#do i have to perform and pretend to go through the learning process of understanding what misogyny is again

[snekdood]

Its wild to me that theres probably people out there that think im someone who needs to be educated on misogyny n shit bc of whatever my ex says, as if "snake" the character wasnt intentionally a joke character- like mj picks on him ALL THE TIME for his dumb misogynistic beliefs n shit, and its literally always fucking been that way, lol

[berberriescorner]

"Through It All"

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: There aren’t many things that put Rio on edge. Most people see a calm, cool, and collected individual. Keeping a level head is his specialty. What happens when the person he loves most needs him to be strong for both of them? Get a glimpse of what it’s like seeing him hold someone down through thick and thin, in sickness and health. If you know, you know.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND AUTHOR’S NOTE**

Warnings: Angst…like seriously. You’ll understand once you read the author’s note. This fic contains sweet, soft, fluffy Rio. The fic includes some of my crazy humor with a smidge of the character’s inner thoughts. If reading about gynecological procedures makes you uncomfortable, this may not be a fic for you. It doesn’t go into great detail, but it is mentioned and sheds a bit of light. If mentions of the ins and outs of fertility is a soft spot, please read with caution. It isn’t my intention to bring anyone down, but this story is based on parts of my own experiences. Again, the note will explain more.

Author/Personal Note: Okay. Where to start? So, as some of you may know throughout the past two years I’ve been getting cycles of iron infusions. This year, after making several complaints and an ER visit or two. I had an ultrasound performed, which led to me getting surgery months later (the procedure I had done recently). I’ve been spending my days at home recovering, and it’s given me time to reflect. Damn, it’s been a rough couple of years, but I’m so thankful through it all. It’s difficult having a plethora of health issues. This situation put so much added stress on top of it all. As a woman, hearing you have a fibroid. Learning it’s best to get it removed to protect your fertility is scary as hell. You get it done, get sent home, and though you have loved ones taking amazing care of you. It’s still a difficult, challenging process. At times, it’s lonely. No one but you can fully wrap your head around the emotions and feelings the body is going through. It’s pretty wild.

Anywho, sorry y’all. Let me stop rambling and get to the point. We all know how overactive my imagination is. Being stuck in bed, my mind has been wandering. I thought to myself why not take this experience and channel it into a fic. I’m hoping that this will also be a comforting story to anyone who’s been through the same experience. Here is a look at how I envision Rio taking in the experience with his lady. I plan to write at least two more parts for this. Happy reading my lovelies! I wrote this on a whim, in celebration of my birthday, so ignore the grammatical errors my loves. I may come back and do some more editing. Depends on how I’m feeling.

Word Count: 1,800+. 

Inspired By💜:

Random fun fact: Toni Braxton and I have the same birthday😆. Happy Birthday, Queen💓.

Everything was still as a deafening silence fell across the room. It was as if each occupant was afraid to utter a single word. Your mother pretended to distract herself with a Kindle book as your father paced the floor quietly. They’d share a glance each time they checked their watch, smiling at one another in comfort and reassurance. 

Then, together, they directed their attention toward the chair in the far right corner. It was tucked in a tight corner next to a window, giving little relief and comfort to your husband, Rio. He, too was anxious, but no one would ever know it. He was always able to still his facial features. Never one to give his emotions away. The only person who could read him wasn’t in the room. You were on the other side of the building and the reason for your families’ nervousness. No longer able to stand the constant glances and silence, Rio stood from his seat. He released a breath, rubbing his palms against his jeans. Turning to your parents, he stated, “I’m going to grab a quick cup of coffee from the cafeteria. Would you two like something?”

Your mother, a gentle, nurturing soul, responded for both of them.

“No, baby. We’re fine. Don’t worry. I’ll come find you if we receive news.”

Rio ducked away in a vacant spot in the cafeteria, hands folded over top of the steam of the coffee. He searched for peace and solace until a jolting vibration exploded in his jacket pocket. Fumbling for the phone, he answered without looking.

“What they say ma-. Oh, my bad. Wassup? Everything good?” Rio listened patiently before snapping. “You know this is something you could’ve handled yourself, right? I don’t have time for the three stooges bullshit today.”

He instantly felt a slight pang of guilt. Rio realized that the stress and worry of his current situation were influencing his mood. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed. Inhaling, he continued, “My bad bro. She’s been in for three hours, and it’s got me tweaking. Nobody’s giving us any damn answers. It’s a non-invasive procedure, but it’s still considered major surgery. I just need to hear she’s good.”

“It’s all good, boss. I know you’re worried about wifey. She’s a strong woman. Boss lady’s going to be alright. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Call me as soon as you know something,” Mick responded.

“You're right. Thank you for holdin’ shit down.”

He laid his phone on the table, burying his face in his hands. The last few moments he spent with you were on repeat in his mind. Rio returned to the present, hearing the chair opposite him slide backward. His eyes connected with your father’s, and he readied himself for wherever the conversation would go.

It was no secret that the two hadn’t always seen eye to eye. The two men sat for several minutes before your father started speaking.

“I’ll be honest with you, man. You’re not at all what I envisioned for my daughter.”

“You seriously want to have this conversation right now?”

“Now wait, son. Let me finish.”

Hold up. It’s son now? Where is this going? It didn’t even sound disrespectful. It doesn’t sound like he’s trying to play me on some sucka shit. I’ll hear him out.

Rio nodded his head, giving your father the floor.

“I may not know all you do for a living, son, but I know you’ve managed to make a comfortable and safe life for my baby girl. When it comes down to it, that’s what I’ve always wanted for her. It took me some time to come to terms with it, but I know, without a doubt, that you’re doing everything in your power to make her feel protected and loved. Let me just say what I’m getting at,” he chuckled. “You’re good at hiding it, son, but I know you’re worried. Hell, so are we, but that’s alright.”

Rio’s head dropped, shoulders slumping. He took the opportunity to be vulnerable finally. Your father’s acceptance allowed him the space to do so. He felt a comforting grip land on his shoulder. Your father finished, “Baby girl is going to be alright, son. With all your love and support, she’ll be back on her feet soon. Now, you take a few more moments to yourself. Don’t be surprised when her momma wraps you up in a big hug when you head back. She’s worried about her favorite son-in-law.”

Rio chuckled, “I’m her only son-in-law, sir.”

“Even better. You ain’t gotta share. That sweet woman sure knows how to smother people in love.”

“You’re daughter is the same way. It’s one of the many things I love about her.”

“Which is why you understand my reasons for being so guarded. That’s my baby girl. Enough with that ‘sir’ shit too. Call me pops. My son may not like that, but I get a kick out of irritating him anyway. He’s overprotective of his sister.”

“Y’all gon’ try to take me out if I ever mess up, huh?”

“What I look like snitching on myself? Let’s not ever get to that bridge, son.”

The two men shared a laugh, but everything turned serious when they saw your mom power walking towards them. Rio's heart began thudding in his chest.

“Ma, what’s wrong? Did-.”

“Relax, sugar,” she cooed, rubbing a hand against both men’s arms. “The nurse said the doctor should be ready to talk to us in about fifteen minutes. Let’s head back to the waiting room.”

Fifteen minutes came and went. Your mother couldn’t help but crack a smile at both men. They both started fussing about how long the surgeon was taking. She felt sorry for the man once he approached them. The doctor, attempting to apologize, was cut off by an impatient Rio.

“You good, doc. We understand these things take time, but excuse us for being anxious. We were under the impression this would be about an hour-long procedure. How’s my wife?”

The surgeon explained himself. “That’s what we anticipated, but the process took longer. Your wife’s last ultrasound a few months back showed a fibroid the size of a plum. Sadly, it grew to the size of an orange, which would explain why things grew more difficult during her last few cycles. However, you’ll be happy to know that we managed to do it laparoscopically, and everything looks great. She’s being taken to recovery now, but we’ve decided to keep her overnight.”

All three of your family members asked, “Why is that,” in unison.

“We just want to keep an eye on her for the next twenty-four hours. Given gas was used to see things more clearly, we’d like to monitor her. We’ll need to see that she gets up and walks to get things flowing. I just want to be sure she gets it moving out of her system. Also, since she’s anemic, we just want to be extra careful. I promise everything went well, and she should be ready to go in the morning.”

Each family member felt at ease. The trio waited for an invitation to your recovery room. Though he wanted to be the first person you saw when you woke up, Rio encouraged your parents to go first. The two visitors' only rule irritated them all.

Your eyes fluttered open, and your parents laughed at the slurred responses given to your nurse. Your parents took turns kissing your forehead, expressing encouraging words. Your father, now at ease, left the room in search of Rio.

“You might want to hurry back there. She’s still a bit loopy. Baby girl has been asking the nurse, where my husband? You got my baby acting ratchet in this hospital,” he joked.

“Aye, she was like that when I met her,” he laughed, walking towards recovery.

Rio slid behind the curtain, laying eyes on the most precious sight. You were in bed, laid back, eyes closed, singing off-key as your mother held your hand, laughing. The nurse stepped beside him, giving a small giggle.

“She’s been looking for you. Ma’am, the man of the hour is here.”

Your eyes popped open as you halted the song. “My husbannnd! Hey baeee,” you winced, given the pain and having a hoarse voice.

“Mama, you back here wildin’ ain’t you? How’s our little patient doing, ma,” he directed toward your mom.

“Crazy as ever. This girl opened her eyes, looked at me, and called herself whispering. Loud as ever, she asked me if she still had a uterus. Her daddy would’ve turned red if he were capable.”

They both shared a laugh as you did your best to shrug shoulders. Wanting to give you two privacy, your mom went to sit in the waiting room. Rio turned to you, holding your hand. His lips brushed across your knuckles, and he shivered at how cold they were. Wrapping his hand around yours, he tried warming the digits.

“My momma ain’t answer my question though,” you mumbled, eyes closed.

Rio smiled, “What’s that now, mama?”

“My uterus. Sis still in there, right?”

“Yes, darlin’. What makes you think it’s not?”

“I signed them papers, man. In the event of a ‘mergency, they were going to take shawty,” you sassed, words still slurring.

Rio did his best to hold back a cackle. Clearing his throat, he replied, “Mama, you straight. Everything went according to plan. There was no emergency. The fibroid is out. It was bigger than expected. That’s why it feels like you were out for a while.”

“Aight bet. So when we making babies,” you asked, wincing again.

“First off, sit still, mama. Your body is pretty sore right now.”

“Baby, I’m drugged up! I don’t feel nothin’.”

“Second. You’ll be recovering for four to six weeks. You’re not going to be in any type of mood for all that. I believe the surgeon said no sex for two to three weeks. No babies for at least six months, darlin’. They just sliced your uterus open and stitched it back together, mama,” he explained, running his thumb across your lip.

He laughed at the pout etched on your face. Rio caressed the side of your face, kissing you gently. “On some real shit. I was worried out my mind over you, mama. I’m so glad you’re good. You’re my world. The clock kept ticking, and I was about to lose it.”

Your eyes connected with his, “I’m right here, papa. I’m good. We gonna be good. No matter what,” you whispered. Even through the drugs and drowsiness, you could feel his angst. Rio could read between the lines. He knew what you were trying to communicate. It had been on both your minds heavily. Your eyes connected with his. Rio saw the unshed tears you were holding back, and he swallowed hard, nodding his head in agreement. No matter where this path led, Rio knew, in his heart, that he loved you with everything in him.

Baby or not, we’ll still feel fulfilled and happy. My life’s purpose is to love and give you the world.

This piece was both personal and therapeutic for me to write. I truly hope you all enjoyed it. Please be sure to comment and reblog, it's appreciated. Now I'm about to go eat some birthday cake and read some amazing fan fiction😆.

Divider credit💜 : @firefly-graphics

tagging💜 : @4everbrookemarie @darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @sunshine-flower

@nightlywords7 @starrynite7114 @amorestevens @fineanddandy

@rio-reid-whoreee @that-one-anxious-mango @novaniskye

@alertyoulikeitsamber @1andonlytashae @lovedlover @blkbutterfly816 @banana123pudding

[yepthatsacowalright]

Doctor Who, The Process Of Healing From Trauma, and Me: A Text Post Essay No One Asked For

Back in 2006ish, when I first started watching Doctor Who as a teenager in late high school/early college, it captivated me mind, body, and soul. I ate that early 2000s, broody-complex-hero shit up.

I loved that the Doctor grappled with the guilt and regret from some truly fucked up shit he did, and I loved that he gave the middle finger to it by going on wild, ridiculous-special-effects-ed adventures instead of attempting the mortifying ordeal of opening up about it.

I'm sure, judging by how popular the 2005 version of the show became, a lot of my generation felt similar. 9/11 hadn’t been that long ago. We were coming of age and starting to sense that the world kind of sucked major ass, and perhaps the older generations had been super lying to us about most things this whole time.

As such, Rose Tyler was living the dream as far as I was concerned. Abandoning her place in this bullshit society to go help people and save lives with someone who never settled, who always ran towards the darkness, who found ways to laugh and dance in it even…Rose's lifestyle was goals.

Not only did the Ninth and Tenth Doctor's struggle to opening up about what they'd been through or forgive themselves for it not bother teen me at all, I preferred it. It was understandable and relatable. I wasn't ready to actually look at and deal with any of my own problems either, I just didn't want to pretend like I had none. Admitting there's a problem is the first step, and that's where Nine, Ten, Rose, and me all hung out and had fun.

Rose’s "death" was when I started to feel differently. It wasn't that I didn't still enjoy the show - I kept watching through Martha and Donna's seasons, and also a little bit into Eleven's run - but it wasn't the same. I could never quite get over the loss of Rose, or how the Doctor chose to get over it by doing what he always did - ignore and repress.

It had been much easier to watch the Doctor do this with trauma when I didn't know much about what he'd been through, but every time he avoided the topic of Rose, or minimized who she was, it pissed me off. It felt bad to watch him do that to the memory of someone who mattered.

I was starting to realize that just admitting you had problems wasn't sustainable. I couldn't stay on that first step indefinitely, and Doctor Who didn't feel like it was my show anymore, which was fine. After all, it's a family-friendly series. An episode on intergalactic talk therapy is not going to be a hit with the kids.

I was off to have the one adventure the Doctor never could - to understand and manage my own mental health. Learning about psychology, learning about trauma, going to therapy. I processed, I surprised myself, I found new stories to obsess over that resonated with a different, older version of me.

Whenever I popped back into Doctor Who, it felt more nostalgic than anything else. It reminded me of how I used to feel, and how far I'd come. I had that bittersweet feeling of wishing I could connect with it the way I used to, but being grateful that the reason I couldn't was a positive, therapeutic one.

And then…the 60th Anniversary Specials.

David Tennant didn’t even do anything that different in his performance, and he admits as much in interviews. Trying to replicate what he did as the Tenth wouldn't make sense because he isn't the Tenth, and trying to do something completely new wouldn't make sense because then why bring back David at all?

He just played the role as an actor who's lived 10 more years since the last time he played the role, and brother that shit hit me hard.

All the natural, subtle, perhaps subconscious changes in him made me feel the weight of slightly too many years passing. Despite knowing I am relatively young, l’m at a point in my life where I, for the first time, feel old.

Gray hairs and smile lines that were only on the faces of grownups are now on the faces of me and my friends. I know I don't know it all, and also realize I know even less than I thought I did. Love feels deeper, loss feels heavier. I'm compelled to express feelings of gratitude and affection I used to always keep to myself. Oh, is that who I am now?

I love that the Doctor's body didn't just go back to Ten's face, but to an aged version of Ten's face. A version that would align with the aged version of Donna's. I know this was not a creative choice, it was literally just what David and Catherine look like now, but how perfect for time itself to play a role in the story, too.

I love that the Doctor, at last, had to catch up with what his body was telling him. To notice his feelings and learn what those feelings meant. Like the title of one of my favorite (and extremely relevant to this this post) books says, the body keeps the score.

And I loved the bi-generation.

I loved that Fourteen made the choice to stop and ask his friends to help him do it.

I know that RTD proposed a theory that in that moment all the previous regenerations became bi-generations as well, but I like the idea that all the others could have bi-generated, but didn't. They weren't ready to look at themselves, or ask for that help from anyone. Not until now.

And I love love LOVE Ncuti Gatwa as Fifteen. I love that the healed next Doctor is a millennial. That he is a Doctor who can freely say he loved his friends, he loved Rose, can tell his former self, "I love you."

The show's become such a beautiful portrayal of generational trauma and healing that did not know that's what it was until its end.

And now, it begins again.

[3416]

Hello, I love reading your insight on the game! I wonder if you might have insight on a couple of things re: how things work in the nhl, as while I find it fascinating I'm still figuring a lot out:

what is the GM's motivation? maybe that's a wild question LOL but if I WAY oversimplify it: other than wanting to personally do well, the players need to impress the coach so they get time on ice, the coach needs to please the GM so they keep their job, is there a similar motivation for GMs (from owners maybe)? I think I just haven't seen as much movement with them so I am curious how/when they are held responsible for team performance

does the GM consult with the coach on trades/signings? i am wondering if the coach shows up day 1 and the GM basically says "here are the pieces, put together my cup-winning puzzle" or if the coach ever says "we have problems with X, and Y or Z from team blah blah that I coached before would do so much to help us fix X"

I'm not sure if there are necessarily "real" answers to these questions, but I would love to hear your insight either way!

hi there!! those are actually wonderful questions and get to the root of certain nhl jobs. i'm not going to pretend to be an expert here by any means. i only have real knowledge about the leafs and from what i understand, every hockey team is built a tad bit differently. honestly being a fan of something as complex as a whole sport and it's structure is just a constant learning process so fjdkdk forgive me if any of this isn't entirely accurate.

so brad treliving is our general manager and answers to brendan shanahan, the president (if you've ever heard of the term 'shanaplan'.. that basically represents this era of leafs while he's been president). brendan shanahan answers to the owner of the team aka the board of mlse (which is an entertainment company and can be broken into even smaller pieces if you want to get complicated w corporate nonsense. mlse is represented by their ceo keith pelley when it comes to leaf stuff.. he did the end of the yr media w brad and keefe). team to team that structure can kind of shift, like the president can also be the owner or the president and the gm can be the same thing, there can be multiples of roles for different sides of things, etc etc. basically a gm's job is to build the team/staff, a president's job is to oversee that and the org as a whole, and they essentially both have to answer to owners who want this all to be a profitable and successful venture. obviously everyone involved wants the same outcome, but the tier structure can cause hiccups. we actually saw this first hand the summer of 2023 when kyle dubas was fired from the leafs.

if you weren't around for that, essentially kyle dubas was the leafs gm for multiple years and he and the shanahan had a pretty personal-sounding falling out. his firing happened rather abruptly after he was going back and forth in negotiations for an extension, and one of the things hinted at as being most stressful was the constant hoops he had to jump through to get deals done. he needed things approved by shanahan and then the board just to make trades or big moves and it was slowing the process/stopping things from happening. this is evident when you look at the fact that the job he took immediately after departing the maple leafs was the combined role of general manager AND president of hockey operations for the pittsburgh penguins where he has MUCH more freedom. so essentially, the gms have to answer to everyone above them while also managing very hands on things like roster construction and staffing. there is a lot to consider at that position bc you're not totally free to build a team how you specifically want, the people above you still have a plan too. keith pelley had a quote after the playoffs this year about how "they aren't here to sell jerseys" which happens to be ironic bc... the board of mlse very much has an interest in what is financially best for the leafs and that definitely can be impacted by players on a team. the maple leafs are a special case bc they bring in so much revenue whether they win or lose... they sold out crowds back when the leafs weren't even making the playoffs bc toronto really is a hockey city. whereas other places less known for hockey might struggle to bring in crowds or viewership if their team isn't on the rise so there's more incentive to make desperate moves. so anyway, the gm DOES have bigger roles they answer to and their job is to build a team that can be successful so that everyone up and down the structure of the org can benefit. i bet lots of them view it as a puzzle, but also the paycheck does not hurt and it's just another rung on the ladder if you're moving up in the hockey executive world.

as for the gm/coach relationship, there is lots of consulting going on there as far as i'm aware. what makes it hard is when you're introducing new people like the leafs have the past 2 years now (some teams have insane coaching turnover so... coaches may be taken with more of a grain of salt but leafs were blessed with the very interesting duo of dubas/keefe who had a close relationship).if you look at someone like craig berube... he doesn't totally have a grip on these players bc he hasn't had to coach them yet, but he has a style and a kind of player that probably personally fits his systems and i'm sure all of that is relayed and discussed. the leafs roster, like any hockey team, has holes they need to fill, and a coach's input matters but ultimately it's a gm who is supposed to see the bigger picture in terms of what's needed. it's the coach's job to make what is given work physically on the ice. the higher up the structure you go, the bigger the picture is supposed to be to each role, and the higher up you go, the less turnover there is on the whole. coaches are the first to go when things aren't working, then gms, then presidents if need be (haven't seen a lot of turnover of those tbh). but all of those shifts happen in conjunction with the highs and lows of a hockey team. lose their identity when they're losing and sucking, and then start to plan and shape rebuilds and see what players are drafted high enough to make a difference and built around them.

anyway, that is a longwinded thing.. don't mind me ranting LOL. but there are so many moving parts to the front offices of hockey team, and they all do interact with each other and get input from each other for sure. the leafs are VERY corporate and have a business image to maintain as well as being a unique and popular place so it feels like there is EVEN MORE going on sometimes.

[esotl]

Performance - Chapter 10 (Part 19)

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring

Characters: Hokuto, Wataru

Translation Directory

She once told me something when we were together on stage - that performers and authors are only fully qualified once they have followers.

Time: Spring Last Year

Location: Inside a Train

Hokuto: ……

(…Ah, how inconvenient. I dozed off.)

(Where am I now? According to the announcement, we're at a station that's rather far from my destination...)

(It's not like me to oversleep.)

(This is no good. I let my guard down too much, even though I was aiming for a perfect attendance reward.)

(I'm the class representative, I need to diligently go to school.)

(Well, even if I attend class, I won't be able to learn anything worthwhile... is something I could conclude, but.)

(It's not pointless. No helping it, I'll get off at the next stop and head back.)

Wataru: Ho~ku. To. Kun♪

Hokuto: ...Ah, President Hibiki, good morning. Why are you also riding this train? Isn't Yumenosaki in the other direction?

Wataru: My, I really can't surprise you at all. I expected it, but it's still disappointing.

Hokuto: My bad. I'm used to seeing bewildering things, so I think I'm a bit desensitised.

Wataru: As expected from a thoroughbred of the acting world. From my point of view, your environment is envious, you know? It must be exciting every day, is it not?

Hokuto: No, it's normal.

Wataru: Right. It would be normal for you, wouldn't it?

Hokuto: What do you mean... Stop pestering me, it's annoying. We shouldn't be whispering on a train.

Wataru: Sob sob. Even though you used to follow me around to the point it was an annoyance when you first joined the club...

Perhaps you've recently lost all interest in me, and become cold.

Fufu. Despite not remembering a single technique no matter how much you're taught, you ask the same thing over and over again without getting discouraged, and so...

I found you to be a pain.

But it feels lonely for you to not ask for my guidance anymore.

Hokuto: Hmph... That's because the more I learn from you, the more I feel the difference in our abilities, and end up at a loss.

I figured I'd grasp the basics first, so I've been studying various things.

Wataru: You truly are good at pretending to work hard. Even though no-one will scold you for not taking it step-by-step, or for skipping the process to reach the conclusion.

You can acquire other skills that way, you know?

Hokuto: Pretending to work hard, huh... I suppose that's how a mediocre person like me looks to you.

Wataru: What are you sulking about? I'm sure you're also a genius of some sort, though I'm unsure in what area.

However, "genius" is a special type of flower whose cultivation methods differ from person to person, so there's a chance it won't sprout through normal means.

Tomatoes and watermelons are similar, but ultimately different; you are a watermelon that wishes to grow like a tomato.

Someday, your stem is going to break with a snap♪

Hokuto: I don't understand what you're talking about.

Wataru: Well, that's fine. This is just idle chit-chat without any real meaning, after all.

Hokuto: Chatting is a waste of time. It'd be better spent reading a book.

Wataru: Books may have truths written in them, but they're never the genuine thing.

In this world, the answers to any question that exists are infinite, or human.

Therefore, you should enjoy the actual process of connecting with people, and repeatedly asking questions.

Hokuto: President. ...I don't really care, but stop pointlessly pulling at my braid.

Wataru: No~ I feel some kind of affinity with it.

Are you copying me? I'm happy if so~ we look just like brothers♪

Hokuto: I don't want a brother like you, I'd end up comparing myself to you and getting an inferiority complex.

...When I first entered the school and said I was going to join the Drama Club, my mother tied it for me.

For some reason or another, I've kept it up. Tying it each and every day is a pain.

Wataru: Aah... it's your mother's work, is it? She's got quite the discerning eye.

Fufu. She once told me something when we were together on stage - that performers and authors are only fully qualified once they have followers.

Hokuto: Followers...?

Wataru: People who mimic your style, and imitate your work.

It's a common occurence for something to become popular, and then have an overflow of similar works trying to recreate that success.

The ones who spring up like that are followers, and only once they're born are you a full-fledged performer...

And I still have none, so I was denounced as being half-baked.

Hokuto: Are you on bad terms with my parents, President Hibiki?

Wataru: I wonder? I took it as a loving pep talk, as all other people did was praise me as a superior genius.

"That's not true," she said, "you're still an inexperienced novice"…

When your mother laughed scornfully at me, I felt like I'd been saved.

[Act 7 • Directory • Chapter 11]

[itsfairly]

mahonia and cactus, hehe.

hi plum! glad to see you call in!

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

i think activities are what inspire me the most, especially those that are about creating. but nothing ever comes close to music, which could be both the thinking and activity. ive been a musician for a while and music has always made it easy to understand what i am feeling and thinking. it helps me make sense of things, including myself. if i am the one making it, its usually a very raw process because i try to seek for that line or melody that makes coming up with the rest easier. if i am listening to it, i like to pretend i am performing the song and act it out. either way, i think expressing myself through music comes as second nature to me—i stick to what makes me feel less alone and more authentic to me. just thinking on how music can be very vulnerable and yet have others understand what you're going through is inspiring and it makes me want to express myself to help others the way music has helped me.

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

i'm learning to be happier with a much simpler life. ever since graduating, its been weird not having a busy schedule and frustrating when others already have a job while i am still applying to many. through therapy and a lot lot of patience, i am learning to appreciate this calmness after being so used to deadlines and balancing a million things. simplifying things also helps me learn about myself and what i want, so its also about wanting a better relationship with myself.

but i am also learning to knit and crochet! i know the basics on knitting but crocheting feels like a whole different world.

thank you for calling!

get-to-know-me ask game (here's the voicemail)

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken. 

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

“That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook���s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- Sick

word count: 5.4k

warnings: mention of scoliosis, sickness, dizziness, angst + fluff

A/N: Hi everyone! I can't believe this is my first sick fic but I just had to do one with Wilhemina x Reader. If anyone would like to see some more, I might do a series of these with Cordelia or Ally or even Billie. (Let me know)

This is dedicated to a very special person I met on Tumblr- I hope you remember to take a break from time to time and look after yourself! ✨

Taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @mrsdeanhoward , @alexajbitar , @in-cordelias-coven , @kenzbro , @loverofallthingssarah , @twistedpoeticjustice , @billiebeanhoward , @minaslittleone , @lilypadscoven , @vintagepaulson , @ninaahs , @whitelotus00 , @httpfiftyshadesofgay

''If you decide to go into work, it's at your own risk, don't come running to me afterwards, if you don't feel well'' Wilhemina's harsh words ring through your ears as you stand by your desk, trying to focus on the tasks ahead. All you can feel, as your hand wanders to the table, desperately looking for some support to not lose balance, to not give your legs the power to stop supporting you and to fight your body from giving up and letting exhaustion win.

In reality, Wilhemina's words weren't supposed to come out as harsh and rushed as they did, her stern and cold tone and demeanor, only a defensive mechanism for the woman, trying to hide her true feelings that are buried deep within her soul. She meant to protect you, from yourself mostly but also the sickness and the flu that had come knocking about a week ago, but you being stubborn pushing it away as if it wasn't real or meaningful.

However, as you stand by your desk, trying hard not to lose balance, you realize that all along Wilhemina had been right and you should have listened. The times, she told you to stop working so much and doing over hours as your job demanded it, the times she told you that making her a bath or cooking dinner isn't necessary that day. The times she told you to take care of yourself and simply lie down but you wouldn't listen, always caring more about everyone else's wellbeing, especially the redheads than your own.

''Miss Y/L/N, have you finished your assigned task yet by chance?'' you hear the voice of your boss, as she enters and you wish she didn't, as her voice only adds to the throbbing pain in your head, causing your vision to blur and everything to feel even more unbearable than it already does.

With all the fight and strength left in you, you manage to turn around and grab the folder, handing it to her with shaky hands. You had always been good at hiding, either fighting battles of sickness or overwhelming thoughts, drowning in your own emotions deep down but remaining to keep a perfect facade and smile to the people on the outside, so they didn't understand and learn your true feelings as you see no reason to bother them with it. However, no matter how much you try and hide this and pretend that you aren't consumed by sickness fighting your body, it's very visible in your features.

Even though your boss is a very hectic person, always caring about performing well and getting work done as ''efficiently and quickly as possible'' as she repeats on a daily basis, even she manages to notice your fragile state. Your face, which is usually filled with light and warm smiles, doesn't just lack the genuine smile and warmth but also color as you are incredibly pale. She quickly connects the dots, noticing how your hand is gripping around the desk still and how your other hand is shaking uncontrollably.

''Miss Y/L/N, are you feeling alright?'' you hear her ask before your eyes feel heavier as the exhaustion is slowly creeping up on you and you have trouble concentrating on what is happening, as you feel more in a dream-like state. For a moment, everything seems to pause and you only snap out of it when you feel some weight pressing on your shoulders and someone forcing you to sit down on a chair they pulled closer.

Only as you force your eyes open, slightly confused and dumbfounded at what is happening,  you realize it's your boss making you sit down and walking to the other end of the room to get some water for you. ''Miss Y/L/N while I appreciate your determination, you should have called in sick this morning'' she explains, while handing you a glass of water with a compassionate smile but the concern visible in her features. ''I just wanted to-to finish the'' you start but stop midway as you feel sick at the pure sensation of water in your mouth, let alone swallowing it.

''I understand but you need some rest, that much is plain, need me to call someone for you?'' she asks but you instantly tense, knowing your girlfriend Wilhemina will definitely not be amused if she has to pick you up from work, after explicitly telling you not to go in the first place, this morning and last night. Not to mention, she is at her own workplace, having to deal with her own piles of work, her constant back pain, and two idiot bosses on top of it all.

''No I am ok- okay'' you manage to get the words out and force your best smile, knowing if you aren't going to be convincing enough, she might not let you leave without calling someone. ''Very well but you better not show your face here, until you are truly better'' she warns, with a little smile, knowing how determined you are, and while she appreciates your work attitude a lot, she knows you tend to overwork yourself and forgetting to take care of yourself in the process.

Taking a deep breath, you somehow manage to prop yourself up and grab your bag, taking slow but steady steps towards the exit and the bus stop. As you walk through the corridor, momentarily blinded by the bright lights flickering, you are well aware you shouldn't attempt to get on the bus, considering there is still a little walk back to yours and Wilhemina's apartment but you could never bother your girlfriend with this, not because she told you so in the first place but because you need to remain stable and alright.

As you walk through exit and towards the bus stop, you feel some droplets of rain on your skin and instantly shiver a little as the cold water only adds to the uncomfortable feeling. Focussing on your vision and the bus timetable as you actually don't know the times because you would usually never leave work after two hours, the dizziness momentarily passes a little as the thoughts become overwhelming. Waves of uncomfortable thoughts crash into your brain, with no way of stopping ''What if they will fire me, what if people will be disappointed in me, what if Wilhemina hates me?''.

You try your best to take deep breaths and push the thoughts away but the only thing usually helpful at keeping the storm and waves of emotions at bay, is the woman you are trying to hide this from. Usually, she could tell by how stressed or anxious you seem and without addressing it much, she will just pull you into her arms or let your exhausted body rest on her lap, the soft hums and stroking her fingers through your hair, stopping the thoughts momentarily.

''Are you getting on Miss?'' you hear a male unfamiliar voice, snapping you out of your thoughts and noticing that somehow the bus already arrived and you blink a few times, confused whether you just stood there for ages, unable to focus on anything in reality anymore or if it just happened to arrive so quickly. ''Miss?'' he tries again, his voice now showing a slight sign of impatience. Your mind automatically connects it with Wilhemina's impatience whenever you would just admire her, completely taken back by her beauty and features and the same agitation in her voice, as she would try to speak to you.

''Yes,'' you quickly say and get on the bus, showing your ticket like you would every morning. Finally collapsing onto the nearest seat you can find, leaning your head against the window and closing your eyes, you feel some of the exhaustion fade as you sit on a comfortable surface. Your thoughts wander back to Wilhemina and it suddenly dawns on you that you haven't even texted her your usual good morning text yet or checked-in how her work is going. A small part of you wants to avoid any confrontation with her today as you are still worried, she will be mad at you.

After all, maybe you could avoid all the questions and confrontation if you simply lied. Of course, you are fully aware it won't be easy to lie to your girlfriend, especially with her always being able to tell but you wonder if you could somehow pull it off. Pretending to still be at work and only got off work a bit earlier, not to worry her and not to argue, as she did tell you after all not to come running to her.

Deciding on actually messaging her and pulling your phone out of your bag, you realize it was a mistake as soon as the bright screen blinds your vision yet again. All you could see before your eyes force shut, is Wilhemina's name on your screen but you can't begin to read the messages as your fragile state isn't allowing you to do so. Deciding on dealing with that later, you rest your head against the window and zone out for a while, trying hard not to fall asleep on the bus and end up somewhere entirely opposite to your direction and final stop- home.

Part of you doesn't remember how you ended up in bed a while later, your brain too tired to remember the details of getting off the bus at the right stop and walking aimlessly for a few minutes before you found yourself in front of your shared apartment. Thankfully, along the way, your subconsciousness took over and guided your body home safely, as you were in no state to focus on much anymore, your body on autopilot mode.

As soon as your tired body finally comes into contact with your mattress, pulling the blanket closer to your face and snuggling up comfortably, you feel relieved, and before any more waves of overwhelming thoughts arrive, your body finally allows itself to rest and you fall into a deep slumber. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered to set an alarm for in a few hours, making sure you would be awake for when Wilhemina would return, even in your sleepy and sick state, still keeping track of everything and keeping your perfect facade up.

However, whenever you try and protect everyone around you, considering every detail perfectly you tend to ignore yourself in the process and checking in on how you are feeling or how decisions might affect you. As a result, you didn't just take a small nap like intended, you fell asleep, sleeping off most of the fever and letting your tired body fight the illness. However, due to your state, you fail to wake up from the alarm or wake up to Wilhemina coming home from work, a little early as she couldn't reach you all day, not the usual lunchtime call or messages you would sent her, no matter how busy you are.

As soon as Wilhemina unlocks the door, discarding her small purple handbag on the table, she walks through the apartment in an effort to find you, her cane hitting the floor hard and with a heavy force, reflecting what she is feeling inside. Of course, she had known you haven't been feeling well and not only hiding it from her but also trying to push through like you usually would. The redhead didn't mean to lash out at you or use the harsh words she did in the end but your actions and behavior reminded the sometimes stern woman of her own behavior. Always ignoring her back pain and pushing through endless emails or documents on her desk, regretting it the same day or days later when the pain felt unbearable, and yet she still hid it from everyone.

She was trying to look out for you, the times she told you not to go in, take a break, and also when she said she wouldn't be there. Of course, she would, Wilhemina loves you and her love for you has been both the most confusing and strong thing she has ever felt for anyone. You had crashed into Wilhemina's life like a thunder, unexpected, and with heavy force, she had no idea the day you walked into her life, it would change everything. It didn't just change Wilhemina herself and being able to open up slowly, it also allowed her to feel emotions and understand them as something positive and not something you should try and hide or avoid at all costs. From day one you had brought out her soft side, allowing those walls to tumble down and letting the light and love into her life as her heart has been a dark and lonely place for long enough.

Her first stop is the kitchen, hoping deep down she wouldn't find you cooking in there, or the dining room with a meal prepared, as she wouldn't want you to overwork yourself even more after work. After not finding you there, she checks the bathroom but no sign of you either, only to finally be met with the bedroom in complete darkness. Slightly dumbfounded, she switches the light on, the lamp slowly filling the room with light and exposing your fragile, shivering body on the bed.

Wilhemina's heart almost breaks at the sight, seeing you in such discomfort and knowing at the same time it must be bad if you voluntarily went to bed early and skip the usual responsibilities that aren't actually your chores or Wilhemina expecting them of you but you thinking that regardless. She slowly approaches the bed, her cane hitting the floor very carefully and quiet now, sure to not wake you up in the process, as she wouldn't want to startle you or add to the discomfort you are in.

She finds you wrapped in a blanket, still wearing the clothes you had left in this morning and Wilhemina knows if you willingly did that, you must have felt awful when you returned home. Her hand wanders closer to your face, gently tucking at the blanket so she can take a look at your face. She gasps a little when she sees how pale you are, droplets of sweat on your forehead at the same time and her heart breaks at the sight, seeing her little one in this much pain and distress.

For a moment the redhead debates what to do as she has never been great at taking care of anyone or allowing people to take care of herself. As a child, she was often told not to exaggerate, that her back pain isn't that bad, that it doesn't need checking out from doctors and that she just has to deal with it. Eventually, she started to believe it and the emotional abuse she suffered in her young years, combined with the pain, made the redhead believe that she isn't worthy of affection or love or someone taking care of her. Even till this day, she barely allows you to help her out with her pains, not liking the fact anyone would show her the affection and tender care that was lacking in her younger years.

Gently, her hand reaches for your forehead, her rational thinking kicking in now to determine the state and severity of your illness. As soon as the back of her palm comes into contact with your forehead, she gasps, her facial expression changing from concerned and wishing she could just cure you right there, into worrying and shock. Her nostrils flare as she has no idea how you managed to get through the last hours and at the same time feeling angry, that you kept her in the dark and didn't call her. A small part of Wilhemina understands however, as she would have done the same thing, hide, keep the perfect smile and pretend like nothing is bothering her.

Wilhemina stands there for a moment, looking over your body exhausted from sickness, deciding on what to do, her rational side is telling her to take you to a doctor but there is no way she would trust them. The redhead woman had too many bad experiences before to trust them again, often mistreated with her back or prescripted the wrong medication and there is no way she would ever let her little one go through similar experiences. In the end, she decides on the only thing logical which is taking care of you herself, right at home. She balances on her cane again, trying to be quiet before walking into the kitchen to retrieve the necessary items.

The ruffling noises, mixed with cane tapping coming from the kitchen, as well as the cold unknown feeling on your forehead a little while ago, end up waking you up from your slumber, and instantly your body tenses up as you realize Wilhemina is home. In your slightly panicked state, overwhelmed with the thoughts on how to get out of this situation, ignoring the throbbing headache or the fact the room is spinning from the lack of food and water today, you once again fail to acknowledge what is right in front of you.

Right in front of you, stands Wilhemina, your girlfriend, a little tray in her hand, trying to balance it with the support of her cane and free hand, looking at you with a confused reaction, both about the fact you are awake and also the fact you are staring at the wall, not moving at all. ''Little one, you are awake'' she states, her voice sounding a little softer than usual. Instantly you snap out of it, panic once again rippling through your body as you fear her reaction, ignoring the fact she is standing in front of you with a little tray with water, soup, and medication.

Wilhemina notices you tensing, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in her back that the carrying of the tray had caused her, she walks closer to the bed, putting the tray on the night table finally, before breathing out a moment as the uncomfortable feeling leaves her. She turns to you, her eyebrows furrowing again, the concern now very visible in her features, unable to hide it any longer and not caring about that, your wellbeing her main priority.

''Little one'' she states, her head tilting slightly and her eyes slowly locking with yours as you force yourself to take a look at your girlfriend. As soon as you take a look at the redhead, you feel partly relieved as there is no sign of anger visible but at the same time, you feel awful for the concern you had caused her, not to mention the back pain you must have caused her, considering her awkward posture, standing in front of you, still balancing both hands on her cane. Finally, as your eyes wander to the little tray, you feel like bursting into tears at the fact Wilhemina had done this for you, considering she must have just returned from work and you knowing how hard things like these are for her with her condition.

''Mina?'' your voice cracks not only from the feeling of knives in your throat as illness seems to have taken up most of your body but also tears building up, both guilty ones putting Wilhemina through the effort as well as sad ones that your walls are breaking down, right here in front of the woman you usually encourage to let her walls down and true emotions in.

''I'm here little one'' she whispers, her hand wandering to your cheek, cupping it gently and stroking it with the back of her palm. It doesn't take words to exchange what is on each other's mind, you feeling sorry for lying and pushing, realizing now that indeed your partner had been right from the start. And Wilhemina also feeling guilty for using such harsh words on you this morning and at the same time upset to see her girl in such distress and pain. As soon as you feel her palm on your cheek, some tears stream down your face as you try and contain the sobs and fight back the last few emotions and thoughts, keeping you from breaking right in front of her.

As soon as Wilhemina feels the tears falling, she catches them with her thumb, wiping them away gently before whispering ''Now don't cry sweet girl'' trying to hide her own emotions and the pain it brings her whenever seeing you upset. Whenever she would see you in any kind of distress or any negative emotion visible in your features it would cause her great pain, a different kind of feeling than her back could ever cause her, as her heart would ache, her only intention to make you smile again, especially in that dorky adorable way she loves and that causes for her heart to flutter, even though she wouldn't admit that to anyone, including you.

After wiping your tears, Wilhemina hands you some water and medication from the tray and you look at her with a slightly confused expression, as you haven't fully realized yet, it doesn't need words for Wilhemina to understand how awful you are feeling. ''Now take them little one, it will make you feel better'' she promises and without thinking twice you lead the tablets to your mouth, swallowing them with some water. The feeling of the cold liquid soothing your throat momentarily distracts you from the pain that you seem to feel all over your body. ''Good girl'' Wilhemina praises as you hand her the bottle, a little smirk rising on your features.

''Now I need you to eat this'' she demands, handing you the bowl of chicken noodle soup, that you usually love. You look at her with a slightly disgusted expression as the thought of food is only adding to the sick feeling in your stomach. ''I know but eat up for me, will you?'' she asks gently, not reminding you of the stern Wilhemina at all. All you can do in response is nod and take the bowl from her hands. ''I will be right back'' she explains, leaving you behind with your soup before walking out of the bedroom. For a moment you debate whether to just abandon the food again, as you genuinely don't feel like eating but there is no way you would let the woman you had fallen in love with, down a second time today.

You enjoy the silence for a moment, the only sounds to be heard, the spoon as it scoops up the liquid, feeling soothing in your throat but painful in your stomach at the same time. Shortly after the sound of a cane fills the room again and with each tap you somehow feel nervous, knowing the conversation was still to be held why you had lied to Wilhemina and not listened to her in the first place, only adding to the anxiety you feel. You see as the redhead walks in with a few towels and your favorite pajamas, that she would usually mock, too ''adorable'' for her liking, as you would usually put it.

''Have you had some?'' she asks and points at the soup and you simply nod while your eyes are begging her not to eat anymore. ''Fine, come on there is a bath waiting for you'' she informs you and you simply nod and slowly make your way out of bed. Midway to the bathroom, you realize how severe the nauseous feeling has been and you hold onto the wall to balance for a moment before you feel a hand on your back. ''I'm right by your side'' you hear Wilhemina's voice behind you and it sends a warm, comfortable fuzzy feeling through your body, reminding you that you aren't alone in this and that your girlfriend has got your back, literally.

You manage to find your way to the bathroom, with the support of Wilhemina's hand on your back and even though it takes you a while, you manage to sit in the bath and let the warm water soothe your skin and tired muscles. ''Do you think you will be okay in here for a bit?'' Wilhemina asks and you simply nod, feeling sleepy and relaxed at the same time. As your partner, walks back in the bedroom to prepare you for the night ahead and her own night which will probably result in no sleep and a lot of worrying over you, you sink a little further into the bath, confusing the bathtub with your own bed for a moment as you feel a little too comfortable.

''Little one are you-'' Wilhemina enters the bathroom, only to find you in the bath, asleep, your head resting on the purple little pillow she had bought a while ago and attached it to the bath. She frowns at the sight for a moment, before her features change as she realizes, this time she is going to have to wake you up, as there is no way her back condition will allow her to simply lift you out of the bath and carry you to bed, as much as she would like to do that. The usual strong woman fights some of her own tears back both at your state but also the painful reminder of her scoliosis.

Slowly you wake up, as you feel some water on your head and a hand washing out some shampoo, combined with a few muffled words that you can't quite understand yet, only just having woken up from your little slumber. ''Little one, wake up we have got to get you out of here'' you hear Mina's voice. You blink a few times, dumbfounded at the fact you are in the bath, not remembering much but feeling that your body is already feeling more relaxed than waking up earlier from your first slumber. ''Mina, what are you doing?'' you question as you realize she is bending awkwardly to wash your hair out and free it from the bubbles of shampoo. Quickly you sit up and free her from the uncomfortable position. ''Come on let's get you out'' she says and with all the strength you have left, you prop yourself up and exit the bath. Soon your skin comes into contact with a warm towel provided by Wilhemina.

You enjoy the feeling for a moment, before slowly getting changed into your pajamas and following your partner back to the bedroom. At this point, the medication has already freed you from most of your pain but your body still feels exhausted, so you quickly lie down in bed and pull the blanket closer, shivering slightly from the cool sensation of the air on your legs. Wilhemina returns to the bedroom, moments later in her purple nightgown, her hair falling loosely now and you admire your girlfriend for a moment, never quite able to believe how lucky you truly are and also always finding yourself taken back by her beauty, after years of being with each other.

The redhead approaches her side of the bed, book in hand as usual but for a change abandoning it on her night table, resting her cane in her usual spot, and carefully sitting down while leaning her back against the headboard of the bed. ''Come here'' she instructs, opening her arms and freeing her lap for you to rest your head in. Usually, she would do this after you had a long day at work, Wilhemina being able to tell instantly what an awful day you must have had and how it exhausted you both mentally and physically.

Reluctantly, you move your tired head onto her lap, still worried deep down about the conversation that is yet to be held and her true feelings about this. You had lied to her, hidden the truth from her and even though the redhead had often done the same, it felt different to you, like a betrayal. Your eyes close as soon as you feel her hands come into contact with your head, her fingers running through your hair gently and momentarily numbing the pain you are in. The smell of lavender sends you in a little dreamlike state as your partner just did a small evening routine instead of the usual, more bothered about making sure you are safe and feeling alright.

''Is that the hand cream?'' you mumble, starting to feel sleepy already as your whole body is ready to forget about today, the medication soothing your tired muscles and keeping your temperature at bay. ''It is little one'' Wilhemina whispers, smiling a little and relieved that you are still somewhat in a clear headspace as you remembered the lavender hand cream you had bought her before. She strokes your hair, untangling some knots gently with her fingertips as there was no time to brush your hair, the idea of the comfortable bed too convincing.

''Are you feeling alright, my darling?'' she asks, noticing how you are already on the verge of falling asleep. ''Hm Mh'' you mumble, as you slowly start falling asleep, despite trying to fight to stay awake to be in your partner's embrace and feel her safety and the warmth she radiates onto you, just a moment longer. She frowns, hating to see you pushing yourself so hard and her not being able to do anything about it, the state you are in now only the result of pushing yourself over the past few days.

''You need to stop being so hard on yourself and pushing'' she warns, knowing deep down you aren't fully aware of her words anymore as you fall into a slumber. ''I just want you to be safe and healthy'' she carries on, holding you in her arms, as if she was trying to shield you from the outside world and things that might be thrown across your way, including yourself. As soon as the redhead hears your little snores, she smiles a little, happy you are at least getting some more rest in her arms and at the same time glad, she is able to protect you now, knowing tomorrow is another day to come to have an actual conversation about this. She averts her gaze, and she is met with the mirror on the other side of the room, seeing you asleep on her lap and for a moment the woman, usually so hard on herself crumbles for a second as tears stream down her cheeks.

She remembers the moments in her younger years or even to this day, where she kept pushing and listening to her parents or the ugly voices in her head, telling her she isn't deserving to take breaks or look after herself. As she sees you safe and sound in her arms she can't help but feel gratitude, that you had walked into her life a while ago, knowing that you both have each other now. At this moment as she watches your tired body, chest rising and falling with each breath, she promises herself to never let you push this much again and to get you to take care of yourself, fully aware it won't be easy as she struggles with those things herself.

''Everything will be okay, I'm here little one you are safe'' she whispers, reassuring you again that you aren't alone in this and that she will be by your side. After watching you for a few seconds longer, she carefully reaches for her book, opening it and keeping herself occupied while she is determined to stay awake, not caring about sleep herself as she feels the need to stay with you and be there for you in case you wake up and need the redhead.

As she opens her book, now occupied by it, you are already asleep, your body slowly healing from today, both a mix of medication, rest but also the tender care, love, and affection Wilhemina has shown you since arriving back home and continues showing, as one of her hands is still rubbing soothing circles on your head, occasionally checking your forehead for a temperature.

[linkspooky]

Touya is Dead, Dabi is Here.

Dabi is the foil to Endeavor. His villainous foil. However, not everything is about Endeavor. Let’s shove him to the side for a second. Dabi is also the villainous foil to himself, in a stranget twist and turn of events. Dabi has a villain persona that he plays up, he’s trying to show everyone that he’s the monster created by Endeavor’s monstrous actions, but I think he’s also playing himself as the opposite of Touya, the villainous foil to Touya’s once heroic ambitions. Touya was supposed to die, but Touya lived. Now, Dabi is trying to destroy everything Touya is, by embodying the opposite of everything Touya was. 

1. The Child Who Didn’t Get Saved

Touya’s remembered in a certain way by his family members. Endeavor doesn’t even seem to pity the child who died on his watch, so much as he pities himself. He pities the fact that he didn’t get to raise his son up into a successor. When he sees the scarred up Dabi still alive in front of him, he doesn’t feel happiness that his long dead son is alive, or even pity for the monster covered in burns. 

His first thought is disappointment, that Dabi didn’t grow up into what he wanted him to be. Natsu remembers the crying child that always clung to him, but he probably has the most realistic view of his brother. Someone who was suffering under his father, and someone whose pain shouldn’t be forgiven or swept under the rug. Whereas Fuyumi and Shoto who were both less close to Touya, don’t even seem to know how to talk about him, or how to feel. 

Touya is in the eyes of others around him, either a sad and tragic case. A crying child in need of saving who unfortanately did not get saved. Or he’s just not talked about at all. I’m not going to talk about Shoto and Fuyumi because of course they don’t know how to feel about the death of their own brother, and their mom who they’ve been seperated from for a decorated they’re coming to terms with all that slowly but... not only did society as a whole forget about Touya but, Endeavor too. He doesn’t really see Touya. He just sees an unfortanate lost child. He sees a son who he wants to come home. Touya died so young, and so suddenly that his feelings aren’t really recognized. Nobody really knows Touya, and the Touya they all understand is the sad child he used to be. The sad, pitiful, tragic, child. 

And is it any wonder that Touya doesn’t want to be this person anymore? That Dabi denies being this person? If all Touya used to be was a sad child, constantly crying, who was never good enough no matter how hard he tried. Then wouldn’t it make sense that Dabi wouldn’t want to be this person anymore? 

It’s painful being Touya. Touya is vulnerable, a child who couldn’t do anything about his situation. A child who tried so hard he ended up burning himself. Not only is Touya vulnerable, he’s frail, weak, all the things Dabi doesn’t want to be and all the things his father found worthless. Touya has flames stronger than anyone, but a weak constitution to go along with it, so much so he always ends up hurting himself with his own fire. It’s pretty obvious to see that Dabi is in pain, everyone else around him except for Dabi himself seems to notice it. He’s covered in burn wounds at all times, he’s literally constantly smoking, and just barely stitched together. Yet, Dabi denies being in pain, and through doing that, he denies himself. 

2. That Child Grew Up Into An Asshole

Denial is a coping mecahnism.  Refusing to acknowledge that something is wrong is a way of coping with emotional conflict, stress, painful thoughts, threatening information and anxiety. Rather than simply being vulnerable, it’s sometimes easier to deny that you are ever vulnerable atall. Especially for people like Dabi who spent long periods in their childhood feeling helpless and week. 

From the moment a baby comes into the world, forming attachments to parents or other caregivers is critical to a child’s emotional, physical and psychological development. For an infant, having a gentle and responsive caregiver provides the nurturing a child needs to grow into a healthy adult. A cared for child develops self-esteem, feels secure in exploring the world around him or her and has a strong foundation for understanding how to build healthy relationships later in life.

But if those earliest relationships break down, the child may experience what is known as abandonment or neglect trauma.

One way of coping with this trauma is to be entirely self sufficient. To basically close up, never need to rely on other people ever, and therefore never open up. Basically, what Dabi denies more than anything else is his vulnerability, even though it’s obvious he’s in pain. 

Vulnerability, after all is the reason he got abandoned. Touya was tossed to the side because he was too weak. Therefore, in an effort to be strong Dabi denies feeling any pain at all, and in the process shuts out his other feelings. He also denies anything, his connection to his family, any feelings of guilt or remorse he might have.

Self-denail, and self-abuse, it’s the same reason kids from bad homes end up acting irresponsibly and abusing drugs, it’s all a fancy way to hurt yourself. 

If overthinking about things causes him pain, causes him to break Dabi’s solution is to simply not think about things. If being Touya is too painful for him, then Dabi chooses not to be a person and plays up the monster. 

It’s almost like Dabi and Touya are two separate people stitched sloppily together, but they’re coming apart slowly at the seams. Dabi pretends to be a remorseless villain when facing off with Endeavor, but then in front of the crowds when he’s begging for sympathy he shows off all of his burns, sits politely, and presents a character that is much more human making his case that he killed innocent people but he did so with reason, for a good cause. While, the same Dabi instead of Endaevor seems to just want to burn everything for the fun of it. The point being that, Dabi contradicts himself a lot. He argues with himself. 

It’s because Dabi is putting on deliberate acts. He’s changing himself based on the audience. It’s just that he’s also not as good of an actor as he thinks he is. However the performance seems to be pretty consistent at least for the most part, he wants everyone to regret what Touya became because of Endeavor’s abuse so he purposefully makes himself into the opposite of everything Touya was. Touya wanted to be a hero to carry on his father’s legacy, Dabi is a villain dedicated to completely destroying his father’s reputation and leading him to ruin. 

Touya was known for being particularly close to Natsuo, not only playing with him all the time, but confiding in him. Touya must have been a good big brother to Natsuo if Natsuo misses him so much. Yet, Dabi acts like Natsuo is nothing special, just another casualty in his revenge on Endeavor. 

Touya was someone always working hard to earn Endeavor’s attention and please him. Dabi seems to only want to bring about Endeavor’s ruin and think of ways of hurting him. There’s a certain irony in Dabi being so laser focused on Endeavor, because once again you reap what you sow. Endeavor wanted to raise his child to exist solely for his purpose, to carry on his legacy, to center everything around Endeavor’s needs rather than to care for another living human being with needs of his own and that’s what he got - someone who is singularly laser focused and obsessed with bringing him down. Even if Touya is still obsessed with only Endeavor to the point of forgetting the rest of his family, that’s literally just a symptom, a side effect of child abuse, of Endeavor raising Touya with the expectation that he had to please him.

Touya was a kid who is always crying, and Dabi seems to have no feelings at all. Once again, always, always he presents himself as the opposite of everything that Touya was and wanted to be. 

Dabi denies that he is Touya, and therefore denies that he is in pain. 

He pulls his brother close, and hugs him, and then does the opposite of what a big brother is supposed and hurts his younger brother instead of protecting him.

It’s not just Dabi being the opposite of Touya, it’s almost like he’s doing everything he can, to  burn up and riun Touya’s memory. To deny that any part of him ever was Touya. 

Dabi is in denial, but also I think some part of Dabi is aware of his denial. Like I said, he contradicts himself. He says that these are Endeavros’ flames, then just as easily he says “no duh, it’s obvious I’m not Endeavor.” 

I think Dabi realizes what he is doing, it’s just at the moment he believes he has to do this. It’s the only way. Whatever, Dabi is hoping to achieve, the radical reform of society, the destruciton of the hero system, it’s more important the feelings of his family, and more important than his own feelings. 

However, if those feelings are there it means Dabi isn’t without hope. There’s still a human side to Dabi. Dabi is still Touya, the same way Shigaraki is same Tenko. Their child selves died, but they never did die. Dabi is trying to be pure evil, but parts of him are still good he’s just suppressing himself. 

I think what Dabi needs to realize is that his hurt feelings, his feelings of vulnerability, are just as important as the strength he fights with. He needs both parts of himself in order to live on, weak little Touya and villainous Dabi. I don’t think Dabi will turn into a 100% good person, but as for character development the same way that Shoto is learning to reconcile his two disparagent sides, his ice and his flames. I hope that Dabi learns that he’s still Touya, while being Dabi at the same time. He’s not a villain, he’s someone capable of being both good and bad. It’s only that way he can learn to live on as Touya, rather than hoping to die and drag his father to hell with him as Dabi. 

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Lila Rossi: I’d Say She’s a Good Villain, but Then I’d Be Lying (300 Follower Special)

Deception and cunning are easily two of the most important traits an antagonist could have. It shows that even if they don't have the strength to overcome obstacles, their wit is more than enough. This kind of trait is why characters like Lex Luthor, David Xanatos, and Princess Azula are so beloved, simply because of how intelligent they can be as villains and pose a real threat to the heroes.

It's clear that the Miraculous Ladybug writers want Lila to be seen as this, but the writing seriously fails to back that claim up.

Easily one of the most controversial characters in Miraculous Ladybug is Lila, mainly for the writing surrounding her. But there was a time where she was actually more of an ambiguous character, mainly for the lack of screentime she had until Season 3. But unfortunately, the more appearances she's had have painted a very poor portrait of an antagonist.

Lila's Tragic and Sympathetic Motivation for Hating Ladybug

Lila's first appearance was at the tail end of Season 1, “Volpina”. She was a new transfer student from Italy, and quickly made friends with a lot of her classmates for the lies she told, including being friends with Ladybug (which Alya blindly believed without doing any research like any excellent journalist). But because of how close she was getting to Adrien, Marinette, in a rare act of selfishness, transforms into Ladybug just to chew out Lila for lying about knowing her, humiliating her in front of Adrien. And this is the only motivation we get for what Lila does afterwards.

I'm not saying that it's wrong for Lila to get upset at Ladybug for doing this, and I like the moment of weakness Marinette has, but this is literally the only explanation we get for Lila deciding to side with Hawkmoth, a literal terrorist. As much as I hated the way the arc turned out, I could still understand Chloe siding with Hawkmoth, as it was clear that Hawkmoth was manipulating her and taking advantage of her ego. Lila? Ladybug's mean to her one time, and that inspires her to conspire with a complete stranger who brainwashes people to attack the city, which endangers innocent people and causes God knows how much in collateral damage if not for Miraculous Ladybug fixing everything.

I just don't get how a single negative interaction with someone is enough to conspire with a literal supervillain. Even in Season 3, when Marinette and Lila truly became enemies, it was because she risked exposing all the lies she told, which could damage her reputation. Sure, it's petty, but it makes sense for Lila to want to keep up the illusion. If she was simply an antagonist to Marinette in her civilian life like Chloe was before “Miracle Queen” , I'd be fine with that, but the writers clearly want her to be seen as on the same level of evil as Hawkmoth. I'll get into why that doesn't work later on.

Why Lila is an Excellent Liar

In my Master Fu analysis, I had pointed out that despite all the flaws he had, the narrative insisted on portraying him as an incredibly wise mentor. The same problem applies for Lila as well. We're supposed to see Lila as an expert manipulator and liar, but her lies are insultingly obvious. She always claims to be friends with celebrities and does all these awesome things, and in an age where we can have almost any question answered thanks to the internet, nobody ever stops to question her.

It's even more frustrating when you hear Lila talk about saving Jagged Stone's cat, when Jagged Stone is established to be very fond of Marinette (evidentially more than his own daughter), and nobody ever points that out. I think if Lila's lies were more stories about her travels around the world than outright lies about real people, it could have worked. It'd still be hard to believe, but it's something.

But this is a problem with writing shows aimed at children. As much as we hate writers who need to spell out things to kids, sometimes, they just don't understand some of the media they consume. Seriously, I never got this joke in SpongeBob as a kid, and I can't believe Nickelodeon actually approved this.

So the dilemma when writing a show with children in mind is finding that sweet spot between assuming your audience can figure it out, but not being too vague in your details. It's even harder when you need to find a way to convey the fact that someone is lying without being too obvious. Unfortunately, the show clearly fails to do that

Okay, this is going to sound like an incredibly weird thing to cite, and I only know about it because I used to know someone who was a huge fan of the franchise, but the movie Monster High: Friday Night Frights does a better job of subtly explaining to the audience that a character is lying. Please, just hear me out.

The movie follows the main characters competing in their high school's roller derby for the season after everyone on the usual team gets injured, and the championship match is against another school whose team tends to cheat to win matches. How they manage to do this without getting caught is anyone's guess. While the main characters are practicing, their coach, Clawd, notices a spy for the enemy team taking video of them to study their moves. In response, he calls over one of the athletes, Operetta, to chew her out for her showboating attitude. In reality, he's alerting her to the spy. Only using facial expressions, he clues her, and by extension, the audience, in on the fact that they know what the opposing team is trying to do.

This soon leads to Operetta pretending to tell the enemy team about their secret plan for the championship match, which was really an attempt to outsmart them to gain the advantage in the final stretch. The brilliance of this is how the audience is informed of this with no dialogue, and there's no scene afterwards spelling it out for those who don't get it. It manages to convey deception without being too obvious that Clawd and Operetta are being deceitful.

I think if there were more subtle hints to show the audience Lila was lying, she would be seen in a better light. As it is, Lila's lies are just pathetic, and it's ridiculous that everyone believes her. Which leads me to...

Lila, the Master Manipulator

I once read a Star Trek: Voyager fanfic that poked fun at the series by claiming that the reason a lot of the dumber episodes like “Threshold” and “Twisted” happened was because one of the crew members was an alien who unintentionally produced mood altering pheromones, with Captain Janeway actually realizing they were all high because of said pheromones, while two of the unaffected crew members were wondering what the hell they were doing before they found out the cause. Why do I bring this up? Sometimes, it feels like Lila is an unintentional parallel to the alien in that story.

Like so many characters, it's clear the show desperately wants the audience to view Lila in a certain way, but her actions do very little to actually back up that claim. When she's not using lies to tell stories about so many famous people she knows like her uncle who works for Nintendo, Lila is using strategies to manipulate everyone that are so obviously deceptive, the Thermians could pick up on them. Everyone and their mother knows how ridiculous a lot of what Lila does in episodes like “Chameleon” and “Ladybug” are, and I've talked about them before, so I'll try to be quick.

First off, as someone who had access to accommodations through high school and has had assistance in college so far, there is no way in hell that Ms. Bustier should take Lila's tinnitus at face value in “Chameleon”. If a student has a disability that could interfere with the education process, physical or developmental, not only does the school have to evaluate their performance, and determine if they're eligible for an Individualized Education Program, or IEP, but her teachers would have to be notified in the first place. As her primary educator, Ms. Bustier would be part of the team to oversee Lila's IEP and determine what accommodations she needs to help her learn better with her tinnitus and arthritis. But because the writers don't know what Google is, they just ignore it,  assume that Lila can just say she has a disability, and have everyone believe it. Even when Eric Cartman pretended to be disabled to compete in the Special Olympics, he put in more effort to look the part, even if he looked like a caricature.

Then there's the fact that that in “Chameleon”, everyone just believes Lila when she says Marinette stole her grandmother's necklace when not only is said necklace from the Agreste line of jewelry, but Alya, who is Rena Rouge, can't pick up on the fact that it's a fake. All she does to justify these lies is come up with a sob story about how nobody believes her, yet nobody ever tries to defend Marinette except Alya one time, and it was after she got expelled.

Or what about in “Oni-Chan”, where Lila thinks having Kagami kill Ladybug while claiming she'll back away from Adrien is a good idea? Let's say Oni-Chan does kill Ladybug or at least take away her Miraculous, what then? We know Lila wouldn't go through with this promise, and as soon as Kagami sees her harassing Adrien, she'll be ripe for akumatization again. Overall, not a great plan.

And yet somehow, this last example is what made her worthy enough to become one of Hawkmoth's most trusted agents. I'm just going to say it: Lila is not a good fit for the power of illusion. Whenever she's Volpina or Chameleon, she always goes out of her way to make a big show instead of being subtle with her deceptions. “Chameleon” is the worst offender, as even though Lila gets the power to shapeshift into someone else, instead of being discreet and cornering people into kissing them and gaining their appearance, she just runs around to get Ladybug's attention instead of being subtle. Even Felix had the bright idea to pretend to be Adrien to catch Ladybug off guard. How do you lose to something that happened in “Felix”?

Despite all of these screw-ups, we're still supposed to see her as this master of deception worthy of allying with Hawkmoth in both his supervillain and civilian form, when really, she's a terrible liar on the schoolyard and on the battlefield.

Why Lila is an Important Character

In the grand scheme of things, Lila just isn't as important of a character that the show loves to parade her around as. She's nothing more than a plot device used to raise the stakes in an episode, given how much reality seems to bend over just to accommodate for her lies. Even when the show alludes to her being part of bigger things, like her deal with Adrien, or her rivalry with Marinette, they don't even go anywhere.

She just feels pointless when you remember Astruc's brilliant idea to force Chloe into being the final Akuma for the season while Lila isn't even mentioned once. She only really makes appearances whenever the writers feel like it, which is why it’s hard to take her seriously. Why should I take this character seriously as a threat if the writers refuse to take her seriously as a threat? Why build Lila up as a big threat and not give her a major role in the finale? Why even include her in the show in the first place when you could show Chloe being more manipulative to fill in the plots Lila plays a big part in?

As of the time I am writing this analysis, four episodes of Season 4 have aired, three of them have been about lies or deception, and Lila hasn't been mentioned at all. It honestly seems like she won't appear unless the writers need a easy way to drive up the conflict, so they can justify it by saying that Lila's “superpower” of lying is more powerful than the common sense of everyone else.

I'm sorry this post was shorter than the last one, but compared to Master Fu, there's not that much to say about Lila that I haven't already said. Even the show barely gives her any attention, so it's hard for me to really find a lot to talk about.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated. 

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building.  Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room.  Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

**

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone,  presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack.  Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow.  Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

[mobagehelllocal]

D, E, O, T & U for the Tweels, Leona & Malleus?

A/N: Ohoho... Thank you for requesting!

all characters featured are depicted as 18+

warning: explicit content below cut!

Leona Kingscholar

Dirty Secret: 

As his romantic feelings for you began to grow, he grew quite territorial. He was always by your side. There were some days that his gaze would linger on your form more often than not. It was his instincts telling him that you were the perfect mate to bear his cubs.

He would always be more willing to stay close with you, instinctively attempting to brush his scent on you--and make it clear to others that you were his. You probably never realised it, but it happens on days when you’re fertile. 

Experience:

Leona isn’t as experienced as people think he is--he knows enough about the mating process and how his own body reacts to women in heat--but male Lions don’t actually have heat nor do they experience ruts. 

As a Prince of Afterglow Savanna, he certainly is taught how to pleasure a woman, but he’s never really seen or wanted to have sex. However, as a male lion, he doesn’t get into the mood often... unless you’re in the mood.

Oral:

Leona can be quite the unbearable tease. He loves to watch you fall a part with his fingers and his tongue. He also never actually let’s you come though--he’d prefer you did that when he’s inside you and you could do it together. 

Leona actually doesn’t expect you to perform oral for him, nor is it something he actively seeks out. He also (with your consent) would prefer to come inside your core, rather than your mouth. 

Toy:

He might dabble with a few toys--maybe a vibrator. He’ll tease you almost to your peak--but he’ll stop right before that, because he prefers that the two of you reach your release together. 

He still prefers good old fucking though. His brows twitch just a little at the thought that he might not be pleasing you enough if you’re thinking about toys. “haah? more? it’s my turn, herbivore.”

Unfair: 

Male lions don’t really get heats or ruts--they have sex when the female lions get into heats. So most of the time, when Leona gets frisky, it’s because you’re feeling particularly horny. There’s absolutely no point in attempting to hide how much you want him--he can smell it on you from a mile away. 

That being said, he can be very unfair because he makes it his personal mission to ensure that you’re so pleased--you can’t say anything to his smirking face. 

Jade Leech

Dirty Secret:

Jade has incredible control of his base instincts, and often spends most of the lovemaking process driving you close to orgasm countless times with just foreplay. Even when you actually do have sex, Jade is still--most of the time--in control. Most of your sessions is you being pleasured to exhaustion, and he hadn’t even removed his pants yet. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be rough with you, he does to some extent, but--it’s almost a dominance thing. He likes seeing you fall a part in his arms--he likes seeing all the different faces you make when he touches you in a certain way. To do that--he has to be in complete control. 

Experience:

Probably has had some experience before you. If anything, he’s at least experimented with other people--enough so he knows what he wants and likes from sex. 

If you ask him how to please him in bed, he’s more than willing to tell you exactly what he likes. He’s thrilled that you’re invested in learning more about him. On his end, he’ll learn things about your body and kinks that you could have never thought of. 

Oral:

He certainly enjoys giving you oral--he loves the way your expression twist into utter bliss. He especially finds it amusing when you, particularly worked up--actually tangle your fingers into his hair and push your lower body into his face. 

It’s something he won’t ask for--but a certain thrill will shoot up his spine when you ask him to let you give him oral. In turn, he’ll find it very exciting to tell you exactly how he likes it. When his cum spills onto your face, his eyes darken quite a bit--your expression in that moment made Jade’s impeccable control slip. 

Toys:

He’s entertained the thought of slipping a vibrator into your heat, and sending you to enjoy your day as you normally would. He’d want to watch you tremble, and shiver as he adjusts the settings from a distance. The only reason he doesn’t actually do this, is because he doesn’t want any of the other students seeing your expressions and, or getting any ideas from the likely scent emanating from you. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, the bedroom is free game. He loves to see how far he can tease you with his array of toys before he finally let’s you come. He will never do anything you’re uncomfortable about. He’s also likely to let you tease him with his own toys--just to see what type of look will cross your face when he gives you ‘power.’ 

Unfair: 

He’s one of the biggest teases from the Twisted cast. He’ll drive you as close as possible to your orgasm, before going hands off again. Rinse and repeat, until you’re crying and begging him to just let you fall. 

He also enjoys watching you play with yourself--whether with your fingers, or pushing in a particularly thick dildo into your own body--his eyes are ever attentive and his smile calm as he tells you to--“go deeper, my dear.” .

Floyd Leech

Dirty Secret:

He’s the type of person who would actually willingly do it in public with you. He’ll push you into a corner--hidden behind the stairs, and fuck you silly. When other students (especially those with animal features) turn to you (because they can smell it on you), Floyd will simply give them a smug grin. 

He’s also very much the type of person who will purposely mark you in very noticeable places. If he’s aware that he put a mark somewhere on your body that you didn’t know--pretend, your nape--he’ll move your hair aside just so people could see it. 

Experience:

Somehow, I think he has less experience than Jade, but likely more experience than Azul. There’s a chance the farthest he’s gone with other people is oral sex or just foreplay because nobody manages to hold his interest long enough for him to want to have sex. 

Because of his personality, I think Floyd isn’t the type of person who’d be approached often and propositioned for sex. This is fine with him, he’s mostly uninterested with it anyways... until you. 

Oral:

He very much enjoys it when you perform oral on him--he loves the way your mouth feels around his cock. If you’re willing to deep throat him, Floyd would absolutely loose it--his hands would tangle in your hair, and force you down on his cock as far as you can go. 

He’s not really interested in giving you oral--he will if he’s in the mood for eating you out in particular. But most of the time during sex, he doesn’t always consider that you might want it. You often have to ask--and doing that can take awhile.

Toys:

He certainly finds them interesting and fun. He’ll use them on you to tease you as much as possible. However, there’s a chance that he’ll quickly grow bored of using it and shift onto pounding you into the bed. He’s also... iffy with toys sometimes. Like, you can say he sometimes gets jealous that the toy was receiving your warm squeezes instead of his cock. 

If he’s in a particularly good or patient mood, he’ll let you use some toys on him. He thinks its cute if you try to put him in hand cuffs. Though be warned, no matter how much power you think you have in that moment--the moment Floyd doesn’t feel like it, he’ll reverse the situation immediately. 

Unfair: 

He’s very unfair, but not in the same way as Jade as that he’d tease you. He’ll tease you, certainly, but not with words. He’ll come out of nowhere to press his body against yours, and you’ll feel his hard cock through his pants--“shrimpy~ let’s do it right now~”   

He’s unfair in the sense that you’ll find it very difficult to refuse him when he’s in the mood. He’s also the type to get turned on, and to stay turned on for quite awhile--so sessions with him are always long, exhausting--and you certainly can’t walk the next day. 

Malleus Draconia

Dirty Secret:

Whenever the two of you engage in lovemaking, he’s incredible soft and slow with it. He’s always incredibly romantic, with it--but the truth of the matter is that he wants to be as rough with you as possible. He wants to lose himself to the sensation of your warmth--but if he does that, he’s likely to destroy the whole dorm... so he won’t. 

He’s also alarmingly aware of how fragile the mortal form is, so he’ll never budge on this. He’ll prefer never to treat you roughly, and will always go for slow, romantic sex. Actually seeing hickeys, or the lightest bruises on you--genuinely upsets him, and he’ll have to be coaxed into having sex with you again. 

Experience:

Well... given that he wasn’t even allowed to show up in front of Eliza... He probably knows how sex works, and he’s likely at least have done it a few times. You can probably count the number of times with just two hands but... He’s never really understood the pleasure aspect. 

That is until he had you in his bed, and your scent in his sheets. It’s only then did Malleus completely understand what the hype with sex was. 

Oral:

He finds it very intriguing--there’s just something so enchanting and intoxicating about the way you’re spread across his bed--quivering--your eyes dazed as he made you orgasm with his mouth. 

That being said, when you do oral on him--Malleus is a goner. He never expected that something like this could be enjoyable--and he might break the bed post with how hard he’s holding it as you suck him off. 

Toys:

He would hesitate to use them because he’s not so sure how to--nor did Lilia inform him of them when he was given the birds and bees a few hundred years ago. While he’s willing to test them on you, he’s more likely to just get excited and go straight for the main course.

Because you encouraged him and let him test some toys on you, he’ll agree to let you test some other toys on him too. However, he’ll be pretty clear with you when it’s something he doesn’t like. 

Unfair:

He’s actually very fair as a lover. He’s not the type to tease you too much--and he’d rather the two of you enjoy your lovemaking as much as possible. For the centuries he’s been alive, nothing has ever made him feel like this at all--so he’ll enjoy it as much as possible.

That being said, he’s not above a few coy, “ohoh? you must want me a lot, bright one.” But he’ll never tease you beyond that--he’s just as eager as you to share these moments together. 

[merakilyy]

Lan Qiren is Not a Completely Terrible Parent + Bonus Headcanon

Some disorganized thoughts on Lan Qiren!

A lot of my thoughts on Lan Qiren come from a bilibili article breaking down what it means be be righteous (雅正) in accordance to the Lan Sect’s motto. The article is in Chinese so I’ll just sum up some of the major ideas first:

***

~It fundamentally refutes the idea of Lan Wangji as the “black sheep” in the Lan Sect 

~It assumes Cloud Recesses has a highly collective intrasect environment. Children are raised not just by the parents, but by the entire Sect. 

~The Elders raised Wangji and saw him grew up and didn’t have the heart to hurt Wangji, even after he escaped with Wei Wuxian into the cave. Western fandom especially tends to see the elders as strict, conservative disciplinarians who are rigid in their beliefs to the point of hypocrisy. This meta refutes that. It’s unreasonable that Wangji, no matter how strong his cultivation, would be able to stand on his own against 33 seasoned cultivators. So, contrary to popular belief, the elders allowed Wangji to injure them so they would not have to harm a child of the Sect.

~Lan Sect rules are not about what is literally written, but the spirit of the rules. This also makes sense given that when you have 4000+ rules, some rules are bound to contradict one another. And, many rules are quite vague. Eg. “sneering for no reason is prohibited.” Where is the line that justifies sneering? There is none because the idea is not “don’t sneer for no reason,” the idea is “don’t be unnecessarily rude.” In many of the rules, there is room for interpretation and it is this process of interpretation that is valued over the literal inscription of the rules. 

~Basically, they are not good people because of the rules. They are good people because they are good people. The rules guide them to make good judgement, but good judgement does not comes from following the rules to a T.

~So the function of 雅正 (to be righteous) is internal, not performative.

~It is this internal clarity that makes Gusu Lan “innocent” (the word used is 纯真; 纯/chun = pure, clarity, genuine, practised and 真/zhen = true, real, genuine, clear)

~There is also a long history of Lans being deviant and rebellious. In CQL, there is Lan Yi who invents guqin battle techniques. They are also the only Clan to have been led by a female cultivator. Qingheng-jun clearly went against orthodoxy by marrying a murderer, but still remained in Cloud Recesses. We’re going to set aside consent here because is a total other separate conversation, but his punishment is self-imposed, not enforced by the Sect. So there are a lot of rules, but they aren’t pedantic. There is leeway, as seen in Lan Yi, but only within reason, as demonstrated by Qingheng-jun.

~Like his ancestors, Wangji also deviated from the straightforward path but his sect accepted his unrepentant love for Wei Wuxian in the end.

~In the end, Wangji gets what he wants: to live with Wei Wuxian in Cloud Recess. But he only gets this because the elders and Lan Qiren allow him to.

~To allow Wei Wuxian to exist in Cloud Recesses, the Lan Sect has to be more inclusive than we typically see them as.

~Despite everything, Lan Wangji still wants to return to Cloud Recesses because it is home to him.

~This is also my favourite explanation of Jingyi’s Jingyi-ness. Rather than Wangji (and possibly Xichen) singlehandedly creating a space for Jingyi, that space already existed. Jingyi isn’t as much of a black sheep as people portray him as because you don’t grow into a Jingyi if everyone is constantly yelling at you to follow rules. CQL Jingyi is plenty sassy, even in front of Lan Qiren, and Jingyi isn’t stupid! He was born and raised in Cloud Recesses, he knows when he is pushing several of the rules and he knows that he has the leeway to do so, and that Lan Qiren will not stop him (within reason).

~”Be righteous” is how the Lan motto is translated in English, but it’s….not exactly what it is in Chinese.

~In modern Chinese, it’s  雅正.  雅/ya = elegance, graceful and 正/zheng = positive, correct, straight, just. 

~Notice how the two parts of the motto contrast one another. Ya is outward, something that dictates how you act. Zheng is internal, determined by your actions and attitudes. Zheng is the foundation of Ya.

~As a related aside, the literary meaning of 雅正 is slightly different; it means to be correct and honest, and to welcome corrections to one’s shortcomings. The literary 雅 is to be proper。

~The meta ends with this beautiful line: 所谓的“雅正”，家族交出来，体雅是表象，心正才是更本。Now to ruin it in translation: “Each configuration of “righteousness,” as taught by the Sect, is outward physical elegance built on the foundation of a moral heart.”

~TLDR: Rebelliousness is a function of Gusu Lan, not an anomaly.

***

Onto some fun headcanons!

~Lan Qiren has personal issues with Wei Wuxian because of his mother, but he is more horrified by Wei Wuxian because Wei Wuxian has all this potential and then uses it to go down the heretial path?? Blaphemous. All that ability, all that work, only to throw it all away? Wei Wuxian is incredibly competent and Lan Qiren begrudgingly respects that competence. What he can’t stand is Wei Wuxian’s lackadaisical attitude towards his cultivation.

~In novel canon, Lan Qiren accepts Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s marriage. He definitely still has issues with Wei Wuxian for being a mass murderer, a demonic cultivator, for desecrating the dead, etc. Also for his general Wei Wuxian-ness. But Wei Wuxian is nothing is not incredibly competent and Lan Qiren eventually softens towards Wei Wuxian because of that competence. Once Wei Wuxian starts using that competence to be useful to the Sect and not just to be as annoying as possible, he gets Lan Qiren’s approval. 

~Secretly, of course. Lan Qiren would qi deviate before saying nice about Wei Wuxian to his face.

~I totally wrote a fic on Lan Qiren publicly defending Wei Wuxian heheh

~Cloud Recesses is only so big and Lan Qiren can’t avoid Wei Wuxian, even if he is never trying to seek him out. Plus, Wei Wuxian has this way of being in the most inconvenient place at the most inconvenient time.

~We all agree Wei Wuxian is a terrible cook. But, is he a bad cook because he adds too much spice, or he is a bad cook because he’s a bad cook? He did manage to cook congee for the ducklings in Yi Cheng without any fatalities. so I’m inclined to believe the former.

~Lan Qiren definitely thinks Wei Wuxian is a terrible cook, especially after hearing about how Wei Wuxian burned a hole in a pot.

~But Wei Wuxian is Wei Wuxian and even if he can’t be trusted with spices (or anything remotely resembling seasoning), he can make plain congee just fine....after some practice 

~Lan Qiren eats this congee and it’s a perfectly good congee. Ideal thickness, light taste, no spices, slides down the throat smoothly and pairs perfectly with his dried zhacai (pickled mustard; a super common Chinese side dish). He asks who made the congee, expecting it to be Sizhui. He chokes when he is told Wei Wuxian is the cook.

~Lan Qiren knows how to be a good parent in theory. He’s just terrible at putting it to practice.

~Jingyi’s parents, when he was still a terrible toddler wreaking havoc everywhere, went to Lan Qiren for desperate advice like “why is our child such a terrible Lan???”

~But Jingyi isn’t actually Lan Qiren’s kid so he actually gives good advice. “Give him a toy, he’ll tire himself out for his nap,” “Let him crawl around, just cover sharp objects and table corners,” and “give him a crushed peach as a reward for walking across the room”

~But he doesn’t know how to talk to Xichen or Wangji as family. He loves them both dearly – obviously he raised them, but they’re also good nephews!! Questionable taste in men aside, they are excellent nephews! He just doesn’t know how to talk to them outside of official sect business.

~Especially with Wangji, He kind of did declare Wangji’s husband a heretic, a traitor, was extra hard on Wei Wuxian as a student, Wangji for visiting Wei Wuxian. And there’s that whole discipline whip thing.

~Which, to be fair, did end up saving Wangji’s life. Raising his sword against Sect Elders and one’s own family is an act of treason punishable by execution. But Lan Qiren can’t just execute his own nephew….he has a heart, even if no one believes it

~33 discipline lashes from the discipline whip is very harsh and Lan Qiren won’t pretend otherwise. But he could gamble that Wangji’s core is strong enough to pull him through. Because the odds of a living, resentful Wangji is better than a dead Wangji.

~They never talk about this. There are a lot of things they don’t talk about.

~Even before, Lan Qiren isn’t a bad parent. He just has no idea how to put his ideas of parenting into practice. He knows what a good parent looks like, he just doesn’t know how to be one.

~So he hides behind the rules because the rules can’t go that wrong, right? Right???

~Lan Qiren is lowkey jealous of Wei Wuxian for knowing how to be affectionate. He definitely thinks Wei Wuxian is too open with his emotions, but he is envious that Wei Wuxian and Wangji are open to each other in a way that Lan Qiren never established with either nephew. They are loyal in the filial manner of juniors to their elders, but Lan Qiren isn’t exactly close to his nephews. 

~In his ongoing attempt to be a better uncle, he ends up getting advice from Wei Wuxian about emotions.

~It’s not like he can go to anyone else. And, well. That congee was really good.

~Turns out Wei Wuxian can brew the perfect pot of tea, too.

~Offensive. That Wei Wuxian is so competent and the least emotionally repressed person in all of Cloud Recesses.

~Eventually, Lan Qiren begins to understand why Wangji is so attached to Wei Wuxian, even if he still can’t stand to be in the same room as Wei Wuxian for longer than 15 minutes. 

~No matter how much he might no longer hate Wei Wuxian, he prefers their interactions in small doses and spaced out.

~But he does learn to bond with Wei Wuxian over cultivation theory. Annoyingly, Wei Wuxian is just too useful to continue to despise. 

[virtchandmoir]

Canadian Olympic icons share their sporting and life journeys

February 25, 2021

Justin Duff, MBA '21, Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue at the 2021 MBA Leadership Event

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir are Canadian sporting icons who set the world standard for excellence in ice dancing. Over the span of three Olympic Games, their dazzling artistry and stunning athleticism earned them places at the top of the podium. They were golden. They made it look easy.

Their journey together began as children, leading to a partnership lasting more than two decades.

As featured guests of the 2021 MBA Leadership Event, Virtue and Moir spoke about developing on-ice chemistry, mental preparation and teamwork needed to compete on the global stage. They also spoke candidly about almost giving up the sport, as Virtue recovered from surgery leading up to the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.  

The goal of this session organized by MBA ’21 candidates Morak Apampa, Kristina Weatherbee, Wasi Mesbahuddin and Mondira Chowdhury was to emphasize the importance of developing and applying strong leadership character.

“Between Tessa & Scott you could feel a deep sense of consideration for the other,” said Apampa, MBA ’21 candidate. “Driving to the rink everyday, they both were preoccupied with thoughts of how to make the other person’s life easier – “when you are putting someone else first, then chances are that they are doing that for you too, and that’s really were the magic lies”. Their success is an unmistakable story of selflessness and collaboration in its purest form.”

The two-hour question and answer event, partly led by Justin Duff, MBA ’21 student and former member of Canada’s Olympic volleyball team, featured numerous leadership and life lessons from their incredible journey.  

Always be accountable

While Virtue and Moir never had to give each other the “pull up your socks talk”, both stressed being open with one another as a means of creating accountability.

“A lot of that comes from communication and ensuring that we had the same overarching goal and purpose that was guiding us. In some cases, that goal might have been eight years down the road,” said Virtue.

Accountability also began in the gym where doing that extra rep and celebrating the little wins makes the hard work pay off.

“Trusting one another – and the process – helped to ensure we never got complacent,” said Virtue. “Both of us, equally, have this internal drive to be the best.  The accountability was a real, genuine, deep sense of wanting to be the best for one another. Additionally, we made sure we had the right support network surrounding us.”

Calming your nerves

Even Olympic champions get nervous. In fact, both Virtue and Moir admit to being incredibly nervous before each major performance. They often relied on key words, little reminders and cues to keep them in the moment.

“We always tried to create habits. Things that we could do every day, so our bodies and minds would understand what was going to happen,” said Moir. “Our coach would remind us to, “just get to the starting position”, stating then we would know what to do.”

Taking a moment to look back at your hard work helps to settle the mind.

“Reflecting on the work that has been done is a really powerful thing,” suggested Virtue. “You can get confidence by looking in the past and realizing that you’ve had so many achievements, and so many milestones to get to that moment. Sometimes your brain wants to pretend like you are not ready, but if you can tangibly point to things you’ve already accomplished, that can make a big difference.”

Being in-sync with your partner

On competition day, Virtue and Moir knew exactly what their partner was feeling or doing at every minute. This level of detail helped them support each other when their stress was at its highest.

“My number one priority was making Scott feel like he could take on the world. And I felt he did that for me, too,” said Virtue.

“In all of our successful skates, we started to really focus on being in sync with each other. That was our number one priority,” reflected Moir.

Take charge, but ask questions

Throughout her turbulent career fighting through injuries and navigating the ups and downs of training and competition, Virtue finally found joy in skating in 2017. She attributes this to her and Scott taking charge of their pursuit of gold at the 2018 Olympic Games in PyeongChang.

“In the end, I loved every minute of it because we were in control, and we were doing things in the way that was appropriately aligned with our values,” said Virtue.

While responsibility and accountability are important for pushing towards your ultimate goal, it can’t come at the expense of asking questions and being open to learning.

“Learn as much as you possibly can about the industry, about the business, about your colleagues, about the structure of whatever it is you’re tackling,” said Virtue. “Just dive in and don’t be afraid to ask questions, or to be a novice. That rookie mindset is actually the best place to be when you are chasing something, as you still have the ability to see it through a really beautiful lens.”

—Ivey

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villainsicle | Part 9

One day, I will learn to write comfort. That day is not this day.

Sorry that this isn’t especially plot-heavy, more of that will be coming soon. Tbh, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

@literally-just-kirby​

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, conditioned whumpee, drugging, (offscreen) syringes, biting, dehumanization, feeding tubes, implied blood drawing, blood, restraints, unreality

Trainer’s fingertips pressed into Villain’s chin, curled gently around their jaw, gentle but firm, as an artist considering a piece. Their thumb stroked down, along the line of Villain’s jaw, tracing old scars that metal wires had again and again carved into skin.

Villain’s breathing was slow, pushing against the hold ever so slightly, but not fighting it. Merely molding around it. Their eyes were closed, tightly so, their teeth clenched with similar force.

For a few seconds, they breathed, simply and steadily.

“Surgere.”

The flow of a dripping faucet sent feeling back through Villain’s fingers, pins and needles flooding them as they again felt the sterile leather beneath. The sensation of pressure returned to their jaw, reminding them of the hold placed there, supporting their head.

With a few questioning blinks, Villain opened their eyes. Trainer smiled.

Though Villain could not understand the words they spoke, the tone itself was enough to send a flush of warm through their chest. They had tried-- they hadn’t been exactly right, but they had tried, and they had gotten close. They knew they had; Trainer’s face told them all they needed to know.

Without a thought, Villain nuzzled their head into the hand wrapped around their face. A gentle scratch on the chin responded.

It wasn’t often like this-- not so gentle, not so patient. Learning new commands would generally follow a simple pattern. The expected behavior would be demonstrated, whether through hand gestures or video or some other medium, and the command word given. They would do their best to follow through, their errors corrected, until they understood. When the command was next given, they would perform.

The process was simple and curt. For most behaviors, it only took a matter of hours. If it was especially complicated, such as when they had learned to perform off-leash reconnaissance, the training would be spread out over several sessions over several days, but such was uncommon.

This command, though... They could hardly remember how long they had been working towards it. Days, at the very least. Weeks, maybe. Yet, their every attempt failed.

And, still, Trainer smiled. There was no correction-- they did not so much as hold their crop in their off-hand. Only smiling. Only scratches. Only reward.

With their other hand, Trainer pushed a small item between Villain’s teeth. They held it on their tongue.

“Manducare.”

They bit down, the flavor of artificial fruit washing over their tongue. A treat-- a reward they weren’t often given.

They had done well. Villain smiled.

Trainer gave them a moment to swallow before straightening themself. Villain fought back the urge to whine as the hand on their jaw moved to place itself on their shoulder.

“Sede.”

Villain closed their eyes.

From their shoulder, the pressure of fingertips bloomed into a swarming numbness, flushing through their arteries and leaving their digits tingling, just for a moment. Just a moment, until their numbness overtook all.

Around them, the world was blue. They took a breath. Their body did not. The air here was thick, moving like a gel through their windpipe and settling in their lungs. There, it stayed, searing with cold as ice against bare skin.

Cold. Too cold. They shivered, feeling, for a moment, the smoothness of leather beneath their fingertips. The blue around them brightened, white spiderwebs running along its walls, blaring light seeping in through the cracks.

Another breath in sent more chilled air into their lungs. The cracks grew. Villain screwed their eyes closed, snapping their hands to their temples, choking down more cold air. Through their eyelids, they could see the cracks, the light, the webs. The facade breaking. They willed it together, willed plaster in the cracks and shadows over the light, but the damage did not so much as slow.

They choked on their own breath.

“Surgere.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain gasped awake, jerking upwards, before nearly immediately falling back onto the bed beneath them. Sharp lights ran circles around them as they shook their head. When the world was at last clear, their thoughts felt to have been mixed in a blender.

They blinked a few times, raising their head, only then realizing that a figure had been standing over them, likely for quite some time. Medic’s face cleared up along with the last vestiges of their field of vision.

Villain flinched as the snap of fingers echoed through the air. Again, they shook their head, only then truly awaking.

“I thought they trained you to snap out of it quicker than that.” The doctor tutted. Behind them, a door drifted closed, clicking as it did. “You’ll get used to it again, I’m sure.”

A whine fell dead in their throat. The hospital room was empty asides from them and Medic-- upsetting them would likely lead to... behavior corrections. Or worse. Just because these people spoke to them didn’t mean they wanted them to speak back.

Especially not Medic.

“That’s that, then.” The doctor turned away, striding across the room. Every clack of shoes on tile sent shivers along Villain’s spine. “Leader finally gave into sense.”

Villain clenched their teeth.

“Or... hm. I thought you would be more upset about that. I suppose they trained you not to listen, either. Hm.”

Medic hummed, messing about with something on a countertop before turning back. A syringe was poised in their fingers, but notably missing its needle. They returned to Villain’s bedside.

“They were awfully worried about your collapse. Agreed to let me keep you here, under observation, until I deem you healthy again.”

They adjusted the syringe in their hand.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” Medic smirked to themself, just for a moment. “I don’t think you’re even listening.” Their shoulders slumped.

“Os.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

A thumb forced its way between Villain’s teeth, pulling their mouth open. They fought to shake their head, to release themself, but found an unseen array of hands pressing down on them, holding them down to the headrest below, fingers digging into eyes and pulling and hair and earlobes.

Pathetically, a whimper escaped their throat. It prompted no response.

Vision blocked, they could only feel the next happening.

The taste of plastic filled their mouth as it scraped along their tongue, forcing itself further and further into their throat, scratching along the length of their esophagus until, at last, it stopped. Their desperate urge to cough was only stopped by their complete inability to do so.

With nonchalance, the finger forcing their mouth open removed itself, allowing Villain to snap their jaw closed. One by one, the other hands drifted away, leaving them panting, eyes locked upon the white ceiling above.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Good. That should help you behave.”

Villain blinked, a bitter taste of medicine and plastic quickly dissipating from their tongue as they returned to wakefulness. Medic moved to cross the room once more, the syringe in their fingers notably missing the liquid that had formerly filled it.

They couldn’t help but notice the numbness creeping along their tongue and up their fingertips.

“You know, Supervillain had somewhat of a point. You are quite the little marvel. Let’s get some samples before you drift off.”

The doctor returned with a glistening needle in hand-- this one far thicker than the last.

Villain bared their teeth.

“Ala.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The heartbeat monitor harmonized with the throbbing in their head. With each tug they made against their restraints, the throbbing was ignited anew.

Firm straps were stretched across them as a spiders web-- curled around their wrists and forearms, ankles and legs, chest and neck and forehead. Each was pulled tight enough that the slightest inch of movement was impossible. That didn’t stop them from struggling, though.

Every moment that passed, though, their protests grew significantly weaker. They pretended not to notice, to compensate by applying even greater effort, but they couldn’t deny it. They dared not look at their arm, but the feeling of warmth draining from their veins was plenty to know what was happening.

Though they could not move their head, they were able to see as a lab-coated figure appeared into their periphery, clipboard in hand.

“Let me go! You fucking sicko, let me go!”

They looked at Villain. They had no face.

As the doctor moved from their field of view, Villain felt, helplessly, as the warmth thrumming in their veins slowly dripped away, as did their consciousness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“That should be plenty.”

Medic held a small tube at eye-level, squinting to look at the crimson within, as if the liquid was some sort of discovery. As if it had not been stolen from Villain’s veins.

Though they were not restrained, they did not dare look at their arm. The feeling was awful enough.

They had expected it to hurt, but, if anything, it felt as little more than a tingling sensation. Like the volume had been turned down... they tried to shake their head to clear the fog from their mind, but forgot their intentions before they could carry them out.

“I’ll see what Leader was making such a fuss about, then. Are you asleep yet? No, not yet. Hmm.”

Villain laid their head back against the pillow below, gaze locked on the ceiling above. They could’ve sworn that the cracks in the plaster above were swimming.

Medic placed the vial and needle down, moving again to Villain’s side, this time at the foot of their bed. They knelt down, taking the edge of their pant leg in their fingers.

“Capere.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain took a step back, finding their heel met with the cold steel of the wall behind them. They trembled in chorus with their own heavy breathing.

“Leave me alone.” They pulled back their upper lip, baring their teeth. “Please, please leave me alone.”

The figure across from them took a step forth. Their facial features were difficult to make out-- especially since Villain had already destroyed the room’s only light.

“Capere.” The figure spoke, tone even, measured, yet clearly intended as a threat. One of their hands was occupied at the moment by a stick, made of metal, with a loop of wire at the end. They swung it back and forth, bouncing it against their leg.

“Please, please, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Villain tried to take another step back, but found that there was no room left to retreat.

“Capere.”

They shook their head as violently as they could manage, hoping it would, at the very least, demonstrate something.

The figure moved closer, raising the catchpole.

From up close, their face could be seen much clearer.

The catchpole moved closer, closer.

Villain lurched forwards, sinking their teeth into Medic’s hand.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Shit!”

Medic stumbled backwards, nearly tripping on the slick tile floor. Villain returned to consciousness with the taste of blood in their mouth.

They felt shallow breaths wrack their body, breaths that they could hardly control. Even with the taste flooding their mouth, the feeling in their tongue had been replaced nearly entirely by an overwhelming sensation of numbness.

Villain looked up, their head full of cotton and their nervous system flowing with static.

Medic panted for a moment, holding one hand with the other, scarlet seeping between their fingers even so. If they were afraid, they did not show it.

Instead, their countenance reflected nothing but fury.

“We-” They panted. “Have a lot of training to catch up on.”

[astarryon]

Promise Me

You’ll Always Have Me

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Spencer’s not one for unsolicited physical contact — except, of course, when it comes from you.

A/N: This is a gift more one of my best friends, @johnmulaneyslut​! Congratulations girl, by turning me into a Reid stan you’ve officially guaranteed yourself a whole lot of fluff in the near future, and THAT’S on the season 9 haircut.

Masterlist

Spencer doesn’t like the way lies taste in his mouth.

He knows there’s no logical reason for it. Lies are only constructs of the human understanding of deception, after all. They aren’t tangible, they aren’t edible, and they certainly aren’t accompanied by the acidic tang characteristic of citrus, yet even still he’s never been able to tell one without the bitter taste of lemon blooming across the tip of his tongue.

So he tries not to tell them very often. Not to unsubs, though it had been unavoidable during this last case and the mental gymnastics he’d had to perform to keep the guy from unloading a gun full of bullets into a slew of innocent bystanders — including one of his fellow agents. Not to Hotch, or Morgan, or any of the rest of the team, not since he’d gotten clean and stayed that way. And not to you, despite the fact that he’d wanted to tell you he wasn’t even a little bit tired when you’d sat next to him on the jet and encouraged him to try and get some sleep.

He’s still getting used to having you around — or, more accurately, you’re still acclimating to being around him. You haven’t rolled your eyes in irritation at his rambling yet, or poked fun at his habit of volunteering fun facts that may or may not be only somewhat related to the original topic of conversation. It’s hard to wrap his mind around, especially when you respond to his tangents with wide, curious eyes and genuine smiles, or even the occasional enthusiastic chime of your voice when you have something to add yourself. You haven’t yet fixed him with a pointed look implying that you wished he would learn to take a hint and stop talking.

Most notable, Spencer thinks, is that you haven’t made him feel other. He’s been waiting for it to happen. It always does with new agents, like Prentiss, before they’d gotten to know each other very well, and then Seaver, who he never quite figured out how to talk to. But things are different with you. Easier. Which is why falling asleep sitting next to you on the jet came natural as breathing, even though he knew he’d catch flack from Morgan about it once you weren’t around to hear the teasing.

It’s your voice that brings him to, your soft, honeyed tones a gentle encouragement toward consciousness. You’re humming some achingly sweet melody beneath your breath, and the way the notes carry through the silence of the cabin, underscored by Morgan’s light snores nearby, tells him that everyone else is fast asleep. It nearly breaks his heart when you fall silent at his sudden stirring.

“Spence?” you murmur, prodding at his shoulder with your palm. He doesn’t remember falling asleep laying in your lap — he’s never done it before, or asked to, or been invited to — but the way your voice hits his ears and your words fan his cheek mean he must have. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t know what makes him stay silent. The warmth of your palm leeching through his shirt, maybe, or the way that the scent of your perfume lulls his breaths into a slow, deep rhythm to catch more and more of it. It might have something to do with the way his name floats off your tongue, making him feel those things in his stomach that are way too intense for anyone who claims to be a casual friend. Spencer can’t really say one way or the other. All he knows is that he’s... not quite ready to break the moment.

So he doesn’t.

“You look so calm when you sleep,” he hears you breathe, an odd note of fondness he’s never noticed before lining the edges of your words. He’s so distracted trying to figure out the reasoning for its sudden appearance that his body almost forgets to process the feeling of your warm fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”

Symphonies. Nonstop bursts of fireworks, so loud and jarring he can barely make out your words over the cacophony drumming through his skull. His own heartbeat magnified twenty times louder than is normal, harmonizing with the beat of yours, which he can hear from where his ear presses against the lower edge of your sternum. Maybe that’s why he can’t taste the lie of pretending to be asleep — his senses are already too overloaded to register much of anything else.

“You’re really pretty, you know,” you laugh quietly as the pads of your fingers gently skim across his forehead. He wants to open his mouth to repay the compliment — it’s only right, he thinks, especially considering you’re much prettier than he could ever be (not that you would ever let him tell you that) — but doing that would mean sacrificing the feeling of your hands in his hair, and he’s not really sure when he’ll ever get the chance to feel that again. “But I’m sure all the girls tell you that.”

They don’t, actually. The only person who tells him he’s pretty on a regular basis is Morgan, and even then, Spencer’s pretty sure it’s just to get under his skin in the teasing fashion of an older brother. His mother’s called him handsome before — or, rather, she’s mentioned how handsome he would be if he’d ever get a proper haircut. But no one’s ever just... meant it. Not the way it seems like you do right now, with your hands rhythmically running through his curls, nails dancing lightly at the nape of his neck. He can’t pay too much attention to the way it makes his stomach flip — he’ll shiver if he’s not careful, and then the ruse will be up — but he files it away to pore over in his privacy later on in the night, just like he files away the curiosity that comes when he thinks about why you’re whispering to him while under the impression that he isn’t awake to know the difference.

“I know you’ve been going through a tough time lately,” you tell him. It’s ridiculous that he’s entranced, captivated, hanging on your every word, but he is. He is. And laying here, with his head in your lap, he’s not particularly sure he minds. “But you know I’m here for you, don’t you? You’ll always have me. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to distract you, or... I don’t even know, if you just want someone to sit next to in complete silence. I’ll be that person for you.”

He can’t understand why you’re saying this to him now, while you think he’s unconscious and dreaming. He admits he’s been touchy lately. It’s getting close to the anniversary of everything that happened with Maeve, and though it’s been two years now, he still has issues coping with those events, or even talking about how they’d made him feel in the aftermath. It’s hard. He doesn’t want to forget her — even if he did, he knows he’d never be able to figure out how — but he also knows he can’t always become a haunted shell of himself for four to six weeks every year. It’s not conducive to productivity, and it’s certainly not conducive to keeping his coworkers from worrying after him.

On the other hand… there’s no way that the thoughts you inspire are especially conducive to productivity, either. He’s caught himself staring across desks in the bullpen much too long for subtlety, offering little waves and funny faces every time you catch him, each one in the hopes of making you smile. His face betrays his eagerness each time Hotch pairs the two of you together on cases, which, lately, seems to be more often than not. He’s started bringing you coffee most mornings, except for those ones where you text him hours before he even wakes up — he can’t tell whether you’re an early riser or a chronic insomniac — with a Morning, Sunshine! Sweet treats on me ;) and Spencer doesn’t know what it is about the winky face, but it’s stuck around in his mind for weeks now and it doesn’t appear to be in danger of going anywhere any time soon. It’s all of these things and so many more that have his mind racing, swirling with thoughts of you and whether what he ponders while he lies awake at night is in breach of the sweet little slow dance the two of you have been doing since you joined the team after Emily left.

Something warm and soft presses to his forehead, then. The sensation is so foreign that it actually takes a full five seconds before he realizes that the only possible explanation is that you’ve just kissed him.

“I love you, Spencer,” you whisper gently against his skin. “I just… I hope you know I love you.”

You go back to carding your fingers through his hair, then, without so much as another word. Resisting the urge to protest is difficult — your voice has fast become Spencer’s favorite sound and you’ve spoiled him to the point of entitlement in the last five minutes. He wants to hear you say his name again, if only to play it on a loop in his mind until the next occurrence. He isn’t above making the request, either, but that requires revealing that he’s been listening to your heartfelt prattling and he doesn’t want you to think he’s the type to eavesdrop, despite the fact you’d been speaking to him in the first place. But then you start humming again, some cordial tune he can’t put his finger on, and Spencer is mercifully spared from having to decide whether or not he should betray himself.

And as he lets himself drift back into sleep, the feel of your hands in his hair and the warm, quiet tones of your voice lulling him peacefully along… Spencer realizes.

—

Chapter Two: Red is a Wondrous Color