#fluff and idiocy

[cirilee]

some things even a repair drone can't fix 🤷‍♀️

you can read the full story on webtoon or tapas^^

[skyloftian-nutcase]

A King's Admission (Imprisoning War)

The Festival of Colors was coming to an end.

A strange, ominous and somber energy filled Ganondorf’s mind. Perhaps it was because he was always sad when the beauty of the festival gave way to the dullness of what followed. He enjoyed pageantry, after all, and more than that, he loved the eventfulness of it – he was not one for monotonous things.

But perhaps this year, it was simply because he knew what was coming next.

The strike on Hyrule shouldn’t make him somber, though. He should be excited. He was excited, eager to finally obtain a sacred relic he’d dedicated his life to claiming.

But it meant this was coming to an end.

The Gerudo king watched Orik as the boy slept. After a little over a week in the desert with Hemisi, after being sick for several days, he looked a little different from the quiet, sweet, shy guard at the castle. The red face paint he wore was gone for now, mildly tanned face unblemished and browning with the exposure to the sun, placid in slumber. His light blonde hair, usually kept in a neat top knot, was spilling all over his face and the pillow. Ganondorf could faintly make out some stubble trying desperately to grow on innocent skin, a patchy effort fueled by raging hormones that only emphasized how young he was.

Honestly, Ganondorf was a little surprised he hadn’t seen it before. Orik had been dating Hemisi for well over a year now, and the entire time he’d thought the boy was at least sixteen, which was the Gerudo age of adulthood. After all, he’d been an independent soldier. Having just celebrated his twins’ fifteenth birthday yesterday, Ganondorf truly saw how old and young such an age was. It was unnerving.

And this one was fourteen.

There was a strange confliction of feelings in his heart. He himself had held a blade since adolescence, looked up to by his people, expected to rule and know what to do simply because he was a man. He’d stepped up and led them, of course – it was both his right and responsibility, and he’d wanted better for himself anyway. He’d planned on making the situation better for himself – why shouldn’t he claim what the world had to offer, when he was born with such privilege anyway? Why shouldn’t he deserve to have all the power when it was expected of him? Age had meant little to him back then, as a result. If one could fight, one could fight. Little children were obviously harmless, he’d assumed, until that one brat clad in green had proven otherwise.

But as a father, Ganondorf had found that his definition of children had evolved. He’d stepped up into the role an adult when he’d hit puberty, truly coming into his own when he was roughly sixteen. Now that he had two fifteen-year-olds, that prospect seemed insane. Perhaps it simply was a matter of circumstance – this desert was far different than the one he originated from (he refused to call that barren wasteland his own—this was his desert, his home). Perhaps it was that Ganondorf and Nabooru had ensured there was no reason for their children to have to step up as he had. He saw little reason in coddling them, teaching Merovar the art of manipulation for the last year, sending Hemisi on scouting missions since their first visit to Hyrule Castle so she could find weak points in their security… but even now, thinking of them getting involved in major fighting that might break out in the attempt to steal the Triforce made his stomach churn.

And this boy was no different in his musings.

Ganondorf had to admire him, honestly. He’d said he’d taken care of himself since he was twelve. It was an impressive feat… and explained why the boy was terrible at taking care of himself. It showed a fierce determination that he could appreciate, and it showed a frightening lack of development that he knew was supposed to be happening based on his twins.

It was no wonder he’d spent the first few months wondering if the kid even had feelings most days. He hadn’t trusted the docile, obedient façade until he’d realized that was simply how the boy actually was, and then discovered it was just what was expected of him when he had so much more fire to his heart and soul than that. This boy matched Hemisi’s chaotic energy in exploring and causing trouble, could fight her and even defeat her sometimes when no one else remotely close to their ages could, and had far more intelligence hidden behind those quiet eyes than he ever let on.

Blasted Sheikah. He could admire their dedication to their craft, their ability to fight, but goddesses they were asinine in their idiotic loyalty and dutybound culture. They were ruining this child. He wished he had more time before the strike, but they couldn’t just sit on the information they had – anything could change.

At the end of it all, Orik—Link—would have to choose. Ganondorf had a dark suspicion he knew what the boy would do, entrenched in his blind faith. But he still held out hope that once the dust settled, Hemisi would try to seek him out and perhaps he’d reciprocate once more. Only time would tell.

The thought of it made him want to distance himself from the child, honestly. But here he stood, watching as Orik stirred, scrunching his eyes and nose, sniffling and rubbing his face into the pillow a little in some kind of effort to wake up. Ganondorf didn’t bother moving, simply remaining in the shadows cast by the late morning light. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want this chapter of his life to close quiet yet. The anticipation of everything coming together was starting to eat him alive, but just in this one, last quiet morning, he basked in the moment.

Orik stretched, rubbing his face sleepily, hand brushing against the stubble that had been trying to grow in his lack of grooming from the last few days. Ganondorf held back a chuckle at the boy’s disapproving grimace at the sensation, but his mirth faded into mild alarm when the teenager reached for a blade he’d placed on the nightstand. Sleepily, Orik ran his thumb across his cheek to trace the hair once more before getting ready to scrape a blade across his skin.

“What are you doing?” Ganondorf asked, both bewildered and concerned.

Link nearly jumped out of his skin, and the Gerudo hastily stepped forward to grab the boy’s wrist so he didn’t cut himself by accident. “L-Lord Ganondorf!”

Ganondorf yanked the knife out of the child’s hand, repeating his question. “What are you doing?”

Orik blinked, trying to center himself, eyes wide and innocent and startled. “I—I… sh-shaving?”

For Din’s sake. “Who taught you to shave like that?”

Orik shriveled a hair under his scrutiny, uncertainty etched in every fiber of his being. “…Me…?”

Ganondorf sighed heavily, dropping the boy’s wrist. He considered the teenager for a moment, exasperated, pointedly ignoring the thought in the back of his mind that whispered, I should just adopt this idiot already.

“Come on, child,” he ordered, walking for the door. Link obeyed silently, and Ganondorf guided him to the washroom, grabbing some supplies. He posted himself at a basin beside the one where he’d placed Link, and started to guide him through the process. As he instructed the boy to actually wash his face first, he asked, “You never explained why you lied to me.”

Orik froze, nearly inhaling the water in his hands as he hovered over it. “Sir?”

“Your name,” Ganondorf hummed, before smirking and slapping Link’s hands into his face, splashing the boy.

The teenager spluttered and coughed, and for a moment his red eyes twinkled with mischief and cheer as he was about to retaliate before he remembered who he was addressing. He sobered quickly, explaining, “I didn’t mean any deceit. I have two names.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about both, then?”

“I…” the boy shifted his weight uncertainly, looking anywhere but at Ganondorf. Distracting himself, he dipped his hands in the water basin once more, readying to wash his face again.

“Orik.” Ganondorf cut in sternly.

Orik bit his lip. “It was… suggested that I simply forego my Hylian name.”

“Who suggested it?”

His silence answered the question just fine. Ganondorf sighed. That girl… He backed down a little, asking calmly, “Is it custom for your people to have two names?”

“Not really,” Orik answered. “My parents wanted two different names for me.”

“But you go by Orik?”

“Yes, my lord. My mother wanted…” he paused, seeming to catch himself, and Ganondorf wondered why. He didn’t push initially, showing the boy some lotions to put on his face, lathering it up to help him shave.

As he watched Link carefuly and precisely move the blade, Ganondorf gently prompted, “What did your mother want?”

Orik halted his motions, eyes watching Ganondorf in the reflection of the mirror, and then he capitulated, saying, “She wanted me to be named Link. It’s… a special name. Sheikah respect it and find it… wrong to name a child that. It’s said to be imbued with the blessing of the goddesses, and many Hylians name their sons Link because of it. But the Sheikah consider it sacred. So my father named me Orik.”

Ganondorf watched him in silence, pondering the matter. He wondered if that was why that child from the forest was named Link as well. It gave him a strange feeling of relief, knowing that it was a common Hylian name, as if it further confirmed his reassurances that there was nothing wrong with this teenager. There would be no divine meddling – just bad breeding from the Sheikah.

“You introduced yourself as Link when you were sick and confused,” he noted. “I feel as if that would not be something automatic if you never use that name.”

The Sheikah boy sighed a little, glancing questioningly at Ganondorf as he had finished shaving. The Gerudo nodded towards the basin, indicating it was fine to rinse off. When he’d finished, Orik explained, “I like that name. I just can’t use it all that much. But I… prefer it over Orik. I have very little from my mother, even less connection to anything Hylian. I was raised in Kakariko, I was…”

When he trailed off, Ganondorf bit his tongue to give the boy time. Ganondorf was a man of action and saw little point in hesitation, but he knew some coaxing was needed for this boy sometimes. It was mildly frustrating, but he put up with it. His patience paid off when Link muttered, “I was raised entirely to be Sheikah. And I tried to be nothing but… and to be the best one so that…”

The silence became too stretched, and Ganondorf prompted, “So that what?”

Link jumped, started out of his musings and seeming to realize he’d said too much. “I—forgive me, I finished shaving, I don’t mean to waste your time.”

“You’re not remotely finished,” Ganondorf noted dully. “You still have to clean and moisturize your face.”

Link stared at him, baffled. “There’s more steps?”

The boy caught himself as soon as the words spilled out, and he bit his lips closed, making the Gerudo chuckle. Honestly. This boy needed to learn that it was okay to have an opinion. Nevertheless, the way the teenager watched his every move as if this were some life altering ritual was endearing. Ganondorf watched the boy massage some lotion in gently, even a little timidly over some tiny cuts, and the Gerudo rolled his eyes, stepping behind him and putting pressure over the boy’s hands, guiding them with his own to demonstrate how to properly do it.

“You’re not wasting my time,” he told him, letting his hands fall to the boy’s shoulders. “It’s… been a pleasure having you here, Link.”

The teenager was stiff under his palms, not seeming to know what to do with neither the gentle touch nor words. Instead of watching Ganondorf in the mirror, though, he glanced straight up to look at him, eyes sparkling with some sort of emotion, making him look so much smaller and younger than he was, and Ganondorf felt every fiber of his being scream to protect this child.

“You should stay,” he said abruptly, catching himself off guard. “Just a little while longer.”

Link’s eyes widened a little. “B-but—my lord, I only was granted leave to be here for the festival.”

“Hemisi and Merovar’s birthday celebrations extend such festivities,” Ganondorf lied. They did no such thing, honestly, but he’d already said the words and was kicking himself for it. Honestly, he just wanted the kid to stay here while they led their assault – it would spare Hemisi the pain of having to take him out of play (and consequently spare Ganondorf the headache and heartache of listening to her complain and be upset about it), and it would keep the boy out of the fighting altogether, perhaps even convince him to stay on Ganondorf’s side.

It wouldn’t matter either way – once he had the Triforce, the entire world would listen to him. Link would see reason soon enough. But if he could stay here, then it eliminated any possibility of a problem.

“Birthdays last multiple days?” Link asked, clearly completely confused.

“They… can.” This was just getting ridiculous. Redirecting, Ganondorf asked, “I never learned when yours was.”

“No one knows when mine is, my lord.”

Ganondorf blinked. Blinked again. “You… don’t know when your birthday is?”

“I do,” Link nodded, finally looking down again. “I mean no one else does.”

Wait a second. “When did you last celebrate your birthday?”

“When I came of age,” Link replied easily.

Oh. Well. That was ridiculous. Ganondorf didn’t care for all the traditions and silliness involved in birthdays, but recognizing one’s accomplishments over the past year was fairly important to him. Perhaps if the year had been an abysmal one there was no point in acknowledging it, but Link had plenty of reasons to look back on his last year alive on this world and be content with it.

Perhaps content wasn’t the right word. One shouldn’t simply be content with their life, they should always be seeking more. But Link had grown much in the last year. “When is your birthday, then?”

Link hesitated a moment before answering, “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?!

“You’re staying here,” he immediately ordered, grip tightening on the boy’s shoulders.

“M-my lord—”

“Don’t argue. You’re staying.”

Link was supposed to leave tomorrow. The assault team would leave a day after. If Link stayed for his birthday, he’d depart at the same time as the warriors and it would be obvious.

He’d have to delay the attack if he did this.

He was too close for such delays over trifling matters. And the boy wouldn’t listen anyway.

Link was frozen in place, stiff and debating the matter. Ganondorf knew the automatic response that would come, the polite apology and inability to take orders from the Gerudo over his Sheikah mandated duties.

The boy let out a nervous sigh. “I… suppose I can wait a day, if you wish it so.”

Wait… what?

“D-do you… do you really want me to stay?” Link asked quietly. The words were held in a steady voice that tried to imply this was simply seeking confirmation from a king and not that this was a child desperately asking if he was wanted.

Damn it.

He almost said no. Because he shouldn’t have asked in the first place. Months of planning could be wasted if he delayed the assault too long.

One… one day wasn’t too long.

I can’t lose sight of my goal.

This wasn’t losing sight, though, it was simply modifying. Besides, what if he led the group out of the desert tomorrow night while Link slept safely in the capital? They could get the Triforce before the boy ever reached Castle Town.

He knew that wasn’t feasible, though. There was no way Nabooru would be prepared. He was rendezvousing with her en route, after all. He couldn’t change the timing of anything without doing so in a drastic manner.

So he either had to accept that his team would leave the same day as the boy, potentially compromising the mission, or he could tell Link he needed to leave.

Ganondorf swallowed. Bit his tongue. Cursed again.

Then he pat the boy on the back, heading towards the hallway. “I gave you an order, child. I expect you to obey. You’re going to be part of this family someday, aren’t you?”

Link blushed, hugging himself, and Ganondorf didn’t bother listening to his stammering reply. His heart thrummed in his chest, agitated and relieved, furious and terrified and hopeful.

He couldn’t let that happen again, though. That sweet, foolish boy would not be what prevented him from achieving everything he wanted.

But… he would make sure the boy’s birthday was the best one he’d had yet.

[zechiki]

Just some doodles I did of Crescent. Just been obsessed with him lately.

Him and Luna would be chaotic siblings hehe

Crescent belongs to @lunnar-chan

He is a lil dummy, lil dumb dumb. Teeny idiot, lil cry baby. He is my son, I love him

[freak-accident419]

posting this on friday, i believe :3

update: it’s out!!!! (click here)

[enjoythesilentworld]

sunday snippet!!

i may be out and about traveling, but i’m still finding little bits of time to write! i’m hoping and praying I can finish this next chapter to post on friday. fingers crossed!

for now, enjoy (another) glimpse of chapter 5 of just if for a minute:

When they reach the end of the aisle, they stand in silence, overlooking the calm lake before them.

“This is fucking insane,” Simon breathes through an exasperated laugh. “It’s literally perfect.”

“It is,” Wille agrees.

It’s now, of course, that the truth hits Wille, and all the excitement and awe and joy drain out of him.

The light from the sun peaking through the clouds above them is real. The grass under their feet is real. The choking and overwhelming love Wille feels in his chest is real. But this, this marriage they’re getting ready for, is not real.

Wille drops Simon’s hand and walks off to the left, pretending to inspect the plants along the water’s edge. Over his shoulder, though it comes out a little strained, he jokes, “Maybe if you come back, they’ll give you a repeater’s discount.”

“What?”

He can’t make himself look at Simon, not when he suddenly feels so sick, so he only turns halfway. “You know. When you get married for real.”

[doerrferr]

okok i really need to sleep but im being unnecessarily autistic thinking about

»crowley’s snake eyes can’t see the stars«

and what if aziraphale got them one of the nebula sensory lamps and miracled it more accessible so crowley could see them (and so that it showed their favourite nebulae)

[theloveitifwemadeit1975]

Katsuki and an S/O with a nicotine addiction (low-key self indulgent)

TW: Nicotine, cussing duh, romantic bad name calling

-His first question is H O W?

-"Y'know that shits bad for you, right?"

-Yes.

-Grows to be okay with vaping because he realizes it's better than cigarettes.

-Still, he's NOT happy.

-The type of person to hide your nic and then just give up after doing it 10 times because he knows you could just get more

-Only even remotely ok with it because of the smells

-Other than that, worried, panicked, too in love to watch you hurt yourself

-A living intervention 💀💀💀

-"I swear to fuckin' hell I'm gonna monitor all of your purchases."

-"Try me bitch lol"

-*eats face cutely*

-Arguing is a common occurrence, especially when withdrawl whacks ya

-"WHY ARE WE SO MAD RIGHT NOW?"

-"WHY ARE YOU?"

-"I DONT FUCKING KNOW????"

-Couple goals‼️

[chsvok]

— The monster’s gone.

pairing: teen! gojo x fem!teen! reader

found family, fluff, little megumi! gojo basically adopted him. just big fluff!

To say you were surprised when your boyfriend, Satoru, came home with a kid was an understatement. You could only stare, your mouth agape as you heard your boyfriend rambling on and on with a smile on his face and introducing the 8 year-old boy that stood in front of you.

For the first few months, it was difficult having little Megumi open up to you both. He was rather closed off. Which, you were not surprised. He was staying with two teenagers. But still, it took plenty of time. Now, he barks lousy remarks at whatever idiocy Satoru does and says, and you can only laugh in return, earning a pout from the tall guy.

You and Satoru were in bed, ready to fall asleep any second now. You were snuggled up against his chest while his arm draped over your form tightly, rubbing small circles on your back soothingly. You both were slowly drifting off to sleep when a sudden knock on your bedroom door interrupted. You sat up on the bed, muttering a soft, “come in” before seeing Megumi’s tiny body appear slowly in the darkness.

At this, Satoru sat up on the bed as well. Eyeing Megumi with a tilt of his head.

Concern was etched on your face, your brows furrowed as you stared at the little boy trembling a few feet away. “What’s wrong, Megs?”

He tried to speak, his voice shaking.

"Nightmare?" You asked, a soft, knowing look plastered on your face. Little Megumi nodded, hugging his dog plush close to his chest tightly. Satoru patted his hand on the spot between the two of you, the other hand going through his hair tiredly. “Come here, bud.”

Little Gumi was reluctant at first, he felt like he was overstepping. However, it only took one soft smile from you and he was shuffling towards the bed. He climbed on, settling himself between you and Satoru comfortably.

You draped the fluffy blanket over his tiny body and ran your fingers through his dark raven hair, humming soothingly as his breathing slowed down and he fell into a sleep. Satoru could only watch with affection swirling in his stomach.

He felt so…lucky. So complete.

A few minutes went by and you, too, fell asleep. Satoru softly smiled, draping his arm over both of your figures, holding you both close as sleep consumed him.

© CHSVOK. please do not plagiarize, copy, or translate my work in any way, shape, or form.

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[cirilee]

finally ... finally maru and me dont have to draw that sling anymore :')

READ THE FULL COMIC HERE :D

[johnnysuhbmarine]

On the Same Page ♡ Masterlist

Pairing: Haechan x reader Description: Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Genre: smau (some written parts), college au, crack, some angst, some fluff, "enemies" but more so strangers to lovers, brother's best friend, so many (2) ups and downs, general idiocy when it comes to feelings Content Warnings: swearing, death jokes, mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of bullying, a few punches thrown here and there (reader is not involved)

A/n: Please know I do not take the above subjects lightly and do not intend for it to come across that way at any point in this smau. As someone who struggles with this stuff, I guess I was kind of writing what I needed to hear sometimes (so forgive me for some self-indulgence)...and as a comm major who did an entire research paper around the impact of friends/social support on one's depression, I felt okay addressing those topics here - I promise I’m not uninformed and just trying to add plot points. As always, take care of yourself first. I love you.

Status: completed! Started: October 27, 2024 Ended: December 14, 2024 Taglist closed

[Intro: SM University Besties] [Intro: NCIT Crew] [Chapter One: Female intuition]

[Chapter Two: A SISTER?!?!]

[Chapter Three: why he kinda...]

[Chapter Four: It must be a sibling thing]

[Chapter Five: Chat, am I jealous?]

[Chapter Six: Normal person? No can do.]

[Chapter Seven: a pretty good guess]

[Chapter Eight: mono boy]

[Chapter Nine: He's a sleazebag]

[Chapter Ten: What is a star party?]

[Chapter Eleven: on the way]

[Chapter Twelve: my sister's favorite movie]

[Chapter Thirteen: You’re pretty cool, too]

[Chapter Fourteen: It’s a little bit funny]

[Chapter Fifteen: I'll just ask Mark] (partly written)

[Chapter Sixteen: smol bear] (partly written)

[Chapter Seventeen: doing a great job]

[Chapter Eighteen: locking in]

[Chapter Nineteen: scheiße]

[Chapter Twenty: not as cute as Mark]

[Chapter Twenty-One: Mr. Snippy]

[Chapter Twenty-Two: Take a break]

[Chapter Twenty-Three: couldn't keep my promise]

[Chapter Twenty-Four: The men in y/n's life]

[Chapter Twenty-Five: Halloween]

[Chapter Twenty-Six: A little birdie]

[Chapter Twenty-Seven: I don't need your protection]

[Chapter Twenty-Eight: butterflies in her stomach]

[Chapter Twenty-Nine: EMERGENCY]

[Chapter Thirty: We're so back] (partly written)

[Chapter Thirty-One: lunch dates]

[Chapter Thirty-Two: pretty girl] (partly written)

[Epilogue: three months later...]

[themultifanshipper]

Hello!!

I was wondering if I could ask for a request? I love your work and I had an idea for a fic but don't have the skills to make it a reality, ANYWAYS lol.

Charles leclerc finding out his crush does onlyfans 😏

You were very well paid as an engineer in one of the top Formula 1 teams, but your secret side hustle provided much more of an... escape, than your day job did.

Warnings: onlyfans, sextapes, smut, masturbation, fluff, Charles’ brain literally malfunctionning, angst but it end well, also I know this isn't how being a brand ambassador works but for the sake of this fic pretend Charles owns part of APM.

You had an Onlyfans. You'd had the account since college, and it had helped pay for your engineering degree.

But you'd found the experience so liberating and exciting, that you never really stopped.

So you continued posting regularly, and streaming, completely anonymously of course.

It would be absolutely mortifying if any of your colleagues found out about your other source of income.

You were smart about it. You never showed your face, barely spoke, and didn't put anything on your account that would in any way hint at your identity.

Your username was inconspicuous, you didn't really have any defining features on your body like tattoos or scars, and you'd even bought a green screen to hide your surroundings.

Sometimes you recorded videos in risky places, but they were never recognisable enough for someone to know exactly where you were.

Being a mechanic for Charles Leclerc was a dream.

He was so nice to you, if a bit shy, and extremely helpful in his feedback to you and the team.

He had made moving to Italy a lot easier and the flat he rented for when he was there was in the same neighbourhood as yours.

Charles had a thing for you. He couldn't deny it, he'd been taken with you ever since your first day, when you walked in late, and wearing a Ferrari uniform that was obviously several sizes too big for you.

“They sent me the wrong ones!” you panted as you tried to explain your attire “the orders got mixed up and I got sent someone else's uniform, I've just been at the office trying to figure it all out”

He was barely listening, your eyes had captivated him and it was too late, he just stared at you.

“Charles?”

He snapped out of it and you could finally get to work, but not before Carlos had sniggered in the corner and given Charles a teasing look.

The teasing only got worse when it turned out that the uniform mix up was actually with Charles, because you had similar addresses.

The discovery that you'd actually been technically wearing his clothes had driven Charles to the edge of madness and back.

You'd tried to give them back to him once you’d received your own, but he insisted you keep them.

“I don't need them, you can have them”

“But they're yours! I don't need them either and they're way too big for me anyway”

“They look really good on you, you can wear them for bed or… or something…” he stuttered, the image of you in bed and in his clothes was too much for him, and he blushed his way out of the room as Carlos, who had unfortunately witnessed that interaction, howled with laughter at the idiocy of his friend.

Over the next few months Carlos was getting increasingly annoyed with Charles.

He'd teased him to bits for a few weeks, but now it was getting just plain pathetic.

You were all Charles could talk about, but he was too shy to do anything about it.

“Cabrón, you need to ask her out instead of talking my ears off about her”

“It's worse than that Carlos, I've done… something”

Carlos raised an eyebrow at his teammate, whatever Charles had done, it couldn't be good.

“Go on”

Charles blushed and looked around before getting his phone out to show Carlos something.

"There is this Onlyfans account…” he started and Carlos groaned in frustration, already knowing where this was going.

“She looks and sounds a bit like her and… Carlos I'm obsessed. I think I have a problem”

Carlos glanced at the screen. The girl didn't not look like you, but given that her face wasn't visible, and he had never seen you naked, he wasn't capable of making any sort of comparison.

“You need to do something about this mate, this is not healthy”

Charles sighed, putting his phone away. “I know”

They were at a race, waiting for qualifying to start while you were out working on the car that would hopefully get him pole position.

And it did.

The first thing he did when he got out of the car was run to you and lift you up as you laughed.

“Thank you, thank you for the car. It was perfect!” you blushed and hugged him back.

“Anything for you, Charles”

Eventually he was whisked off for his interviews and you were left red-faced and grinning as you watched him go.

The first week of summer break was spent in the factory doing some sim work and testing to see exactly what was so right about the setup, and whether you could replicate it for Carlos' car.

So the three of you (plus all the usual employees) were in Maranello for a few days.

Charles took you to one of his favourite restaurants to celebrate his latest race win.

You had a few drinks and laughed the night away, and when you separated at the end of the night, all Charles could manage was a peck on the cheek.

You went home to finally start your stream, late, and Charles went home to discover his favourite account would be starting their stream late.

 Perfect timing, he thought as he unbuckled his pants and got to work.

Yeah, he had a problem.

“Ferrari69 has joined the stream”

It wasn't rare that formula 1 themed usernames popped up in your subscribers, but it always made you chuckle when your literal employer's name appeared while you masturbated on camera for the world to see.

Ferrari69’s name was a regular sight, and a regular donator, and quite generous too.

It was probably an old rich man who had nothing better to do with his money, you supposed.

You had planned to film one of your riskier videos that week.

You didn't want to livestream it in case something went wrong, or you got caught.

There was a beautiful park in Maranello, one that had plenty of hiding spots.

That, and you did it at night when no one was around, so it was all good.

It all went smoothly, and once you were done you packed up your equipment and started making your way home when you spotted a familiar frame walking down one of the footpaths in front of you.

“Charles?” you called out and you heard a gasp followed by a relieved chuckle.

“Oh my god you scared me!” he smiled at you as you got to his level.

“What are you doing outside at this time?” he asked, perplexed.

“I uuhh… I was just clearing my head I guess… it's been a long week, you know?” you tried, and he obviously wasn't convinced but he nodded anyway and silence fell over you.

“So um…” you could feel the awkwardness dripping from his tone “that's a nice bracelet”

He motioned to your wrist and you grinned at him.

“Thanks… it's your own collection” you giggled and he facepalmed.

Yes it was his collection, he was wearing the same one around his own wrist.

“Right, right… I think I should probably head home and get some sleep then” he chuckled.

“Yeah, me too. Need to be up bright and early tomorrow for my flight home”

“Yes! Me too actually…” he fiddled with his hands nervously and the awkward silence became too much for you.

“Right well, goodnight then. I'll see you in a few weeks, Charles” and before you could think too much about it you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

He reddened and smiled shyly.

“Yeah, see you around”

You rushed home and slammed your front door, leaning against it as you tried to slow your heart rate down.

That could have been a disaster. God knows what could've happened if Charles had wandered past a few minutes earlier.

You shuddered, the idea of Charles catching you in the act wasn't completely unpleasant.

But you couldn't risk it, you wouldn't be filming in that park ever again.

You looked through the footage, editing what needed to be edited, and uploaded it to your channel before going through your nightly routine.

Your phone buzzed with likes and notifications as your most avid followers reacted to your new post but you didn't look at them until you were firmly planted in your bed, ready to go to sleep.

By the time Charles got home, he was ready to do some serious unwinding.

‘that's a nice bracelet’ ??? What the fuck was wrong with him.

He took a quick shower and checked his phone for the notification he hoped would be there.

He clicked on the video and grabbed a bottle of lube before climbing into bed.

He didn't even get to open the bottle though, because his eyes zoned in on the little familiar blue diamond chain around the woman's wrist.

Then he took in the surrounding trees and bushes, which were even more familiar.

No...

It couldn't be you, surely it was some kind of twisted coincidence.

But objectively, the evidence was damning.

He decided to look through the comments as a distraction.

There were the usual comments about how hot she was and how people wished they were with her.

A flash of possessiveness surged through Charles at those.

That was new. He'd never felt possessive over her before, but now that he suspected it was you… that was a different story...

You liked a few comments, replied to a couple of others and were about to call it a night when you got a different notification.

A private message. From Ferrari69.

You opened it curiously, he'd never messaged you before, despite the numerous times he had sent you money.

“That's a nice bracelet”

A chill ran down your spine. That's exactly what Charles had said, in the park.

“Is it new?”

Bit of an odd introduction, but you supposed he deserved to know, it was his money that had paid for it after all.

“It is yes. I was in Monaco recently and I thought I'd spend some of the very generous tips you've been sending me ;) thank you so much by the way”

Charles' possessiveness flared again. Technically he had paid for that little trinket that he'd seen you wear only hours prior. He felt emboldened, and a bit turned on by that fact.

“That's a shame… I happen to know the owner of the collection, I could have made sure you got one for free. You could’ve spent the money on something else…”

Several red flags went off in your mind.

He seemed to be taking an interest in becoming your sugar daddy, which is not what you'd signed up for.

But more importantly, this man (you assumed it was a man) was potentially acquainted with Charles. Big no-no.

He could be lying for attention of course, but if the amount of money he'd sent you was any indication, he was proper rich, and therefore could very possibly know everyone in the goddamn paddock.

“If it makes you feel better, I've spent your money on other things as well, like a custom dress I'll be wearing to an event soon, and also that custom dildo I used in the park earlier :)”

Charles' dick throbbed as he thought back to the video.

“Really? Money well spent in that case. I enjoyed the video very much ;) Will you be doing any more risky ones like that?”

“I don't know… I was almost caught by a colleague of mine tonight”

Charles was in too deep. He needed to stop this madness before somebody got hurt.

He ended the conversation as quickly as he could without seeming off, and groaned when the thumbnail of the video flashed on his screen again, cock twitching at the sight of you riding a dildo that he'd paid for.

And then you’d met him in the woods, and acted as if you hadn't been getting yourself off minutes before.

Instead of doing the reasonable thing and having a cold shower, he put the video on again and fisted his cock desperately until he was spent.

Yeah, Charles was fucked.

A chill ran down your back as you turned your phone off.

You couldn't shake the feeling that your identity was in danger.

You shrugged it off, putting your paranoid thoughts down to the fact that it was late and you were tired as fuck.

You caught your flight the next day, barely, because you'd forgotten to set an alarm. So the night before was successfully put out of your mind for now as you snoozed away on the plane.

A couple of weeks later was the event.

You and Charles called it that in a derogatory way, because you knew it would be anything but an event.

It was possibly the most boring day of the calendar, basically the equivalent to a business meeting, but with everyone forced to be dressed to the nines because sponsors would be there.

It took place in a big mansion, belonging to some CEO or another, in the Swiss countryside.

So all the most important staff were invited, and put up in a fancy hotel.

Charles was waiting anxiously for you to arrive.

He had decided that today was the day he was going to tell you he knew about your uhh… side activities.

He didn't quite know how to broach the subject, but he was sure the inspiration would come to him at some point.

He'd spent the last two weeks avoiding any conversation with you, and he hadn't told Carlos a thing, confusing the Spaniard to no end as he watched Charles suddenly turn completely dismissive whenever you were mentioned.

When you arrived, he thought he was dreaming.

You were wearing a long red satin dress. It showed off your curves, having a very low neckline and no back.

The old rich pigs sponsors were going to love you.

He certainly did.

Wait what? Did he love you? He was certainly possessive over you. And completely obssessed with you, and your eyes, and your smile, and the way you were the only one who laughed when he made stupid puns…

“Charles?” you frowned at him, eyes full of concern as you snapped your fingers in his face, trying to get his attention.

You were standing right in front of him, sparkly makeup making you glow, and you smelled divine. He didn't know how long you'd been standing there.

His brain was short circuiting and he stared straight at your breasts that were barely covered by the rosso corsa fabric that was clinging to your body.

“Charles?” you knew he was staring, and you were getting slightly uncomfortable. “Are you okay, man?”

He paid for that dress. You looked fucking sexy incredible in a dress that he was responsible for buying, in his colour.

Something glinted in his vision as you lifted a hand to his forehead to check whether he was having some kind of fever.

You were wearing the bracelet. His collection. The bracelet you were wearing when you fucked yourself on camera with the dildo he also paid for.

“Charles people are staring. Do you need to lie down?”

Shit. He needed to say something.

But there was no way in hell that anything that came out of his mouth could possibly be appropriate right now.

He gave it a go anyway.

“You're all mine” he growled.

You jumped at his tone, retracting your hand in surprise.

“What?” you whispered, glancing around to see if anyone was listening in.

“Do you want to know a fun fact?” he said, mouth dry, brain barely working.

“Uhh… sure?”

“I paid for that dress”

You looked at him questioningly but he didn't elaborate.

“What?” you chuckled nervously. “No, I paid for this?” you were very confused by Charles' sudden change of personality. He looked like he was on drugs, pupils swallowing his irises as he scanned your body.

“I also paid for this” his voice was hoarse as his hand went to grab you wrist.

He internally begged you to understand what he was saying, even if his mouth couldn't say it out loud.

“I… I don't understand Charles… this is from your collection but you didn't buy it for me? What has gotten into you?” you ripped your arm away from his grasp.

“No, I paid for it, and I can prove it to you.”

You frowned as he took out his phone and tapped away on it for a minute, hiding it from your view.

You were even more confused when he put it back in his pocket and waited.

“Charles what-“  you were cut off by the sound of your phone buzzing in your bag.

What on earth was he playing at? You pulled it out to check it.

He opened his mouth just as you saw the notification on your screen, and you froze as your brain absorbed the information.

“I just sent you two hundred euros”

‘Ferrari69 has sent you 200€’

Your fingers tightened around your phone.

You physically couldn't look away from the screen.

You reread the notification over and over, while your brain replayed Charles' words.

This couldn't be happening.

You tried to heave in a breath but it got caught in your throat and you choked on a sob.

You walked away as quickly as you could, tears threatening to blur your vision as you almost ran down a hallway in search of somewhere you could block out the thoughts threatening to split your head open.

You've been found out. You're going to lose your job. Charles has lost all respect for you. You will lose your career, your friends, everyone you've ever known is going to be disgusted by you.

You didn't hear the footsteps behind you until it was too late.

Charles wrapped an arm around your middle and dragged you into the closest room he could find.

You didn't have the strength to fight.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as he sat you down in a chair and cradled your face in his hands, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey. Hey, it's okay. You're going to be okay. It's just me. I'm the only one who knows. Just breathe. Come on, deep breaths for me.”

Thankfully, Charles' brain had rebooted at the sight of your trembling frame running away from him.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He leaned his forehead against yours, thumbs wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I shouldn't have told you like that. I don't know what came over me. I’m sorry…”

At last you were breathing relatively normally again.

“Charles” your voice shook as you pushed him off and put your head in your hands.

“You have no idea. No idea how humiliating this is.”

“I won't tell anybody, I promise.” Charles took your hands in his and squeezed.

“That's not the point. It’s supposed to be secret. If anyone else finds out I'll lose my job, and… and you”

“Look at me” he whispered, and you slowly raised your head, eyes betraying nothing but vulnerability.

“You are not going to lose your job, or me. I have been in love with you for months. This is not going to change that. And I will not tell a soul about this, I promise…”

Your jaw dropped. Your head was pounding with all this information.

“And do you want to know a fun fact?” he cracked a smile and you couldn't help letting out a nervous laugh.

“I think I've had enough fun facts today thank you very much”

He chuckled dryly and nodded understandingly.

“This one is important though. Do you want to know why I followed your uhh… account, in the first place?”

You shook your head.

“It is because I was too much of a coward to tell you how I felt, and the woman in the videos reminded me of you. So it was like I was in my own little fucked up fantasy when I watched them.”

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him. He was thinking of you, while unknowingly jerking off to your actual nudes…

“And you have no idea how fucking hard I came when I figured out it was actually you”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“That is so fucked up, Charles”

He nodded.

“I know. So if anything, I'm the one who is humiliated, and if you never want to speak to me again, I will understand”

You laughed disbelievingly. It was almost sweet how he was trying to make you feel better.

“Charles… I don't think you understand. I am in love with you.”

His mouth opened and closed several times before any sound came out.

“Oh…”

You laughed “Yeah, oh…”

“You don't care that I am a pervert who has been sending you money?”

You froze and thought back to the conversation you'd had that night.

“Oh my god… is that how you figured it out?”

“No” he chuckled “I figured it out because you wore my fucking jewelry collection in a video filmed in a place I know very well, minutes before I saw you in it”

You sighed. “I knew it was a bad idea”

Charles’ hand came to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing at your lower lip.

“If it makes you feel better, not a day has passed where I haven't thought about fucking you in those bushes”

Your breath hitched and you saw his pupils grow in size.

“As long as we don't film it and post it on the internet, I don't see why we can't make that particular fantasy come true”

It was his turn to gasp.

“Next time we are in Maranello, I am going to fuck you under the moonlight.”

You scrunched your nose at his words.

“That's very sappy Charles”

He laughed, slowly leaning in closer to you as he responded.

“Well, so far the beginning of our relationship has been… complicated. I need to make up for it…” his lips brushed yours and your unsteady breath mingled with his “starting right. Now.”

He pressed his lips to yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

It was surreal, kissing the object of your long time affections.

His lips were so unnaturally soft, parting your own as his tongue came to deepen the kiss, and his hands came to rest on your waist.

Your own hands came up to curl in his hair and tug at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck- don't do that unless you want to walk out of this room limping”

You smirked at him, very tempted by the offer. But you knew that at any moment someone was going to come looking for Charles for his speech.

“I'll take you up on that at some point, but right now you need to go. I'll get myself freshened up and join you in a minute”

He nodded, coming to his senses. He did need to go make a speech. Inaugurating his new relationship would have to wait.

His speech was the most entertaining thing of the event, considering how dull the rest of it was.

Every time he spotted you in the crowd he would stutter, blush, and need about a minute each time to get back on track.

And only you noticed, but he kept subtly readjusting himself every time he put a hand in his pocket, feigning nonchalance.

The two of you left straight after the speech, bumping into Carlos in the lobby.

“Where are you going, Cabrón? You need to do the thing at the end with the-“

He took one look at your guilty faces, and intertwined hands, and groaned.

“Jesus… okay, go. I will cover for you”

You both thanked him breathlessly and all but sprinted to Charles' car.

He drove you to the hotel you were both in, and dragged you up to you room as fast as was humanly possible.

Unlocking the door was a challenge, already climbing on each other by that point, and if someone else had been in the corridor at that moment they would have seen a shirtless Charles pulling your dress up around your waist while trying to get his keycard in your slot, as it were.

It wasn't long before you were inside, fully naked, pressed against the wall with your legs hooked over his arms as he pounded into you.

You panted and whimpered into each other's mouths, pulling each other closer as you struggled to kiss with the pleasure that was coursing through your bodies.

“I love you” he said, voice cracking with the effort of holding back.

“I love you, Charles” you whined, one hand scratching down his back, the other tangling in his hair to pull on it once again.

He growled and his hips slammed yours against the wall.

“Fuck, I'm going to fill you up if you keep doing that”

You moaned, extremely close to edge yourself.

“Do it. Fill me up, Charlie. Make me yours!”

You reached your highs at the same time, moans echoing in the room as you rode the waves of pleasure, clinging to each other desperately.

He carried you over to the bed, put you down gently and kissed you senseless.

You showered together and you put one of his shirts on (the ones mistakenly sent to you) to sleep in.

While you were in bed, cuddled up together, one of his hands slipped under the shirt and came to rest on one of your breasts.

“Baby?” you giggled as he gave it a quick squeeze.

“I can't believe I used to fantasize about these, not knowing they were next to me the whole time…”

He kissed your cheek and you groaned.

“God, you are such a perv, Charles”

He laughed softly. “I think you are not well placed to be saying that to me”

You gasped in mock offence.

“Why? Because I've been posting myself masturbating for the world to see?”

“Nooo…” he purred in your ear “Because, you are going to keep doing it” he bit your ear lightly as his other hand trailed down your body “and I am going to buy you all the things I want you to use on yourself, for the world to see”

[letsbangts]

umbrella || jjk

⤷ summary: when rain pours more into your life instead of washing things away

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 2k+

⟶ genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, established relationship au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, college au, kook is a flirty tease, mainly just a fluffy couple in love with a barely there argument because of a protective jk

⟶ warnings: explicit language

↬ a/n: so this is a very old piece I polished up a bit. it was inspired by a narration in a scene from the drama ‘goblin’, so that tells you how old it is haha. hope you enjoy & let me know what you think! angel xoxo

masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

on this rainy night, what is your umbrella?

I stood under the awning outside the building, which I was supposed to be far from as of 2 o’clock. My other classmates were long gone, having made their way off campus through the rain by running to their cars with the protection of a coat or umbrella. None of the things I have because I continue not to be an adult and watch the news, missing the weather report that everyone else was aware of. Watching the heavy raindrops smack against the pavement, I contemplate how I’m getting home.

Should I make a run for it? A run for 30 minutes? Yeah, that’s not happening. I could call a taxi. But I’m not going to pay for that so no.

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot,” I say quietly to myself, or so I thought.

“Jeez, that’s a little harsh don’t you think.” a beautiful deep voice says.

Startled I turn my head quickly to be met with what I could have sworn was a literal angel in disguise as a twenty-something-year-old boy. The tall boy looks away from the rain and towards me. He gives me a quick look over and sees my empty hands and smiles.

“Ah! You don’t have an umbrella. You didn’t watch the news?” he asks. I shake my head to answer him.

He smirks and nods his head while looking back out at the downpour.

“Maybe you are an idiot.” He says all too casually while shrugging, clearly teasing me.

“Hey!” I scoff out with a laugh, finally speaking.

“I mean, today is one of the worst days we are supposed to get this year! How can you not have an umbrella or at least a hood?” He laughs out loud, gesturing his hand at me from head to toe.

His laugh and my current predicament both cause me to join in. Once we both settle down the dark-haired boy looks at me with round eyes still slightly crinkled from laughter although nothing but kindness is present in them.

“How far do you live from here?” he asks with a melodic voice and an endearing head tilt to match it.

Upon first look, he may seem like someone with an edge to them; dark-coloured clothes, piercings and some tattoos. But it is ever present that there is an apparent softness to him, one that accompanied by his calm demeanour is pouring a level of comfort over me that I can not explain.

“30 minutes that way,” I point out the way to my home, “Pretty close to Bam's House Cafe.”

“Hmm, I’m headed the same way, so it looks like you're a lucky idiot.” He says shooting me a wink while opening his umbrella held in his tattooed hand.

“Gee thanks, but I’d feel more lucky if you’d stop rubbing my idiocy in my face.” I chuckle.

“I would call you by name if you told me it.” He says with a slight, dare I say flirtatious smirk that causes my breath to get stuck in my throat.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, I’m Jungkook. The handsome, well-prepared gentleman escorting you through this storm today.” He sends me a beaming smile that almost sends me to my grave.

He holds out the clear vinyl plastic for me to stand under it. I do just that and as I step close to him, arms brushing I'm hit with his clean fresh scent.

“Thank you again, Jungkook," I reply looking down to hide my sudden blush.

"Shall we get going?” He asks flicking his head out to the direction I earlier pointed out, and with a nod of my head, we step out starting on our journey to my home. And so much more.  

the voice that responds when you call.

The ringing in my ears finally stops when I hear the voice on the other end of the phone say, “Hello?”

But it is no surprise to me, knowing he would answer because Jungkook always did. I knew once he saw my name flash across his screen he would not hesitate to slide to answer.

“Hey.” my voice is small when I reply.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately concerned, because just like how Jungkook always answers, he always knows. He knows you.

“I just miss you, I wanted to hear your voice.”

“I know I miss you too. But I’ll be back in two days.”

“Ugh! That’s going to feel like forever.” a whiny sadness to my tone.

“Hey, I told you you could come with me. My mom is still upset I didn’t bring you.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I know but taking a trip to Busan is not an option with work right now.” I sigh.

I hear him sigh as well and there is a long pause between us.

“Then quit your job.” He states in an all too serious tone.

“What? Jungkook have you lost your mind? You know I can’t qu-“

“Sure you can! I’ll quit my own too! Then we can move out here and buy a house. We can live by the water and have a bunch of kids, it will be perfect.” His tone gets more excited as he hears my giggles pleased with my happiness.

“So what do you say, babe? Sounds good right?” he asks still joking.

“Sounds perfect,” I reply with a content smile.

And just like that you were no longer sad because Jungkook knew how to make you happy. Jungkook always knew.

the memories of seeing the same thing at the same time.

It was Monday, and although I was not as fond of it as any other person towards that day of the week, I had one thing to look forward to on Mondays. That was the one day of the week Jungkook would meet me at work and we would walk home together.

So here we are walking through the park, which was a shortcut to our home. My hand in his, fingers interlocked this being the beckon of light at the end of my work day. I feel him rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand and I glance at him to see him just looking off into the distance. My usually chatty boyfriend is now just quietly at my side. I use my free hand and pull him by the elbow holding him close to my side, gaining his attention eyebrows raised in question.

“Rough day?” I ask looking up at him.

He breathes out an airy laugh through his nose.

“Yeah you know, just one of those days.” He glances back at me with a small shrug then continues.

“It was one of those days I wished I was just with you at home, just had you beside me,” he squeezes my hand  “Only me and you, the rest of the world blocked out.”

He looks down at me and softly smiles that eye smile I could never fall out of love with.

“I wish for that every day” I reply returning the squeeze to his hand while smiling up at him.

While we share this moment I notice small white flakes landing on his raven-coloured hair. He must have taken notice too as we both look up.

We are met with flurries quickly floating down all around us making their way to the ground.

“The first snowfall.” He states almost in a whisper.

“It's so pretty,” I say fascinated and fully entranced with the beauty of Mother Nature.

I feel his gaze on my face and turn to make eye contact. He has the most delicate look, eyes filled with adoration.

“I may not have had you by my side all day, but I’m glad I have you here right now.” He says lovingly.

And at that moment, witnessing the beginning of a new season with my love and sharing this memory, I could have sworn the rest of the world was blocked out and it was just us two.

the first time you matched each other’s pace.

Angry.

No, that’s not even the right word, enraged. Yes, enraged that is what I am feeling right now. And why was I so mad you ask? My boyfriend seemed to think that a guy having a friendly conversation with me, albeit a drunken one on his part but innocent, was the perfect reason to cause a huge scene in the middle of a party with all our friends and more to see.

So now here we are walking home furious with one another because I think he overreacted while he thinks I underreacted. Not only am I annoyed with him for how he acted but now I’m annoyed with myself for wearing heels knowing I would have to walk home after a whole night in them.

My pace starts to get slower because my feet start killing me and it suddenly feels like Jungkook is running a marathon instead of walking home. I glance up and see the distance between his back and me getting bigger and bigger. I focus on trying to ignore the pain soaring through my feet and as I continue walking with my head down staring at the shoes I have come to despise I suddenly bump into a shoulder.

I look up to my side and notice the man that was ahead of me seconds ago now right beside me.

“If you can’t keep up just say so,” he grumbles, the first words I hear from him since we left the party.

I notice how he starts walking slower for me and does not move an inch further from my side. I continue my struggle to walk, feet pulsing more with every step.

“Ah fuck it,” I mumble to myself as I take off my heels.

Jungkook halts and turns towards me once he notices I stopped walking. Once I start to continue I feel my heels being ripped out of my hands, as I'm about to ask what he’s doing he kneels in front of me, wordlessly telling me to get on his back.

“Kook, you don’t-“

“Get on.” He quietly demands.

I don’t argue because my feet yell at me not to. I get on his back, arms around his neck and he tucks his hand under my knees immediately standing up with ease and continues our journey home.

“I told you not to wear those damn shoes.” He says after a couple of minutes.

For some reason that comment brings a slight smile to me, as I realize that my anger has disappeared without me even being aware.

“Thank you,” I say into his neck as I tighten my arms and lock my ankles around his torso hugging him closer to me.

He adjusts his hands to my thighs as I pull us closer together.

“For what?” he questions taking a peek at me.

“For trying to take care of me before and still taking care of me now,” I answer giving his neck a peck.

“You know I’ll always do that, it’s my job too. A little fight won’t stop that, taking care of you comes naturally to me now.”

“I mean it kind of has to look at our situation right now.” he continues with a breathy laugh as he squeezes my thighs to emphasize his statement.

I giggle at his response knowing the truth behind it. Jungkook has always taken care of me. We’ve always looked out for each other. We have always matched ourselves to each other.

did someone come to mind?

I hear the lock of the front door opening and the jingling of keys, followed by some rustling around, most likely the removal of outerwear. A few seconds later I see the handsome tattooed man I call my boyfriend walking into our living room. He smiles as he sits beside me on the couch wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head. I look up at him head on his shoulder and begin to stare unconsciously as thoughts run around my head.

“What?” he asks me with a confused chuckle.

I smile at him, “I love you.”

He gives me that butterfly-inducing eye smile and kisses me on the lips.

 “I love you too.”

yes, that’s the person.

[ninguitar]

୨୧　𝓜Y KIND OF WOMAN　˒˒　KCW

─── ﹙🎀﹚everyone—fans, idols, and tv hosts—always found you to be drop-dead gorgeous, their heads snapping at the mere presence of you, and your girlfriend, kim chaewon did, too. nonetheless, that didn't stop the animate, child-like pout on the korean girl's face that proved her jealousy.

pairing. kim chaewon x idol f!r (not in lsf) genre. fluff wc. 1k+ notes. jealous kcw my baefy i fear 💔 req here !! ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ my kind of woman by mac demarco

YOUR HAND CUPS CHAEWON'S JAW, your thumb tracing over her pouty lips, as a giggle escapes your breath, "you're pouting, chae." shortly, you press a kiss against the top of her head, nudging her shoulder playfully.

"i'm not even pouting," chaewon mumbles, not even caring to face your gaze, as she crosses her arms against her chest, sulking in a random corner of the dorms, away from the overbearing chatter of idols gushing over your new comeback with your respective group.

you sigh, "you don't need to be jealous, chae; it's only you, always has been," you try to reassure the girl, snorting as you do so. you lightly nudge her shoulder, a tender smile cracking through your lips, as you berate the girl for her sheer idiocy at thinking you would ever put anybody above her.

"jealous?" she huffs, her voice cracking a bit, jerking her hand away from you, as she almost stills. her eyes fixate on you, hurt displayed in them, your words obviously bruising her poor ego. facing you, that same child-like pout remains on her face, making your gaze soften.

god, no matter how silly the korean girl was, you couldn't help but feel pity for her, especially when she pouts.

"yes, jealous, chae," a sigh drifts from your lips, as your eyes glaze over her lips, more specifically her pout. your hand cups her jaw, simply shaking your head, "lighten up, baby." you press a tender kiss against chaewon's temples, your hand drawing circles on her shoulder unconsciously.

you knew why the korean girl was jealous; practically anybody focusing on her could tell. you always assured her that it would only ever be her in your heart, her name practically etched in it. you were her girl, and vice-versa.

nestled between one of your members and another idol who was your inkigayo host partner, you stood tall, your ring-clad hand firmly gripping onto a mic. it was just another music bank event, where you were the mc for the next few months.

your eyes stayed glued to the camera standing in front of you, waiting for it to start rolling. a faux smile plastered on your face, as you meekly conversed with your mc partner, muttering small, short answers.

afar stood a jealous chaewon, her eyes locked onto your figure. her jaw clenched in slight panic, tracing your every moves, too over-consumed by her envy to even notice your lack of comfort. the lack of you makes her heart cold, as she leans against the wall, impatiently waiting for the cameras to roll, too, hoping it'd abruptly interrupt the conversation between you and your partner.

her eyes narrowed slightly, an obvious hint of jealousy flickering in her gaze. without any thoughts, the korean girl strode over to you, a similar faux smile adorning her face, too. she tapped your shoulder, making you slightly shudder, your cheeks flushed.

"do you know when it'll start broadcasting?" chaewon meekly muttered, a grin tugging the corners of her lips, as she leaned closer to you. before you could reply, you watched the korean girl send a glare at your mc partner, making a quiet giggle escape your breath.

"you don't even know what you're saying; i'm not jealous," she deflects in mock offense, a grunt escaping her throat, as the korean girl's gaze wanders to everywhere but you, as though she had no interest in you. her lips unconsciously jut further in a pout, making a series of giggles escape you.

"okay- okay, fine, you're not jealous, then," you know chaewon was being dramatic—hell, the girl was usually dramatic when it comes to situations like this. your eyes flicker to her arms, noticing the way they're clenched at her sides, practically itching to wrap them around your shoulders and hold onto you for eternity.

"this is about musicbank, isn't it?" you murmur, pulling the korean girl even closer to you, as your hand entangles itself in her hair, your other hand cupping her jaw still. it traces over her cheeks, your eyes mesmerized with her makeup and features.

chaewon's eyes narrow at your face, irritation painting it. your words ring over and over again in her head, making her withdraw your hand off her jaw. nonetheless, you hold the girl gently, a stark contrast to the look in the korean girl's gaze.

"shut up," she murmurs under her breath, her eyes squinting further at your words, and she couldn't be more obvious with the still as prominent pout on her lips, "she was looking at you weirdly," referring to your host partner.

her words prompt a chuckle from you, "we're friends—that's all, pretty," as you bring your hand back to chaewon's chin, your hand snug and secure, "she's just a work friend—not somebody i hang out with on the regular."

the korean girl frowns at your words, meekly nodding, as she states bitterly, "still—everybody could tell she wanted you." her eyebrows furrow in irritation, though nonetheless, she eases into her touch, her weight against yours.

although you knew of the girl's tendency to get even a bit jealous by small things, nothing would've made you assume that at a small, uncomfortable conversation with your music bank partner would make the korean girl bitter and jealous. you didn't intend to make her jealous, but that didn't mean you didn't like relentlessly teasing her for her jealousy.

"no more talkin' to whatever her name is," chaewon mutters against your ear, her breath fanning over it. you could hear how bruised her pride was just by her voice. you meekly nod, holding the korean girl tenderly, as you brush your hands through her hair.

"she's not as cute as i am—right?" she grumbles, making a series of giggles escaping your breath. before you could humor her, chaewon captures your lips with hers, fervently pressing them against yours. her hands slip themselves around your waist, drawing patterns at your lower back.

"always, c'mon, y'know that," you humor her, "especially with your pouts." your lips surge against hers, pressing long, searing kisses against them. the korean girl's hands continue to draw circles on your lower back softly, a cheeky grin on her face.

"my kind of woman," chaewon drawls, pouring all her attention towards you.

and i'm down on my hands and knees

beggin' you please baby

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

[sparsilees]

Harry is a clever and competent wizard

A recurring theme in fandom I find endlessly tiresome and disappointing is the portrayal of Harry as an academically struggling student who’s lamentably hopeless at Potions and middling in all other subjects aside from DADA, and who, alongside Ron, is in constant need of Hermione’s guidance. It’s present almost everywhere. It’s reinvented canon. And it’s shoved down new readers and non-fans’ throats alike. Please, there’s an HP wiki available for your perusal. Don’t go about consulting popular fics and the Hermione-biased movie director’s visions to draw your ideas of Harry and Ron’s psyche!

It’s doubly aggravating when this depiction is used to highlight Hermione, Draco, or so-and-so classmate’s magical Einstein-levels of genius and reinforce the false narrative that Harry’s singular claim to brilliance lies in Quidditch, and that he’s got nothing more than fluff and snitches between his ears on top of being oblivious to the point of idiocy. That apart from excelling in Defence, he doesn’t have much upstairs... (And even then a minority of the fandom portray DADA as akin to gym class where it’s all honing muscles, muscle memory, and reflexes, with Harry framed as an archetypical gymbro on top being a himbo. What?!)

So we’re just going to overlook his devastatingly biting wit and clever asides? Or brush aside how he repeatedly demonstrates his ability to perform well under pressure? His keen intuition and how he carefully retains seemingly insignificant, misfit puzzle pieces until the eureka moment strikes and he seamlessly integrates them into the bigger picture?

Take these two examples from Philosopher’s Stone with an intrepid tiny Harry:

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn’t have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy . . . never . . . but — Harry suddenly jumped to his feet. “Where’re you going?” said Ron sleepily. “I’ve just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.” “Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”

Quirrell cursed under his breath. “I don’t understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?” Harry’s mind was racing. What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it — which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to? He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself. “What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!” And to Harry’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. “Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . .” Quirrell rounded on Harry. “Yes — Potter — come here.” He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. “Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” Harry walked toward him. I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all.

Bravery alone wasn’t enough to overcome his troubled upbringing with the Dursleys, or Quirrelmort, or Diary Tommy, or the final leg of the Horcrux hunt — it required a combination of mental agility, resourcefulness, and cunning to evaluate the situation, outsmart his opponents, and tip the odds in his favour. Harry needed to survive. To survive, he needed something other than mere guts. Harry’s ability to think on his feet and leverage his intelligence to gain the upper hand in challenging scenarios remains a testament to his brilliance and his remarkable presence of mind. He isn’t the foolhardy, impulsive Gryffindor who leaps into danger headlong without prior planning everytime.

(For that matter, Gryffindor are more than their “bravery” which has somehow been twisted into being synonymous with ��reckless” — Sirius being a prime example of this, when in GOF he was urging Harry caution in their communications, despite the fandom conveniently only zeroing in on the depressed, cooped up version of him in OOTP, sigh. Bravery is fortitude, pluck, tenacity, strength of moral fibre, resilience, and heart as well.)

Some other less-mentioned examples of his quick mind: Harry wondering about Snape and Karkaroff being on a first-name basis; remembering Nicholas Flamel just from a long-ago glance, and again, Stan Shunpike despite their single encounter; Harry coaxing out Slughorn’s secret (no, it wasn’t all the Felix Felicis); Harry putting himself in Voldemort’s shoes, and Ron and Hermione deferring to his superior, albeit scary, knowledge; and Harry frightening Ollivander with his deductions about the wands. (It wasn’t solely Hermione’s brains that enabled their chances of survival in DH, let’s ditch that false narrative.)

The most laughably contrived bit in fanon is the unfounded notion that Hermione lets the boys cheat off her work to coast by in class. Fanon is wrong on both counts. Hermione would sooner report the boys for cheating than allow them to copy off her, and Harry isn’t anywhere close to scraping the bottom of the barrel in class, and neither is Ron. The handful of instances in canon where she looks over their assignments and helps correct mistakes isn’t cheating. Her input is akin to getting a second pair of eyes or a beta reader to ensure their work is up to snuff — heaven forbid a student help out a friend by suggesting some tips and tweaks. (Or attend tuition or retain a personal tutor or three.)

The ‘that’s why Harry isn’t a Ravenclaw’ jokes get pretty stale once you realise a large portion of the fandom genuinely think he isn’t a smart kid or has never read a book of his own volition/interest in his life. But Harry enjoyed reading his new books late into the night before starting Hogwarts (he found Hedwig’s name in A History of Magic, after all). Admittedly, studying is a feat in and of itself when you have zero access to books, but some cunning can turn around your luck!

Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldn’t be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

‘Oh, Potter can’t differentiate between a salamander and newt’s eyes.’

‘Asking him to skin shrivelfigs is a tall order since he can’t wield a dagger properly.’

‘He used shredded jobberknoll feathers when the recipe called for a fine powder. Poor Hermione will have to take over yet again to save his stupid arse.’

It’s these many variations and renditions of Harry’s alleged, often exaggerated, ineptitude in fandom content and making a monkey out of him, which I come across more often than not, that are an instant turn-off.

The widespread idea that Harry’s success in the subject can be attributed solely to the Prince’s book is misguided and further undermines his intelligence — and this jaundiced belief that’s crystallised itself as canon, of Harry and Ron putting on a double act as stupid slouches in class and therefore deserving of Snape’s derision and the Slytherin’s put-downs, is a far cry from the truth. Snape’s opinion of Harry’s intelligence or ability should be taken with a grain of salt, given that Harry has been described as a bright and talented child since his first year, by the Professors, Dumbledore, and the Sorting Hat. Even the resident megalomaniac described him as “not unintelligent”. You know what’s actually canon?

1) Snape’s biased approach towards Harry and Neville caused them to have an unwarranted fear of failure and reprimands. The Potions classroom was a hostile and unwelcoming learning environment for these two boys.

2) Harry is pretty confident when left to his own devices in class in OoTP before Snape flushed his effort down the gutter.

Exhibit 1:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E. He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise; Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around again. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor, and Snape was watching him with a look of gloating pleasure. “Whoops,” he said softly. “Another zero, then, Potter . . .” Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished. “I’m sorry!” said Hermione with her hands over her mouth. “I’m really sorry, Harry, I thought you’d finished, so I cleared up!”

Exhibit 2:

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye.” His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

Exhibit 3:

Ron found it quite easy to ignore as they spent most of Saturday and Sunday studying for Potions on Monday, the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as he had expected it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. When Professor Marchbanks said, “Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over,” Harry corked his sample flask feeling that he might not have achieved a good grade but that he had, with luck, avoided a fail.

Whereas in Ch 15 of OoTP, Snape had marked Harry’s essay on moonstones as Dreadful and claimed it to be a realistic expectation of OWL grading:

“I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L.,” said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. “This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination.” Snape reached the front of the class and turned to face them. “The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D’s.” He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, “Some people got D’s? Ha!”

And yet, Harry did very well on his OWLs before he even got a whiff of the Prince’s book.

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures EE

Charms EE

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology EE

History of Magic D

Potions EE

Transfiguration EE

Harry and Ron studied (!) both days of the weekend before Potions OWLs (!) without Hermione (!), and still Harry wasn’t sure he’d secure a good grade yet ended up scoring an EE. Exceeds Expectations, which y’know translates to: Surpasses Expectations, So Much Better than Expected, Rather Brilliant.

Unless you believe that anything less than the top percentiles is rubbish, Harry is not a ‘certifiable dunce’. There’s no denying he’s a competent and clever wizard and easily punches above his weight when he’s properly motivated and applies himself. Intelligence is a genetic trait, and Harry comes from nerdstock.

If he could achieve those grades whilst serving 7-hour torture sessions with Umbridge, suffering from Voldemort and Snape tearing into his mind, and putting up with the government slandering him in his second most important school year, running on fumes and sheer will (constantly disruspted sleep routine? Ugh!), then yeah, remove all those crutches, and he’d be raking in straight Os for most of those subjects. (It sort of sounds like ‘excuse our mental health and and anxiety’ for us if we perform poorly in exams, but not for Harry ‘he’s an idiot throwing teen tantrums’. Someone give me a hammer.)

“You’d need top grades for that,” said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. “They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under ‘Exceeds Expectations’ grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It’s a difficult career path, Potter; they only take the best. In fact, I don’t think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.”

Did he earn the grades? Yes. The Auror program ran aptitude tests, too, and only took the best, yes? Not because he’s a hothead with a daredevil streak and impulse issues, yes? Not because his dream was to be an Auror since his third year, or that he was only exceptional at fighting, or some such nonsense. After all, Barty Crouch Jr, he of the impeccable OWLs record, saw something worthy of Auror material in Harry and planted the seed in his mind. (Reminder: Barty also said Hermione should consider joining the Aurors too because her “mind works the right way”.)

And Moody thought he, Harry, ought to be an Auror! Interesting idea . . . but somehow, Harry thought, as he got quietly into his four-poster ten minutes later, the egg and the Cloak now safely back in his trunk, he thought he’d like to check how scarred the rest of them were before he chose it as a career.

If Harry was incapable of telling up from down in Potions, the Prince’s annotations would have been like casting pearls before swine. Worse still, Harry’s supposed lack of know-how would have caused more harm than good. The book only helped to refine the skills and knowledge he had cultivated over five years of study. Having a comfortable learning environment, an encouraging teacher, and superior instructions allowed Harry to maximise his potential and excel in class. (This phenomenon of underachiever-to-star pupil can happen in real life and is not unique to Harry. It happens with neurodivergent students with slightly different needs, students who require a more personal teaching style, and students stunted by an unhealthy learning environment. When their needs are met and supported, they tend to thrive and reach their potential.)

To put it into perspective, imagine taking an average kid whose expertise in cooking extends to making beans on toast and putting them in a professional kitchen. Imagine asking this kid to fillet a salmon and very finely slice lemons for garnish, tasks that require careful hands, finesse, and patience. If the kid can’t distinguish between a paring knife and a boning knife, they don’t stand half a chance. They’re liable to mess up the fish from the get-go. They might use a petty knife for everything and present a terribly executed dish; or they might cleverly choose a smaller knife but misuse it, not knowing that the flexibility and sharpness of a blade vary depending on their purpose, and end up seriously hurting themselves. Either way, filleting a fish is best left to seasoned home cooks and the pros.

In contrast, Harry is identical to a proficient home cook who knows the ropes but lacks some finesse and the fancy carving and plating skills of a trained culinary student. He has a firm grasp of the necessary theory and techniques and knows how to prep ingredients correctly, but may fumble the ideal application of said techniques, lacks an inborn zeal for the craft that lends to creativity, and overlook the finer details, particularly when he’s weighed down by fear of censure and humiliation. His level of success hinges on variables such as his confidence, familiarity with a recipe or method, and the type of environment he’s in. Talent is like a little seed; when nurtured, it will flourish.

Slughorn’s NEWT class was small, admitting twelve students out of a fortyish-student batch. No Gryffindor apart from the Golden Trio made the cut, and they were joined by the lone Hufflepuff, four Ravenclaws, and four Slytherins. Essentially, only a dozen students achieved an EE or O to qualify for NEWT Potions. Fanon will tell you most of the Slytherins have been tinkering with cauldrons in their diapers, but canon shows that only two other Slytherins, besides Draco and Blaise, made the grade. So, how are we still perpetuating this incorrect interpretation that Ron and Harry were barely keeping up academically when they’re more adept than half their year?

Harry and Ron aren’t academically inclined or driven by an obsessive urge to pore over books most hours of the day for fun, so what? Let them joke around and play chess and cards and broom race in the rain without bringing their brains and academics into the equation. Let Harry be a proper child/teen when he’s not busy hunting clues and crushing evil plots. Stop making the sum of HJP be “Powerful Himbo” or “Saviour Complex and Running on Luck”, which is pretty disrespectful towards a character who has shown himself to be so, so competent and well-rounded.

It’s such a huge thorn in my side that both Harry and Sirius (of all people, when he’s twinning with James as the insultingly effortless mavens during their time at Hogwarts!) habitually have their intelligence questioned and maliciously devaluated, or blown off entirely. So I had to sit and get this chaotically demonstrative commentary off my chest. Thank you, if you’ve read till the end!