likely a negotiating ploy than a serious option.

Some assets, especially nervous or ego-driven ones, get the carrot: the KGB did a strong line in awarding secret medals to convince them they were doing important, well-regarded work and that the KGB would protect them - not an empty reassurance, as highly-placed moles like Aldrich Ames warranted elaborate ops involving double and triple agents to avert suspicions. And some assets get the stick: the handler tightens the screws using whatever leverage they’ve gained, implies that they’re already “too far in to go back,” or gives some time for those who were blackmailed into spying to think about the consequences of exposure.[1]

Those who get as far as option two, breaking it off and later returning, are usually driven away by fear but back by finances. Fantasy spies have all sorts of motives but in real life the majority are in it for the money. Assets, as you might imagine, make bad choices. About half start selling secrets just to stave off massive debt from overspending and poor financial decisions (the rest feel underpaid.) So even if these assets stop temporarily, the circumstances that drove them to espionage in the first place are still very much present. In these cases all a handler has to do is shrug and say, “You know where to find us.” Infamous FBI mole Robert Hanssen broke off contact with his Russian handlers when the Soviet Union collapsed, fearing he might get outed in the chaos, but linked back up with them just 10 months later when, surprise surprise, he needed some cash.

And then there are the rare handful who stop completely. There’s a bit of survivor(?) bias here because anyone who passes along secrets, breaks off the relationship before being caught, and manages to get away with it is by definition someone we don’t know about. Those who do manage to break contact long-term are usually able to do so because they left the situation that gave them access to interesting secrets and therefore the controlling agency determined they were no longer a useful resource and not worth pursuing. But even if an asset stops working for an agency, they’re far from forgotten - and far from off the hook. Names and evidence of their espionage would be kept on file for potential use as blackmail, leverage in state-to-state negotiations, or expendable material to prove bona fides in ops involving fake defectors or triple agents. A surprising number of spies are caught/outed years after their espionage ended.

Very few assets permanently sever their espionage relationships the hard way: making a genuine confession and accepting punishment. But it’s not unheard-of, especially if the espionage was brief and the asset believes the damage can be repaired. In 1989 Army signals analyst Michael Peri disappeared from his post in West Germany along with a portable computer containing numerous classified documents. Eleven days later he returned to his previous post with the computer and voluntarily confessed to the theft and sort-of defection to East Germany. When interrogated, Peri - who had been a model soldier until that point - said he felt overworked and underappreciated by his superiors, though he couldn’t entirely explain his decisions either to leave or to return (a sexy female Russian agent might also have been involved). He received a 30-year sentence.

Marine Clayton Lonetree, a guard stationed at the US Embassy in Moscow in 1985, was blackmailed over an affair to hand over details on the embassy compound for a year, but his conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed in late 1986. Being a Marine he faced the very real prospect of death by firing squad, but the court martial ended up giving him a 30-year sentence. It was later reduced to 15 after the Marine Corps Commandant wrote a letter to the Navy Secretary on his behalf attributing the young Marine’s actions not to treason or greed but to loneliness, naivety, and poor judgement.[2]

Going back to Essek’s case, he’s already in the minority of espionage assets because he doesn’t want money in return for the secrets he passes along; though the knowledge the Assembly promises him in return fulfills a similar desire, Essek doesn’t need that knowledge to pay off the equivalent of debt or to maintain his lifestyle. He has no pressures at home that force him to continue spying. With the beacons returned, the fall guys in place, and their tracks seemingly covered, he tells Ludinus that all he wants is to be rid of the entire affair. That rules out option one (he sincerely means to cut the Assembly off) and option two (he won’t be driven back by need.) 

Essek is also in an unusual position in that the worst of the damage he caused is repairable - just return the beacons.[3] A secret, once compromised, can’t be un-compromised. If an asset hands over a cipher machine they can’t fix the situation by stealing the cipher machine back; the foreign agency they sold it to has already studied the machine and learned its secrets, meaning it’s now effectively useless. But returning the beacons restores what the Kryn lost. While keeping dunamancy secret gives the Kryn a tactical edge, and I’m sure the Dynasty would prefer to keep the magical soulstones of their elite hidden from their long-time rival, the beacons don’t need to be secret to work. Essek therefore has a much better chance than most to simply repair the damage, cut off his handlers, and try to forget the whole affair ever happened. He might even think that, now that the Assembly has their own beacon, they’ll have no further use for him and will just leave him alone.

But from the Cerberus Assembly's perspective, this fruit still has plenty of juice in it and they risk nothing by continuing to squeeze. Now that they have their own beacon Essek’s knowledge becomes even more valuable. He has access to hundreds of years of dunamantic spellcrafting - and more importantly the rite of consecution, since the Assembly were probably after beacons in the first place to make themselves immortal. If Essek is caught, it’s treason for him, but the Assembly doesn’t suffer; they were doing it for the good of the Empire, learning about dunamancy to help the war effort. So if he refuses to keep spying voluntarily for the Assembly, they’ll just have to find another way to motivate him. 

As part of evaluating Essek before recruitment, Assembly operatives would have noted that he’s, well, highly motivated to save his own skin. Ludinus’ goal therefore becomes to make Essek see further espionage as the only way to stay alive. So instead of confronting Essek then and there, Ludinus shrugs and goes, “Okay. Sure.” Then he activates the Volstruckers, maybe leaks a little info to the Dynasty about a traitor in their midst, and sets up Essek to stew in fear, feeling isolated and attacked from both sides - targeted by the Assembly for his defiance, under suspicion from the Dynasty, unable to ask for help because of his crimes. Ludinus sits back and waits for Essek to re-establish contact on his own. Of course Ludinus didn’t know that the M9 had confronted Essek and gotten him to confess, making a return to spying impossible even if he tried.

While Essek’s motives revolve around ego, frustration, and rebellion, his situation is more like those of people who end up defecting because they’re unable to pursue their careers or live as they want to back home. He has virtually no social/family ties to leave behind, no loyalty to Dynasty authority, and no religious fervor to defend the Luxon, while the Assembly promises him the company of like minds and free rein in his experiments. Assuming no intervention by the M9 I think Essek would have ended up defecting to the Cerberus Assembly. If he did it early enough in the story he might have even joined the Volstruckers to complete the narrative foil transformation.

If the crew had confronted him at the treaty but not offered mercy I think he would have defected purely out of fear, thinking the Assembly were the only people who could protect him from both the Dynasty and the M9. He was already on edge watching the guy he'd set up to take the fall getting walked away in chains and with the Assembly's Wind of Aeons ship right there it would be the ideal time to make the move. Assuming the treaty confrontation went as it did (the crew makes him confess but lets him live) but the M9 hadn’t shown up in Eiselcross, Essek would likely have fled the outpost and gone into hiding in a bid to outrun his crimes (and probably gotten caught two weeks later given how awful he was at being “Dezrain Thane.”)

Essek is far from the first recruited asset to regret what they did even as they kept doing it. Those who can sell out their nation and not feel even a pang of guilt are thankfully thin on the ground. Most start off doing what seems to be a favor for a friend - or accepting a favor from a friend who wants to help with their “financial difficulties” - and end up so deep they can’t see any way forward other than to keep handing over secrets. He’s one more in a long line of those who compromised information out of frustration, especially through the appeal to shared professional interests (that’s how industrial assets tend to be recruited.)

But he’s also in a much better place to make up for it than most assets. Since he primarily compromised property, not secrets, returning said property can (somewhat, mostly) repair the damage done, which goes a long way towards buying leniency from the powers that be. And now I’m realizing that this post actually needs one final part, which is: how do you try someone for espionage, and should you charge them with it in the first place?

[1]  While spy dramas love sexy blackmail, and handlers will happily collect it to leverage against a balky asset, it works far less often in reality as a main reason for espionage. Social penalties for extramarital affairs pale before actual legal penalties like the death sentence for treason. On the other hand, those with foreign relatives are sometimes coerced by threats against those relatives.

[2]  Lonetree’s case for leniency got a boost in 1994 when Aldrich Ames was finally caught and some serious breaches of embassy security that had been attributed to Lonetree were found to be Ames’ work instead. In 1996 Lonetree was released after having served 9 years total.

[3] Although I did just think of a really messed-up Cerberus Assembly plan: consecute a handful of completely loyal Volstruckers, kill them, and send the beacons back so said agents will be reborn in the Dynasty and work to undermine it from within. How fucked up would that be?? Campaign 3 plot hook anyone?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[eisforeidolon]

After watching the trailer of TW in was quite natural that Jensen would get some heat as somehow he has put himself into that spot but now things are again going out of hands. My dash is filled with posts like Jensen is backstabber, Jensen is cunt, Jensen is just like his unhinged fans, Jensen and Misha are no different etc... To an extent where it is frustrating. Maybe I am wrong to think like that, but I cannot dismiss someone without giving him benefit of doubts just by judging his one wrong decision. Also, Jared posted something supportive for Jensen, his stans think he did that because he is great and classy which is very much true- but also I believe he is smart enough not to extend his support over a backstabber if there was no mutual understanding between themselves regarding the scenario. Or he can do it to avoid controversy, I don't know if that was necessary. However, I was damn angry and frustrated on Jensen and still am, but haven't found any reason to think he is the worst person ever till now, but this kind of posts mentally forces to believe that which is tiring. It makes me think whether I am being blind to certain truths because I don't want to handle them, but also I don't want to be judgemental on someone I don't know for his offense on someone else because I necessarily don't know the whole story. It's a strange conflict. You are one of them most sane peoples of this fandom whi are extremely rare nowadays, so coming to you for rescue. Hope you don't mind.

I think it's important to remember that SPN fandom is ... really super extra about everything. Prequelgate both set off brand new conflict and brought a lot of previously subterranean stan resentment up to the surface.

I'll just say again, consider the biases of the blogs you're reading. Compare what they're saying to direct sources and available facts. Consider what seems reasonable given everything you know.

For example, when a blog talks about a new development, do they frequently leave details out that don't fit with their opinion? Do they state what are clearly their interpretations as facts? Do they drastically contradict themselves from one post to another, depending on what will spin better for a consistent underlying agenda? Is their response to what they're reacting to actually proportionate? Can they admit to even the possibility of being wrong? Do they spend a lot of time claiming to be superior and uninterested while constantly diving into the wank they're supposedly above and the topic they don't care about? Does their opinion depend on believing some kind of underlying reason that doesn't actually make much sense if you follow the logic through? Does their version of events require whoever they stan to be a moronic, helpless blob that needs their protection? Or whoever they don't to be an idiotic mustache-twirling villain?

I'm not going to tell you who or what to believe, but I think if you consider the overall picture any given blog is painting in terms of the factors above? It might help you determine how seriously you should actually be taking what they say. Especially when it doesn't agree with your own impressions from the original context without the extra stan spin on top. This fandom is full of a lot of very heavily invested, very opinionated people. A lot of whom have very specific pictures built up in their heads of who J2 and each J individually should be. I think it's good to examine other opinions, but in doing so it's very important to consider how much weight they actually deserve. I personally have no more interest in digging for hidden clues in J2's positive statements and interactions with each other since prequelgate to prove they're fake than I ever had in searching for clues in the show to secret hidden storylines.

One last consideration in terms of dealing with all the negativity? Despite considering myself a wank blog, I actually officially follow only a small handful of SPN blogs that are largely wank free. I enjoy interacting with a much wider circle of blogs, but sometimes I find it very helpful to be able to check into the fandom on my dash without also having to check in to the wank, if that makes sense.

[asmo-ds]

I've seen alot of headcanons about Simeon turning into a demon, but how would everyone react if Luke managed to turn himself into a demon 🤔 Like maybe he didn't amount up to Celestial Standards (I headcanon the Celestial realm is kinda weird due to the events of the anelic event) and then he made some type of minor violation and they kicked him out of heaven to avoid the possibility of him growing up to be undesirable in the Celestial Realm

When a Child Falls

Luke-centric ANGST & FLUFF

Warnings: Pain, falling from heaven, Luke hurting :(

Summary: After failing to live up to the standards of his superiors Luke is kicked out of the Celestial Realm and becomes a demon. Luckily for him the exchange program had given him so many new and old friends who wanted nothing but to help the poor child despite any bitter past they may have had with him

a/n: i was gonna do headcanons but then i was like what if i make a whole one shot about him falling and everyone helping him adjust to his new life and uh yea <3

Also this didn’t come out as angsty as I wanted it to but demon brothers comforting a fallen Luke >>>>>>>

He tugged on his own arm, begging for the elder angel to release him and give him a second chance, his once hopeful blue eyes filled with tears and terror. 

“Stop, I swear I just need more time, PLEASE!” Luke cried, punching the elder’s arm and attempting to pry his wrinkly hands from Luke’s small forearm. The elder yanked Luke’s arm harder, resulting in a distressed cry from the short blond.

Luke tried to steady his breathing as they approached the boundaries of the Celestial realm, where he was to be pushed off for his failure to earn his wings in a timely manner. The Celestial realm saw him as useless and decided they would be better off discarding a weak angel like himself.

“LET HIM GO, PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS!” Luke could hear Simeon’s breaking voice screaming at the elders who held him back from Luke to prevent any interference, “JUST LET ME SAY GOODBYE PLEASE,” he begged to which the elder finally agreed and the two embraced tightly. “Luke you listen to me, you get to the Devildom you go STRAIGHT to Lucifer, he helped his brothers and himself through his fall he can help you, please, trust him with at least getting you through the transition then you can hate them again or whatever you want, pl-”

“I get it, Simeon, I promise I won’t let you down,” Luke interrupted, tears falling from his eyes onto Simeon’s broad shoulders. 

“Times up. Luke come to the edge, stand here,” an elder guides him into position. 

Luke’s hearing starts ringing as his adrenaline kicks in, the fear of death and disappearing from existing overwhelming him. His breathing grew fast, and before he knew it, he felt a push and wind pounding against his skin as he fell, and fell, and fell, until he saw the Devildom soil and he tensed, preparing for the worst.

Instead of hitting the ground he hears a fwoosh and finds himself caught in strong arms.

“Luke! What happened, where is Simeon? A young angel like you shouldn’t be down here all al-” Lucifer starts questioning the angel, concerned to see the small boy falling from so high. He was interrupted by a cry of agony, Luke pushed away from Lucifer, doubling over and screaming as the pain began to set in.

Lucifer recognized the transition immediately and how badly it hurt his brothers, so he gently approached the young boy, who glared at him with teary pained eyes, and he murmured a spell, before darkness washed over Luke.

- 

His innocent blue eyes fluttered open, not recognizing his surroundings, he sat up quickly, wincing and hissing as his back was suddenly filled with unbearable pain. 

Oh that’s right, I fell. They pushed me and now…His eyes snap open, remembering the feeling of falling, but nothing that happened afterward.

“I have… to find… Lucifer..” Luke spoke to himself, taking short breaks between every few words to take a painful breath, feeling his ribcage expand and contract as his wheezing continued.

“I’ve already found you, Luke, you’re in one of the bedrooms of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Please lay back and take off your shirt, your back is bound to be in a lot of pain, this serum will help.” The blond flinches as Lucifer rises from a chair next to the bed where he laid. 

Luke raises his arms and let Lucifer take off the shirt before laying on his stomach.

He hears Lucifer’s breath catch in his throat as he stares in horror at Luke’s back, where wings were starting to form, dark and mangled with feathers tangled and in need of a cleaning.

So like that, Lucifer kept Luke safe and took care of him whilst the other brothers prepared a room at the House of Lamentation for him to stay.

-

“Luke, I’ve brought you some tea and cake,” Barbatos walks into the bedroom carrying some snacks and drinks for the injured boy.

“Thank you Barbatos, I missed your cooking,” Luke smiles slightly before taking a big bite of cake and groaning. “Like, I really missed it-”

“Yes, Barbatos makes splendid food, which is why I keep him around!” Diavolo winks, nudging Barbatos with his elbow a bit.

“Actually sir, you only keep me around because no other demon has been able to keep up with your antics-”

“ANYWAY, Luke your wings look like they’re growing in nicely, and so do your horns,” Diavolo walks over to examine Luke’s new form. “You’ll probably be in a lot of pain for at least a few more days, but if you want to get situated into your new home we can let you go and just check in on you everyday.”

“Uh… I don’t want to intrude at the House of Lamentation, if it’s going to be any sort of burden to them-”

“Nonsense, my brothers and I are glad to take care of you and take you in, you experienced the same fate as us, albeit for different reasons, but still, we know your pain and we want to guide you so please, Luke, let us help you,” Lucifer places a reassuring hand on Luke’s shoulder as he says this.

“...Okay, BUT no calling me a chihuahua- GOT IT?!” Luke pokes Lucifer’s chest aggressively and earns a hearty chuckle from him.

“I agree not to call you a dog anymore,” Lucifer laughs out, “though I cannot speak for my brothers.”

-

“I can’t believe the chihuahua of all people got kicked out…” Mammon says, still in shock that the angel who had been so determined to make people smile just a year before during the exchange program had somehow managed to get himself thrown out of heaven.

“I remember when I almost didn’t earn my wings in time,” Asmodeus shudders at the memories of being threatened with exile and constantly pushing himself way too hard, “I got so many wrinkles from the stress.”

“Luke makes good food, I’m glad he’s staying with us.” Beel’s mouth was watering as he and Mammon moved a dresser, finally finishing getting Luke’s new room in order.

“Oi, try to be sympathetic when he gets here Beel. He may be a little annoying kid but he’s going through what we went through,” Mammon scolded his younger brother, an uncomfortable silence taking over the room as each and every one of them remembers the pain they were in as their bodies morphed into those of demons.

“God is such an asshole…” Belphegor mutters, getting extremely angry the more he thinks about it.

Luke had done nothing wrong, Lilith had done nothing wrong, so why? Why would he keep getting rid of the most determined of his angels over such insignificant things?

Suddenly all their phones go off with a text from Lucifer saying he and the boy would be arriving soon. They all gathered in the entrance hall, waiting for Luke to arrive. The front door creaked open, all of the brothers standing up straighter and nervous as Lucifer stepped through the entrance with Luke just behind him. 

The brothers all gasped quietly in shock at the state of Luke. He was pale and thin and the look of complete and utter despair in his formerly innocent eyes filling the room with a depressing atmosphere.

“H-hey there Fido- I mean- Luke, how’re you feeling?” Mammon tries to start up a welcoming conversation, getting a nasty look from Lucifer, who Luke was clinging to for dear life.

“Luke! As soon as you’re feeling able to, what do you say we bake something together?” Beel smiles sweetly, most of them getting nothing but nervous looks from Luke in response to their questions.

“I’m just going to help him get settled in. Satan you’re in charge of everything else around the house while I take care of Luke and my own paperwork.” Lucifer guides Luke up the stairs.

Satan rolls his eyes but mutters a small “fine,” before the two head upstairs to the attic, where they’d set up the room to look just like the dorm he stayed in at Purgatory Hall.

“Oh wow, it feels like I’m back in the exchange program,” Luke chuckles a little, clearly faking any sort of joy.

“Luke,” Lucifer kneels down, “you are one of my brothers now, you have nothing to fear, and Simeon will be able to visit at some point-” His attempt to ease Luke’s worries is interrupted by a loud sob.

“Don’t you get it?! Michael and Simeon will never look at me the same, ever again!” Luke wails, using his sleeves to wipe the tears that streamed down his face. “All I ever wanted was to impress them! To impress God and make humans happy and protect them! But now my natural instinct to hurt humans ruins any chance of me becoming the person I’d always thought I’d be!” Luke falls to his knees, sobbing and wheezing, his vision becoming blurry as a panic attack hits him like a truck. He can barely hear anything except for Lucifer calling out a name, and all he could make out was that it wasn’t his own name. A dark figure walks into the room and Luke hears muffled voices for a minute before he is suddenly extremely calm, his eyelids growing a bit heavy and he feels exhausted.

He then realizes someone was holding him and murmuring some sort of spell, causing him to panic once more, but this time he was perfectly aware and just jumped up ready to fight.

“Hey you dirty demon! Don’t use your dark magic on me or else I’ll-”

“Pfft hahaha,” Belphegor laughs hard, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “you still look like a chihuahua when you get annoyed!” Belphie teases and Luke blushes, before running at Belphie and tackling him, leading to a wrestling match on the floor as Lucifer stands by and watches the two of them closely, to ensure nobody got hurt under his watch. 

-

Dinner was the worst, to be honest. Luke had asked Lucifer if he could cook to say thanks for taking him in, but now he sat awkwardly and all of the brothers remained quiet, watching his every move and watching him like he was an injured little puppy.

“I-is the food not good?” Luke questions looking around nervously.

“AH- no its great Fido- LUKE, ah jeez I’m getting a headache this is so hard to adjust to,” Mammon slams his head on the table, earning a glare from Asmo and Satan who he sat between.

“Anyways, I know you’ve been to the Devildom before and don’t really need a tour BUT you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg, there are so many more places to go!” Asmo smiles widely at Luke, “So let’s go together soon, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Ooooh Luke, you have to tell me what Celestial Realm video games are like, GAH I wish we had waited to start a war until after the invention of video games. Anyway I got a new one so I can show you a Devildom game and-”

“Shut yer trap Levi,” Mammon leans over the table to attempt to cover Levi’s mouth.

“But let the GREAT Mammon show ya all the best spots in town~”

“NO-no do not take the child Gambling, Mammon,” Asmo smacks him.

“Asmo for all we know you’re gonna scar him and take him to a strip club,” Belphegor smirks, knowing he just started a war.

“I WOULD NEVER, COME HERE YOU BRAT,” both of them in demon forms chasing each other around the house and screaming.

Suddenly everyone hears a child’s laughter and looks at the blond who had barely even smiled since arriving.

“We can try to do everything you guys want to show me,” Luke smiles. Everyone lets out a sigh of relief seeing that Luke was feeling more comfortable around them. “Um, question though… how do I go in and out of my… demon form?” 

“HAH that’s easy, just relax and let the GREAT Mammon teach ya!”

“Mammon, not yet. Luke, I will teach you, but we need to wait a bit longer or else the pain of transforming will be unbearable for you,” Lucifer looked down at the disappointed boy.

“Oh, ok.”

“Don’t look so gloomy Fid-LUKE JEEZ LOUISE- there's a lot the GREAT Mammon can teach ya in the mean time!” Mammon stands up with a cocky smile, hands on his hips. “Think of me as ya new master and you are my apprentice!”

“NO do not think of him like that he will make you do his dirty work,” Satan says, hitting Mammon in the stomach.

“Thank you,” Luke looks at Lucifer, “thank you for taking me in, I-I know we don’t have the best past and I was super rude towards demons during the exchange program but-but I’m trying to change for you guys! Thank you!” Luke bows his head, tears falling down his cheeks. The knowledge that he can never go back to the way he was bringing on more tears, but they didn’t mind. They’d been through the same process. So silently they all comforted him and welcomed him into their home with  open arms.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Got hit by my first wave of inspiration for a while, and decided to ride it out instead of fighting it. So, for anyone who wants it... have Mc’s first meeting with Zoo!Naga Skull. (Yes, the one that ended in kidnapping ;) )

Nervous was an understatement.

“Keep track of him at all times. Always make sure you can get to the door, never let him cut you off. Don’t underestimate him just because he’s blindfolded.”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest so loudly it was getting hard to pay full attention to Maggie, the senior zoo staff member in front of you, hard to keep a grip on the large and heavy bucket of meat clenched tightly in one hand and the hooked feeding pole in the other. You weren’t even supposed to be doing this, you were too low down on the zoo staff ladder... you should’ve been feeding the little snakes or the herbivores, you should be years away from this level of care! The naga were already leagues above your pay grade, and now they wanted you to feed the biggest one of them all!?

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. You cringed- but I can’t refuse, I need this job!

“Talk to him, move loudly, make sure he knows where you are because the last thing you want is to spook him. I know you’ve had good experiences with the other two naga but that doesn’t mean you should ever let your guard down, understand?”

“... Yes.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, grip sweaty on the feeding pole. You couldn’t help it, your eyes flicked down to her left hand- the one she didn’t have anymore, the one that had just a wrist stump remaining.

“... You’ll be fine. We’ll all be watching, if something does happen for some reason we can get in and help you.” She took on a slightly more comforting tone, noticing your line of sight. Her injury was the reason she wasn’t the one bringing the naga his food, given her senior position and superior experience. “I got this when I was young and cocky, and because I followed the safety protocol I lost a hand and not a neck. So long as you stick to the rules and don’t do anything stupid, you won’t have a problem with him. Ok?”

“A-are you sure I’m...”

“Yes, you’re ready. You’ve dealt with the other two.” She cut over you, turning you by the shoulder. “Now go, before Skull gets hungrier.”

And just like that, you were pushed through the door of the enclosure, that shut firmly behind you. The secondary door opened... and despite the fact that every part of you was cold and shaking, you had no choice but to go forward. As scared as you were, someone needed to get the naga fed... someone needed to go straight into the beast’s den.

... You stepped into the enclosure.

It was built to resemble a near-surface cave; the walls and floor were made of slightly uneven smoothed stone, with a few windowed ‘cracks’ in the fake stalactite ceiling providing enough daylight to see by. There were some interesting objects to provide a little enrichment, like ‘boulders’, patches of fake grass, a little filtered waterfall dribbling into a relatively shallow pool... and a small tunnel, leading to a den with no windows he could juuust about curl up in so he could have some privacy.

... Inside that den, you could see a hint of a steely blue-grey... scales.

... You sucked in a tiny breath through your nose, and stepped further forward, following the zoo protocol of tapping the metal end of the pole lightly against the bucket of food to let him know it was feeding time. It took a moment for there to be a reaction, but... slowly, surely, the mass of muscle resting inside the den began to shift.

Giant claws hooked over the stone edges of the den entrance, bone hands as big as your head... the thing about Red and Sans is they were very vocal naga, Sans regularly hissing and snarling and Red making curious rattling and purring sounds. But with Skull... there was nothing but the low sliding sound of scales against rock, that sounded long and oh-so heavy.

... He emerged, head moving into the light, vicious cranium crack and tight fitted black blindfold plain to see... with just his skeletal torso out he was already almost as big as you. A shot of panic doused your system and you had to clench your teeth together to stop yourself from crying, or dropping everything and bolting back through the door. The rest of him followed after; the long snake tail that made up over three quarters of his body length coiling behind him as he raised himself up, gathering like a loosened rope, thicker than you were wide... faded blue and littered with scars that just didn’t seem to catch the light in the same way the other two nagas did.

He was... huge. You knew this already, but there was something different about seeing him with nothing in the way.

... You had to swallow the terror again, no longer able to tap on the food bucket as your hands were shaking too much. I’m fine. I’m fine. The door is right behind me.

... He was keeping his distance from you, head turned downward slightly, facing in the direction of the bucket. A flash of blue around his mouth- his forked tongue flickering rapidly, which could either signal curiosity, hunger or both. The pounding in your chest became more intense.

“... H-hey, big guy.” You stammered, keeping your voice as gentle as possible, as low and soft as you could in order to not spook him. He reacted immediately, his head cocking a little, raising to face directly at you instead of the bucket as if making eye contact despite the blindfold- just get this over with, (y/n), just get this over with. “...  I-I’m... supposed to talk to you, to let you know where I am... talking worked with the other two, I... h-hope it works with you, too.”

You put the bucket on the ground, sliding a decently heavy chunk of the special treated naga-friendly meat onto it. Skull had a unique feeding hook; it was much longer than usual, slightly difficult to handle, but reinforced along the inside to facilitate easier feeding from a distance. You raised the pole with the hung meat and slid it slowly closer to him, keeping careful watch of the way his tongue would flicker toward the food... you were so ready to bolt. You just needed to get this done.

“I’m, uhm...” You felt like an idiot. You could feel all the other staff members watching. “The food’s on the hook. You probably know that already, but...”

... He moved forward and caught the chunk straight off the hook, swallowing it without any chewing or pausing, then going immediately back to sitting there, patiently, watching. Waiting for more. You brought the hook back, putting on another piece, moving it toward him again... careful to keep hold on the pole despite your sweaty palms.

... He was eating as quickly as your unpractised snail-pace would allow, but most notably.. without issue. You finally felt a droplet of relief in the sea of fear; he was eating normally, he wasn’t being aggressive or trying to approach... this was going pretty well, for your first time feeding the moodiest naga in the zoo.

“... There we go. Good, this is going good. Please don’t eat me.” You half-joked, repeating the process. Retract pole, hook meat, offer it out. Starting to get into a rhythm. “... I hope you’re always this relaxed with me. That would be really helpful.”

He took the meat again, obediently. You let out a tiny sigh; the more he just did what he was supposed to, the calmer and more comfortable you felt. He’d probably learned by now that it was just best to get the food offered, instead of biting the hand that was feeding him.

... Or biting it off.

“... Everyone’s watching. I think they’re waiting for me to mess up. Do something dumb and get kicked out.” You mumbled. You felt... surprisingly not-awkward? Sometimes, when you spoke to the animals, you felt weird because they clearly didn’t care... but in this case, you got a strange feeling from the way his head would twitch and follow you despite the meat, how his tongue would flicker only when you’d stopped talking. It felt like he was... actually listening?

Besides. Nobody could fault you for talking to the naga to keep it calm and not-murderous as you passed him food from as large a distance as possible, right? If it worked, it worked, and you kept your limbs.

“... There we go.” You said, as you passed him the last piece- you then tapped the side of the empty bucket with the hook like you’d been told to, so he’d hear the hollow sound and understand there was no more food, before you picked it up again. You felt... a lot less terrified? Still nervous, but not like you were about to throw up. 

“... Uhm... thank you.” Your voice was still pretty small. “For... being calm. I appreciate it.”

... He stayed where he was. You felt, again, like he was watching you, despite him having no vision.

...

You took a step back, ready to go back through the door and throw up... but as soon as your foot sounded against the stone floor...

Everything about him changed. 

His lips and teeth parted... and the most powerful hiss you’d ever heard filtered out, filling the room, tearing through the air and right through your body. Like someone had set off a huge firework but it just kept hissing and hissing and hissing, deep and loud and intertwined with an open-mouthed growl, it echoed off the walls and shook everything inside. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his head, something inside him had snapped; his shoulders rose, tail beginning to move across the floor and rearrange itself. It sounded like... a warning.

You froze, heart dropping into your stomach, all the warmth and colour draining from your face.

...Oh no.

... The hissing stopped, but he kept his new position. He’d stopped in a more aggressive, coiled posture like a tightened spring, tongue now flickering constantly.

...

“... Maggie.” You said, voice cracking, essentially calling for help. Your eyes were locked onto him, you couldn’t remember any of the safety protocols for aggressive naga, every part of you was petrified, you couldn’t feel your hands or toes you could only feel the pounding in your own head. You were afraid to blink- it was going TOO well, I’ve used up my luck, it’s all gonna go wrong now!

“... Okay, just relax.” You heard her voice over the exhibit speaker system but you daren’t turn your head away to look at where she was. “He probably just doesn’t trust you yet, and is getting possessive over food he thinks might still be in the bucket. Okay? Use the pole to push the bucket toward him.”

You swallowed, following her advice; you set the bucket down without taking your gaze off him as if your feet were glued to the earth, and then used the end of the pole to push the bucket across the floor. It made an ugly scraping/rattling sound as it moved.

... He wasn’t even turning toward it. He wasn’t paying attention to it. His attention seemed steadfastly on you, if his head direction was any way to tell. You were sweating, your neck hairs were prickling.

“Alright. Now back away slowly.”

... One step back.

He immediately started hissing again, even louder this time, with deafening aggravation... he lowered his head.

A strike position.

You didn’t hear Maggie’s shout over the speaker system, you could hear nothing but your heart and his hissing. The rabbit-like urge to RUN overtook your whole body, something in you shattered, and you staggered backward with the intent to turn and dive for the door.

... The speed at which he crossed the entire enclosure would’ve been incredible in any other circumstance. 

He lurched with all the power readied in the wound muscles in his tail, striking forward so quickly it was like he vanished from his spot, and suddenly you were screaming as the pole was knocked out of your hands. Suddenly something huge and hard was gripping you and your clothes and your legs went out from under you, the world was dark and turning and you brought your hands up over your head in an instinctive defensive posture, you faintly heard the sound of dozens of voices shouting out in synchrony but everything was ringing, the heels of your boots were dragging so quickly across the floor it felt like the friction was going to burn through them and kicking your legs into nothingness as a pathetic attempt at attack/escape did genuinely nothing, you cried out...

... And then just like that, your body came to a halt; you’d stopped moving.

You opened your eyes, forcing in deep terrified breaths, finding yourself in almost total darkness and taking only a few milliseconds to realise you were inside his den. It was so cramped and the floor and walls were moving, why were they moving, you put out a hand to try and steady yourself or get to your feet...

...

That wasn’t the floor or walls. Your hand landed on smooth, hard scales.

You were on him. You were on his coiled tail.

You made a sound you could only describe as a broken whimper-cry of fear and tried to sit up and get some control, but it was almost impossible as he was still moving, his body shifting and writhing underneath you and forcing you to only sink deeper into his scales, deeper into his hold. Something wound around you, starting from your chest and moving down to your knees, binding your legs together- and the scariest part was that you could feel the power as he shifted, you could feel the strength behind the scales when they pressed against you. He was a living muscle, and with little more than a flex he could squeeze, and you’d go squish.

That’s what’s going to happen. He’s going to constrict me to death! Your breathing was getting so fast your chest was heaving, you tried to push the coils on your middle but it was like pushing the unmoving floor, you were getting dizzy with panic, you started to beat them with your fists, S-someone help me-!

His face came into view. Hovering over you, only just silhouetted by the light creeping into the entrance of the den.

... Once again, everything in your body just... stopped. 

All thought, all movement, everything froze, as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

... He’d removed his own blindfold. A bright, blood red ring was gazing down at you... fuzzy around the edges, the hole in the centre nothing but a dot.

... His own movements were slowing, as he apparently settled on the position he was in. You were almost horizontal, your head lifted up ever-so-slightly, everything lower than your chest totally bound and covered and crushed under more of his body. He was so close.

...

He was warm. Like summer’s day. And he was... just staring.

...

You could hear absolute havoc breaking outside of his den. But even so, your breathing was slowing... you were calming, despite it all. Something about his eye... the way he was hanging his head... how his tongue just ever-so-slightly peeked out of his mouth, as if only curious...

... How he hadn’t killed you yet. He wasn’t squeezing. You felt so, so very tiny, trapped in the coils of a giant naga...

Why hasn’t he...?

...

A single, sharp phalange moved over to your face. You naturally flinched leaned away at the sight of such huge claws coming close, sucking in a breath... and as soon as you did, he... paused? He took a moment, with his your-head-sized hand just hanging there... 

... Like he was giving you a second? He held your eye.

... When he started moving again, he moved so slowly. So gently... and he turned the hand over, brushing the back of his thick knuckle across your cheek with a feather-light touch. His hands were warm, too.

...

It was a like a cat, the way his eyelight widened, blowing to fill his whole socket.

He seemed to lose whatever self control was making him move slowly, and instead his massive head leant in, before you could so much as muster the energy or presence of mind to squeak he pressed his face flush against the side of yours with his teeth just under your ear. Instead you just let in another tiny breath of shock and felt a shiver travel across the whole length of your body- he was nuzzling, with an unmistakable joy, parts of his tail moving ever-so-slightly like he just couldn’t contain himself. In amongst the gleeful nuzzling he took a few inquisitive breaths in your hair, his tongue flickering out and surprising you with how ticklish it was- you brought your shoulder up in defence but he seemed to like that tiny reaction and did it again, chasing your sensitive spots.

“G- ah, stop!” You said, but less out of fear and more out of ticklishness- you couldn’t get away from him, it was like being fussed by a giant overly affectionate puppy. He was breathing right down your ear, and his breath and tongue made everything prickle, you tried to put your hands over your neck but he wasn’t having it. “... G-guys? Guys, are you out there?!”

You distinctly heard someone mutter ‘oh my God, she’s alive’, before a sharp “Play dead! We’re coming to get you!” sounded pretty close to the den. 

... You saw Skull’s reaction- and by saw, you meant heard and felt. As soon as he seemed to realise they were approaching the entrance to his hide, he stopped nuzzling, face still against your neck... and a slow, upset snarl began to filter out of his chest, and seeing as you were surrounded by him it was deep and so close it was vibrating your insides. At the same time, his snake body shifted and started to tighten, slowly moving to cover you more, bring you in further into his coils... trap you underneath.

“N-no, no!” You said, panic at possibly being constricted to death rearing its head again. “Don’t come any closer without sedatives, please!”

“... What the hell’s going on in there?!”

“H-he’s just... he’s just got me wrapped up.” You stammered, swallowing, wishing you could see them instead of the den ceiling right now; your voice had a strange, echoing quality inside the small space. “I-I can’t move. When you come closer it agitates him and he squeezes. Don’t come closer. Please just go get sedatives.”

“... Are you sure you’re okay in there?” You could hear them backing up, thank fuck. And he could definitely hear them too, noticeably relaxing. “It’s gonna take us a while to get anything strong enough for him.”

... Skull let out a strange, deathly soft hiss, apparently really liking your hair... so quiet, only the two of you could hear it. His scales were warm, and although you were trapped, it almost felt like he’d deliberately trapped you in this reclined position in order to make sure you were comfortable in his grip.

...

“Y-yeah, I... I think I’m fine for now. Just please don’t take too long.”

[jackoshadows]

Unpopular opinion, but I disagree with the notion that Jon should be accepting of his bastardy and not rule if given the chance. Even  “I don’t want it ” show!Jon ended up as KITN when some Northerners randomly made him one despite Ned Stark’s trueborn daughter sitting beside him, so why wouldn’t the book version - who does want it - not accept an offer to be King? 

Why shouldn’t Jon Snow rule the North and Winterfell? Of the remaining Starks, he’s the oldest, most experienced and qualified. He is Ned Stark’s son. Winterfell is as much as his home as it is to the rest of the Starks. He learned from the same people Robb did. Removing any gender and class bias, Jon’s still the best person belonging to house Stark to rule the North. Robb Stark certainly thought so.

Jon has never let being a bastard define what he is capable of. He has always looked beyond class lines and valued people for what they are capable of rather than the limited and narrow views that society has. Why wouldn’t Jon want to rule the North?

I feel that reasons like ‘Jon is a bastard, he should remain a bastard, Jon being king would undermine his story, perfect King Jon would be boring etc.’ are just excuses for wanting Jon out of rulership. One may as well say that they want *insert favorite character* to be king/Queen rather than Jon.

Rather, I think this line of thinking should be applied to someone like Young Griff - and this is precisely the story that GRRM is trying to tell with the character. It would, for example, be boring for secret, trueborn, Targaryen prince Aegon to go on to be the perfect king that Varys expects him to be.

Young Griff is the perfect king on paper –  groomed to know the common man’s struggle, he’s smart, well liked etc. But for us readers, him becoming king would feel unearned. Young Griff is actually a critique of unearned rulership.  We see from his cyvasse game with Tyrion, that he is arrogant and spoiled. He feels entitled to Dany’s dragons – the dragons that Dany has hatched and nurtured and bonded with. He thinks that Dany will immediately throw her full support behind him.

Compare Young Griff to Jon, Dany and Arya. Jon is defending the realm without any expectation of reward, planning Stannis’ campaign to win the North, preparing the wall for an attack from an existential threat. Dany halts her Westerosi campaign and is ruling Meereen for the people, dealing with insurgency, famine and sickness, having to make the hard decisions that come at great personal cost. Arya actually lived among small folk in war torn Westeros. She has no Jon Connington or mercenaries protecting her as she fake lives among the small folk – her experiences are real. The pain and trauma she experiences – that she sees the small folk go through – that’s real. It was about survival for her, instead of Young Griff learning how to fish and wash clothes.

Young Griff is supposed to feel unearned. He is a stand in for Jon, Dany and Arya – the secret prince, the Targaryen come to take the Iron Throne and the Stark princess who has actually lived among the small folk and befriended them. Young Griff is Jon, Dany and Arya without their actual experiences.  Not to mention that in GRRM’s world, there are no perfect kings or queens. His rulers are flawed leaders who make mistakes because ruling is hard.

That has been GRRM’s position  - rulership has to be earned. And I think right now 17 year old Jon and 16 year old Dany have earned their leadership positions by actually doing and learning. If Jon Snow becomes KITN, he would have earned that position.

I also disagree with the notion that Jon should not be trueborn because that would ruin his character and make his story pointless.

This is Jon Snow we are talking about here. The Jon Snow who loved wild child Arya for her bird’s nest hair and her scabby knees and gave Lady Arya Stark a sword because she wanted to learn how to use it like her brothers. The Jon Snow who thought that it was okay if Randyll Tarly’s eldest son did not want to fight and asked Maester Aemon to take Sam on because he’s intelligent and liked to read. The Jon Snow who made Satin his steward because he was quick and clever and fearless in a fight. The Jon Snow who held out his hand and called Tyrion Lannister friend.

The Jon Snow who said this:

The collar is supposed to remind a maester of the realm he serves, isn’t that so? Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can’t make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people. The Night’s Watch needs all sorts too. Why else have rangers and stewards and builders? Lord Randyll couldn’t make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won’t either. You can’t hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn’t mean tin is useless. Why shouldn’t Sam be a steward?”

If this Jon Snow turns out to be trueborn, does he suddenly regress into a person who buys into Westeros’ patriarchal and primitive notions of blood and birth defining who a person should be? Is he suddenly going to expect Arya to behave like a southron lady? Fire Satin from his job?

Is Jon going to believe that being trueborn is superior and that is why he became Lord Commander? Are we as readers going to think that Jon only got to where he is because he is trueborn? All the decisions he made  – all that is retroactively ruined because he’s trueborn?

I doubt Jon is trueborn in any case - Rhaegar was married to Elia and they had children.  Rather, I think GRRM will use Jon’s parentage to explore one of the themes that he really loves – the human heart in conflict with itself. It would add an extra layer of angst, self-doubt, and struggle to Jon’s already existing personal issues.  A father he loved and blamed for his bastardy, send him to the wall - to a life of hardship and celibacy - without telling him the truth. Everything he knew about himself is a lie.

With GRRM’s writing, he could delve into Jon’s inner psyche as he is hit with these truths. A possible heir to the Iron Throne ends up a low born bastard at the wall – how does one deal with all this? How does one react? Then there are his relationships with the only other Targaryen and his now cousin Arya. And that’s what would make any such reveal exciting and add complexity to character and character arcs.  And I think that would be damn interesting to read.