#how cruel is this universe to make me want nothing more than to have solid and deep connections then deny me that

[autisticlee]

everyone likes to tell me that real friends exist, the right people for me exist, i'll find them, I just have to look, keep trying. etc.

but no one tells me how, where to look, or how to know who "the right people" even are!

not to mention the fact that I'm getting too old to "make friends" because it's mainly expected of kids/teens to do that. older adults are supposed to have their people already. most adults my age already have their established friend groups that i'm not allowed to join. or they're all pairing off and prefer their partners over friends. or I just simply can't relate or bond with them because we have nothing in common.

[ircnwrought]

__________✦      SHE WANTS TO BE ENOUGH FOR HER FATHER. she has already lost a set of parents before her eyes; to gain erik only to lose him seems to be a cruel trick of the universe. only she knows it would be her distrust that makes that decision. he made grand protestations about wanting to atone, about apologizing for how he had used her power for the brotherhood. she does not know what scares her more, that he used her or that he tries to excuse it away because she is his blood. how does that make any one else subject to his actions any different ?? ❛  when i was in the brotherhood ...  ❜ voice trails off. it is not a time she is proud of && she fights to smooth the flinch from her face. ❛  the cause always meant more to him than anything. it was his reason for being. he would sacrifice anyone && anything for it. i don't know how me being his daughter would change that.  ❜

✦__________      TIME CAN CHANGE HEARTS, BUT COULD IT CHANGE ERIK'S IS THE TRUE TESTAMENT. she should know the power of forgiveness, having started on the wrong side of history herself. charles gave her a chance, should she not extend the same curtesy to her father ?? her mind is a cloud of chaos, doubt && fear colliding into each other. the flight over had done nothing to soothe her worries. ❛  no, you didn't hurt me. you trusted me with the truth && for that i am grateful. pietro && i knew we were adopted. we loved our parents but to know where we come from, even if it can be a burden, is like reclaiming a piece of our history. to know who you are ... that is true power.  ❜

__________✦   SHE HAS BEEN A LOST SOUL FOR YEARS. drifting from one place to the next, trying to find belonging in a world that hates her kind. but the truth, that is a solid foundation in a desert of shifting sand. it is concrete, stable. she tries to hold onto it with whatever bit of strength she has. a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. ❛  if it's not an intrusion, i'd like to stay for some time to get my thoughts in order. i've always felt safe here.  ❜

Ah… so he already knew? Charles let the news wash over him as he thought back to his time with Erik. Charles knew everything but nothing at all. Or maybe he did suspect, but simply chose not to see it in his own attempts at diverting his rage into something else. Whatever the case, he had failed in his attempt and thus had given up on Erik entirely. And he had every right to resign himself to where he was today after that nasty fallout in Cuba. As far as Charles was concerned, Erik was nothing to him now --- a little more than a memory.

However, he wasn't so petty that he would turn the man's own children against him. Erik DID mean well, but Wanda was old enough to decide for herself what she wanted out of life. And if that life DIDN'T include Erik then he'd simply have to deal with it. Perhaps in time she would come around but Charles could understand how she felt. To be abandoned by him for his own agenda was not an easy pill to swallow. It wasn't a matter of just forgive and sweep what happened under the rug.

"I see." He paused. "Well, you know time has a habit of changing one's perspective about decisions made in our youth. I doubt he will give up on you so easily although... I truly hope his mission is out of love and not just how useful your power could be to his cause."

He went quiet a moment, mulling over her next words. In truth, he didn't like being right about some of his hunches. Being right tended to do more harm than good sometimes. For instance, he had no idea what this would mean for Wanda and Erik going forward. Charles HOPED they would get on the same page someday. At the very least, he felt there was hope for them in comparison to his own situation with Marko. He and his stepbrother were likely to never see eye to eye. Abuse, like neglect, wasn't something one could simply erase with time.

"To be honest, I think some part of me hoped I would be wrong --- if only to spare your feelings, but… Truths have a way of coming to light and not always in the best of ways." He paused. "For what its worth, I hope I did not hurt your feelings by telling you my suspicions. I wasn't trying to hurt you or him. Years ago, I may have had petty intentions for spilling the beans but… who knows? As angry as I can be at people, more often than not, I let things slide."

He offered up a small smile, pushing himself to shed any potential overwhelming feelings. Now was not the time to let his own heart bleed too much. "Are you staying a while or just passing through?"

[bubbleteaimagines]

You Can Rest Now

Levi Ackerman Oneshot

Summary: People often wonder why Levi’s so cold. For a man that’s lost everything, it’s not so hard to see

Pairings: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Ansgt, gore, death

Authors Note: I got this idea suddenly and decided to break my heart

there was speculation. there was always speculation, but none more about levi ackerman.

the short man had a notorious reputation. he was cruel, nonchalant and just generally didn’t seem to care.

he was different. cold. so cold in fact, that death didn’t even seem to faze him. he could watch someone die and be fine the next minute.

but was he? it seemed so.

all the recruits admired his bravery and strength, but they feared his attitude.

what had made him so cold, exactly? so...closed up? who or what had turned his heart into stone, causing him to shut out the world around him so easily?

how did he do it?

why did he do it?

what had caused him to snap?

it was simple, really. levi had made a mistake. long ago, when he was foolish enough to still believe in love and happiness in this retched world. long ago before he realized that love made you weak, he make the mistake of loving someone in this cruel, cruel, world.

-

flashback —

“shit! y/n, they’re gaining on us!”

after three years in the survey corps, you could safely say that those words were anything but a good sign. scratch that, those words were the worst thing to hear out in the field. an omen of death, if you will, but you tried not to think about that as you furrowed your eyebrows and gripped your horse’s reigns tightly.

“how close?” you made the mistake of asking your comrade. a lump grew in your throat as you guys trekked across empty land. no trees, no buildings, absolutely nowhere to even think about using your 3dmg gear.

“i...,” he was at a loss of words. neither of you dared to look back, so he had to go off of the thumping footsteps that were getting closer and closer. “i reckon in the next minute or so they’ll be...”

“got it,” you pursed your lips together, not wanting him to finish that sentence. you knew what was coming. you both did. the very ground beneath you shook due to the titan’s footsteps. the monsters that you had been battling your whole damn life. “you ready to kick some ass, then?”

“always.” his voice was weak, his hands trembling as he reached for his swords. but his spirit had not yet been broken. neither had yours.

the footsteps were getting closer.

“i say we stay in rank but finish this thing off. then we’ll speed up and catch the others in case some more come,” you told him

anxiety pooled in your stomach as you thought about the rest of the soldiers. wrong place, wrong time, you knew that. but you couldn’t help it — your mind flashed images of him and you couldn’t help but feel scared for him, wondering if he had made it back to the wall safe or if he was still stuck on the ground, like you.

levi was a much better fighter than you. he was fast, efficient, and a valuable fighter. humanity needed him, and he had to be kept safe to fight another day.

that was the only reason you guys had been split up. he was on the special forces team, you weren’t. a damn good soldier you were but you were needed on the outer side of the formation, you were needed to protect levi.

after two years, he still hated the idea of you risking your life to protect him. he had fought tooth and nail with you and just about everybody else to keep you safe, to keep you next to him at all times. but commander erwin wouldn’t allow it. he couldn’t, levi was needed to save humanity. you weren’t.

you guys had had this argument time and time again. and time after time, you had reassured him that you would make it back. that he would always find your tired but yet still smiling face waiting for him on top of the walls.

why should this time be any different?

“let’s move!”

before you could even think, you had a ten meter titan lunging at you causing you to yelp and yank your horse out of the way. the beast whined in terror, it’s fear possibly rivaling your own. unfortunately though, that didn’t cause it to go any faster. you were gonna be forced to take it down yourself — you wouldn’t be able to outrun it all the way back to the wall.

“y/n!” your comrade yelled as you were swiped at again. this time though, you stood up on your horse and launched yourself at the titan, your gear lodging itself in it’s shoulders.

“keep moving! i’ll take care of this!” you yelled out to him.

letting out an angry cry, you whipped around the creature at astonishing speeds and aimed straight at the back of it’s neck.

a routine kill, that’s all this was.

fire danced behind your eyes while the creature moaned and swatted it’s hands at you. 36, that was your number of solo kills. and soon, it was 37.

“take that you fat bastard,” you yelled and sliced it right in the weak spot, never missing a beat as you carved up the flesh. blood splattered everywhere from the fatal wound and steamed as it got on your face and clothes. the titan went limp, and soon you propelled yourself back to the ground and back on your horse.

“well, looks like petra and me are tied. can’t wait to tell her,” you grinned as you carried on riding, your partner sighing in relief.

“you really are one of the best, you know that? you totally just saved our asses,” he grinned back at you.

“yeah, and you’d do well not to forget it,” you chuckled. “next time there’s cake, i want-”

“Y/N LOOK OUT!”

there was a scream, and then there was a sudden pressure as an abnormal came leaping out of nowhere and hit you dead on.

you didn’t have time to react. you barely even had time to scream before everything went to shit, your horse flying away from you and you — oh god. your comrade screamed as you flew through the air, and appeared again only as you were clutched in the titan’s mouth.

“w-what?” you couldn’t move. your vision was blurry from the hit but what you could feel was it’s breath. blindingly hot, and rancid. you had a first row seat as you hung from the monster’s jaws, everything from your waist and below clutched tightly in it’s teeth.

“y/n, no!” the strangled cry of your fellow comrade was all too familiar. it was a helpless cry, one you had heard many times from many different people. it was a cry of death, a cry of sorrow if you will. it was the type of sound people made when they were face to face with death.

“son of bitch,” you moaned as you lifted your head up, your (e/c) eyes meeting the bright blue ones of the titan. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

of all the ways to die, of all the times and situations, this just had to be it. with your luck, you were gonna be split in half by the ugliest goddamn titan you had ever seen.

“fuck me.”

dread pooled in your stomach.

as you stared down your killer, as you stared down death itself, only one thought crossed your mind.

“c-comrade,” you glared as the titan opened it’s mouth to devour you. “g-get out of here! you don’t need to see this!”

“y/n no! i’m coming!” he desperately clung to his gear, standing on his horse and preparing to take down the monster that was gonna kill his teammate. he couldn’t let that happen. he wouldn’t.

but you weren’t gonna let him die either. not whilst you were still alive.

“comrade! i said go! i’m the leader of this team so that’s an order!” you screamed at the solider causing him to freeze in place.

“no,” he whispered, watching as the monster’s jaws came down.

it was as if it were in slow motion. the universe dragging it out just so he could witness every detail. the moment you screamed profanities at the titan, promising that you’d see it in hell one day. the moment you ripped off your cape, letting one last piece of you remain on this earth. the moment you screamed for levi, yelling one last time how much you loved him.

the moment the titan’s jaws finally came down, cutting you in half.

everything stood still after that. time stopped completely, and your comrade couldn’t even scream, couldn’t even cry out for you as your eyes finally fluttered closed and your body went limp.

you were gone.

-

levi paced anxiously as he stood on top of wall maria. he had his hands behind his back, but his eyes were on full alert, searching the terrain in front of him for any signs of life.

for any signs of you.

levi didn’t understand. it had been well past an hour, and everyone had made it back except for your squad.

it wasn’t even a squad, really. just two people — so how could two people possibly be taking this long?

“captain, you should calm down. i’m sure y/n is gonna be fine,” petra placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but it did nothing to sooth levi.

“if they were fine they’d be back by now,” he snapped, his eyes darkening.

he didn’t want to admit it but levi was starting to lose hope. being gone for this long usually only meant one thing — but he refused to think about that. he refused to even let the thought cross his mind, shoving it so far back it was practically non existent. levi couldn’t think like that. he wouldn’t.

because it was no question whether you were okay or not. you had to be, there were no other options. no other scenarios other than you coming back alive and safe.

“captain—”

“silence!”

levi strained his ears as he heard hooves in the distance. he perked up.

it was the sound of a horse, most definitely. in fact, it was the sound of two horses, and in the distance he could see them galloping towards the wall, a titan right behind them and the lone rider.

levi’s heart swelled with hope.

“y/n!”

he was breathless as he ran towards the edge of the wall, igorning his fellow soldiers protests. extracting his swords, he quickly cascaded down the wall towards the person, hoping beyond hope that it was you.

commander erwin held out a hand to stop anyone from following him.

“don’t,” he warned, seeing how levi’s squad was gearing up. “this one’s for him.”

levi had never felt more eager in his life to escape into titan territory. quickly, he flew towards the rider and practically tackled them as he reached them.

“y/n, you—”

levi stopped dead in his tracks. confused, he tilted his head as he saw the grief-stricken face of your partner, but not you. in fact, you were nowhere in sight as the titan’s footsteps got louder.

“soldier, you had someone with you, yes? where is y/n?” levi demanded, completely ignoring the haunted and agonized expression of the solider.

“c-captain...i...,” how did he get the words out? how did your comrade look his captain in the eyes and tell him that you were gone — lost to the titan on a simple mission.

“well? we don’t have all pissant. spit it out,” levi snapped, becoming irritated at the lack of response.

where were you? if you hadn’t come back with your partner, then where the hell where you?

the soilder’s mouth moved but levi barely heard anything he said.

perhaps it was because he wasn’t standing close enough. or perhaps the titan’s thunderous footsteps drowned it out. or perhaps...it was because levi heard something he didn’t want to hear.

“dead?” levi tilted his head as if it were a foreign word. as if he had never heard the word before, when in reality it was probably the most used word in his vocabulary. “what do you mean y/n is...dead?”

the pieces didn’t fit. the word ‘dead’ and ‘you’ were apart of two completely different puzzles; they didn’t fit together. it was too wrong, too confusing for levi’s brain to pick up.

“t-they’re gone, sir,” the solider spit out painfully, letting out a wail. “w-we were on flat ground...the titan came out of nowhere...the abnormal...”

“shut up,” levi held his hand up as the pieces began to mold themselves. slowly, they transformed to fit each other.

“i-i’m sorry sir,” the soldier stammered, “t-they’re gone. they left this behind...but their body—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” levi growled as anger began to flow through him, his fists twitching. the solider flinched back as levi’s death glare settled on him, burning holes through his skull.

“where do you get off on this? HUH?” levi yelled as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking him off of is horse. the beast whined in fear as the titan approached, but levi ignored it. instead, he focused on the red spots in his vision, pushing away the pain. pushing away the imagery that followed the solider’s words. all that was left of you was a cape...

“i’ll have you executed for this you bastard! you lying piece of shit—”

“CAPTAIN LEVI!” levi’s attention was diverted as commander erwin yelled out his name. briefly, he turned his attention to the wall where his fellow comrades and commander stood, horrified, “YOU HAVE A SITUATION!”

levi tore his gaze away from erwin and glanced over his shoulder. fast approaching was the titan that had followed the solider to the wall. an abnormal by the looks of it, with blood splattered all over it’s mouth.

levi felt his heart stop.

in the moment, it suddenly became real. he glanced at the solider’s terrified face, the cape in his arms that had your initials printed on it, and then back at the titan.

everything hit him at once.

and levi snapped.

“YOU BASTARD!”

he retracted his blades, squared his shoulders, and then zoomed off to battle the titan that that had murdered you. the love of his life.

levi saw red as an animalistic scream left him, his entire vision clouded with crimson as he made his target and slashed. levi slashed until there was nothing more to slash, the titan long dead and already dissolving by the time he was done.

“YOU ASSHOLE! YOU TOOK THEM! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

“CAPTAIN! soldier, you need to restrain him and get back over the wall, NOW!” commander erwin shouted.

more titan’s were approaching. too many people were standing by the walls. too much prey.

but levi didn’t care. he was angry, hurt, and beyond the levels of revenge. his blades were stained with the blood of your murderer. he wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t end them all, right then and there.

“CAPTAIN LEVI! WE NEED TO GO!”

levi ignored the solider’s plea and stood his ground, hatred burning behind his eyes. he’d kill them, he’d kill every last one of them for what they did to you. his life be damned.

in that moment, it didn’t matter that humanity needed him.

he needed to avenge you.

“FALL BACK! DO NOT ENGAGE! I REPEAT, DO NOT ENGAGE! EVERYBODY STAND BACK!”

levi braced himself for the attack. he was running on pure hatred now.

he was dangerous when he was calm. but he was unstoppable when he was deadset on getting revenge for the one person he had left to care about.

“holy shit—”

“no way—”

“did he just?—”

all around levi was blood. crimson red soaked him to the bone, pouring over every inch of his body. it rained on him, like a sadistic waterfall carved out by levi’s sword.

but it wasn’t his.

none of it, not a single drop of the blood was his.

levi sheathed his now broken swords and leaned down to retrieve the only thing not soaked with titan blood. the only thing that wasn’t stained or reminded him of their treacherous, godforsaken existence.

“i did it,” he whispered, clutching your cape tightly. he held the fabric in his trembling hands, holding it over his heart as a way to hold you close— one last time.

“i killed that thing. you can rest now.”

[yandere-wishes]

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made. 

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories. 

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner. 

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected. 

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak. 

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions. 

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home. 

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air. 

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him. 

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born. 

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed. 

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness. 

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world. 

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness. 

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies. 

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control. 

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village. 

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains. 

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond. 

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother. 

Something not born nor created. 

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow. 

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well. 

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders. 

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips. 

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been. 

 Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe. 

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth. 

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a  pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

 It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise. 

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like. 

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death. 

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure. 

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all. 

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest. 

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava. 

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste. 

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise. 

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights. 

 However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway? 

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life. 

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive. 

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure? 

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood. 

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers. 

"S-sukun-a..." 

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion. 

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names. 

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing. 

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him. 

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell." 

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything. 

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die. 

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

[gohyuck]

the purge: society

pairing: firefighter!san x reader

genre: purge au, angst, some fluff

warnings: mentions of violence (especially violence against cops), murder, blood, injury, weapons (guns, knives, metal baseball bats)

word count: 2.4k

note: this was originally meant to be a drabble and it’s still pretty short so i didn’t get to elaborate on the characters but honestly maybe i’ll explore a purge universe with ateez someday because this was fun (i’ve never watched any of the movies though so i’ll have to get on that)

“What the fuck?” 

He hadn’t expected to see anyone left alive on this street.

“Shut up and get down,” You hiss, reaching your good arm up to grab onto the man’s jacket collar before unceremoniously pulling him towards you. He stumbles, falling gracelessly onto you. A scream bubbles up in your throat as he accidentally puts pressure onto your already free-bleeding bicep, but you get ahold of yourself just in time, only letting the quietest of wounded moans escape you. 

“You’re the first person that hasn’t tried to kill me before talking to me all night - oh, shit,” The stranger trails off, swearing when you effectively stop him from speaking further by placing your switchblade right under his skin. It’s only then that he even pauses to take you in: your back is up by the police car door, sure, and your left arm has a massive gash in it, but you’re armed. There’s a pistol laying idly in your lap, kept company by a metal baseball bat. 

Not to mention, the knife at his neck. 

“What the hell are you doing, walking around unarmed and with a first aid kit? Also, how the hell are you unarmed and with just a first aid kit? What the fuck?” You let the questions out in a rapidfire fashion, and he can’t help but clock the slight rasp in your voice. It’s easier to recognize than the pained wheeze you’re trying very, very hard to suppress, but neither escape him. He’s trained to notice the little things, anyways. 

“You need to bandage that shit up,” The man ignores your questions, moving his head just enough to miss your blade but also enough to be able to look you in the eyes. “How long has it been bleeding?”

“That’s none of your business,” You grit out. “Answer my questions or I’ll kill you right here and now.”

“If I answer yours, will you answer mine?” For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be panicking just yet. His gaze is sincere, but it’s too solid to be that of a bona fide idiot. You suck in a breath of air. Threatening him would be so much easier if he didn’t seem like a nice guy. It’s hard enough to live through the night, you don’t need guilt on your hands, and you know you’re going to feel guilty when you kill him. And you will kill him.

You need that first aid kit. You’ll do anything for it.

Anything, starting off with lying. 

“Sure,” You reply, steeling yourself for any sudden movements he might make now that you’re faking amicability. Maybe he’ll believe you to be vulnerable and try for your pistol or your bat, or maybe he’ll be properly cruel and finish off your arm. You don’t want to think about it. He lets out a sigh of relief, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve actually affected him after all. “Now speak.”

“Not unarmed, there’s a police-issue pistol in my jacket and a tactical knife in my jeans. I’m not totally nuts. First aid kit’s for my buddy, though, I’ll be real, you need it way more than him.” There’s something resembling concern in his expression as his eyes flit between your torn arm and your face, but that barely interests you. You haven’t truly registered anything after ‘police-issue’.

You lean in, pressing the edge of your knife against the skin directly above his adam’s apple. For the first time since you’d cornered him, your mystery purger’s breath hitches. His eyebrows draw together in confusion. It’s no matter. You no longer regret the fact that you’ll have to tear his jugular out yourself. 

“You’re a hog, huh,” You stare him down, any sympathy you might’ve had gone. For a moment, it seems as if he has no concept of what you’re saying. A second passes, though, and his gaze clears. 

“Firefighter,” He responds, though the word is garbled due to him attempting to keep his movements to a minimum. You pull back slightly, very slightly, to let him explain. “I… found a dead cop, jacked his pistol. I’ll show you my ID, if you want.” 

“Let me see it.” You nod your head at him as if giving him permission to live a little longer, though you both know full well that identity theft and identity fabrication are legal, too. Might as well see how much effort he puts into a fake. The man waits until you pull back just a bit more, enough to let him slowly reach his hand into his back pocket before producing a lanyard. 

You grab it out of his grip with your hurt arm, not willing to move your knife too far away from his throat. You simply don’t have a good enough read on - you glance down - San Choi, ACT Firefighter, Employee ID: 018-102-4 to allow yourself any leeway with him. 

His gently smiling face stares up at you from the plastic card, protected only by a clear sleeve connected to a red lanyard. San’s photo has black hair and an undercut, styled so his forehead is on display. A pair of dimples makes a guest appearance, and, overall, he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. The ID looks real, too, so maybe you aren’t totally fucked. 

The San under your knife has bleach blond hair that almost falls over his eyes, though you suppose you can’t blame him for skipping out on the hair product tonight. He seems slightly tanner than his photo, his skin beautiful even now as dust from the aftermath of the explosion starts to settle against it. 

Right. The explosion. 

Recalling the events leading up to you meeting San forces you to remember that you have a gaping, bloody gash in your left arm. You’re honestly lucky to be alive, having ducked and used the car you’re against for cover from flying debris after a building down the block had exploded. You’d just finished driving your knife into a cop’s side - third cop of the night, eighth of your career as a purge cop killer - to make sure that he was dead when you’d heard the bomb go off, and you’d dropped before even thinking about it. Something had hit your arm on the way down, and when the adrenaline had finally left your system, you’d taken note of your blood-soaked sleeve. 

You’d closed the car door after that, sealing your third murder of the night in the vehicle just so you could lean up against the door. It had been 6:31 in the morning then, and you had figured that someone would come by and kill you in the last moments before legality ensued again. You’d assumed that you’d fight, of course you would, but your arm being totally fucked definitely put a damper on your belief in your ability to overcome anyone or anything else. 

Instead of the disgruntled, trigger-happy purger you’d expected to eventually find, though, you’d been found by San Choi. San Choi, who’s currently staring at your wounded arm like it’s grown eyes and can stare back. 

“Come on, let me fix it up,” He pleads, lifting the kit up with the hand that’s farther from you. “You might not trust me, or whatever, but the purge is about to end as it is. I have a paramedic friend, Seonghwa, who’s taught me the basics of -”

“Shut the fuck up.” You tell him, though you’re quickly losing your bite. He obeys regardless. God, your arm really, really fucking hurts. Before pulling your knife back, you check the watch on your wrist. 6:47. Stay alive for 13 more minutes, 780 more seconds. You’ll be fine. You take the shakiest breath you’ve ever taken. 

You pull your knife away from him. 

Nothing happens. 

“I’m going to use an alcohol free wipe and then wrap gauze around your arm, okay? You’ll just have to hold out until we can get you to a working hospital after that,” San speaks as if he’s talking to a child, or a scared animal, and you can’t blame him. He doesn’t seem like a purger, but you technically are one. You wouldn’t put it past yourself to attack on a whim if you were him. He, very slowly and with his hands in your full view at all times, opens the kit and pulls out the requisite materials. 

“Gonna need you to rip your sleeve off above the cut.” He continues, leaning back as you bring your knife up to your clothes and slit the cloth right above your wound. You tear the remainder of the sleeve off your arm before throwing it behind you somewhere. San gently grabs ahold of your elbow - his palm is calloused in a way that tells you he lifts regularly, and you’re sure of this as he discards his jacket and you watch the muscles ripple in his arms under his thin black shirt - and places the wipe against your cut. 

Your reaction is instantaneous: now that you’re completely past the adrenaline stage, the feeling of something, anything against the gash has you reeling to cry out. Before you can even process that you’ve made a sound, a hand presses hard against the back of your head, shoving your mouth against San’s. 

He doesn’t know how else to shut you up. 

His lips are chapped, but the sensation of being kissed so suddenly jars you out of your pain. San attempts to pull back, and you can already feel the apologetic wince he’s about to give you, but he brushes over your wound with the wipe again and your pain doubles back. It’s you that pulls him in this time, pressing your lips to his sloppily but forcefully as if it’ll alleviate the burn in your arm. 

Kissing him only slightly muffles you at best, but you no longer care. The purge isn’t over yet. You could both die at any second. Hell, San could kill you at any second. His hand moves from the back of your head to cup your face as he leans in towards you to deepen the kiss. His lips are chapped, yes, but they’re soft. He tastes like mint and copper: there’s a cut in his lower lip. You don’t mind. 

San pulls away for a moment, but only does so to grab the gauze from the kit. Once he’s wrapped it around your arm once, twice, thrice, he leans back in and your mouth accepts his own eagerly, your other hand coming up to drape over his shoulder. Neither of you know why you’re doing this, kissing a stranger with such fervor as one of you bandages the other up, but you both know that there’s really nothing else to do. 

It’s only after he finishes taping you up that the two of you pull away fully. His eyes are still just as kind as you’d thought them to be at first, though his lips are far more swollen than they’d been mere minutes prior. You admire your handiwork, eyes tracing his features as he admires his own, thumb very, very gently running over your gauze. Both of you raise your heads to smile sheepishly at each other at the exact same time.

Three things happen in rapid succession. 

“Good?” San’s voice is barely above a whisper, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Just as you’re about to speak - 

“San!” A voice, low and hoarse, interrupts you, and you look up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at the space between your eyes. You’re frozen in place for a split second before you start reaching for your own pistol. Your fingers brush the grip when - 

The clock strikes seven, and sirens go off all around you, signalling the end of the purge. 

The gun is out of your face. Your hand moves off of your own.

“San,” The owner of the gun pays you no mind, suddenly, his entire focus on San. The gun-owner reaches a hand out, and the firefighter beside you takes it, allowing himself to get pulled up to his feet. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, Yunho, I’m totally good,” San responds, giving the taller man a cat-like grin of reassurance. Yunho’s got a fireman’s helmet on, and you suppose it’s good as protection. He must be a fellow firefighter, then. He’s tall, and though he’d seemed nothing short of severe mere moments ago, he seems softer, kinder now that the purge is over. The transformation is enough to give you whiplash. His right hand is wrapped in bandages, and this catches San’s sight at the same time it catches your own. “What the hell happened to you, though?” 

“That policeman you killed had buddies,” Yunho replies with ease, but you don’t miss San’s wince. Seems like he hadn’t just happened upon that police-issue pistol. You can’t help the small grin that fights to make its way across your face. “They tried to get into the station, we had to fortify ourselves. We’re mostly fine, just that Woo’s lost a finger. He’ll live once he stops whining about it. We were mostly worried about you, honestly, taking fucking forever just to find a first aid kit. Who’s this?”

Yunho moves the topic of conversation over to you so naturally that you barely even realize what has happened before San is reaching a hand out to you to pull you up to a standing position. You grab ahold of your pistol, though you shove the bat off your lap before allowing yourself to be brought up. Without thinking, you practically plaster yourself to San’s side. Now that he’s for sure what he told you he was, and now that you’re no longer in danger of dying, you can’t help but feel inexplicably connected to him even though neither of you know each other. San wraps an arm around your waist naturally, and neither of you miss Yunho’s eyebrow raise. Neither of you acknowledge it, either. 

“This?” San asks rhetorically, turning his head slightly to look at you. He’s smiling again, and you find that you want to see it more often. Maybe you’re experiencing the onset of delirium. You hope not. “This is…” 

“(Name),” You reply, being honest. There’s no need for you to lie. Besides, you owe San answers, right? You stick your uninjured arm out, letting Yunho shake your hand. San’s grip tightens around your waist. 

“I’m (Name).”

[gigglealongshiney-shadow-watcher]

The words hit her core. Something inside started to change. Small, little pieces began to weave themselves back together. Hints of something...healing and cleansing wedged their way deep into Opal.

The emotions her calm face had left unseen bubbled up in her throat. The tremble in her jaw grew to the soft, muffled chattering of her teeth inside her closed mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.

Her tears were shimmering and swirling with the same colors as the pool of water.

"I-" Opal broke eye contact with Webby as her voice broke along with it. "I- I don't know what to do."

Down the ledge of the pool, she sank to her knees. Her tears fell into the water and each sent a bubble rising into the air.

They were memories, a pool of life and memories that had grown and deepened drop by drop. Tear by tear, pain by pain, and plea by plea, this place was created.

"I've never had to choose all by myself. I've always had help. Phillip, Pokey, my parents- they must have been good people if Phil liked them. I never had control of myself or my life. I'm scared. Everyone hurts me."

A memory floats past her of Opal and a sniggle in a room. "Nobody loves me."

"It's not enough, I'm nothing alone. What I want doesn't matter! It's never mattered to anyone stronger than me. It doesn't matter what I am, they'll make me what they want instead. A doll, a leader, a killer, a bug, a monster, all I am is what they chose for me."

Opal splashed Webby with the force of her palms as they hit the water. "I can't go! I can watch and I can pray but they'll never answer me! I've been thrown from the deep harmony of life and beached in the shallows. I can't break the surface and dive back down. I'm too weak to surrender my breath to the universe like I did before."

She sobbed on her hands and knees, the glittery makeup adorning her face dissolving and dripping into the water. "I'll never be whole ever again! He stole my everything and never gave it all back! He still has the rest of me, and it's his forever." Even as her limbs were submerged, her hair and face met a solid floor and rested above the surface. Her voice fell to a whisper. "He has me forever. It's not mine anymore. I can't get it back."

Another memory danced in Blue and White. A very, very familiar face of a teenage girl was visible inside.

As Opal broke down, her voice grew more melodic. Was it a cruel joke that her sorrows would be forced to sound beautiful? "I'm not my own. I am owned. A body mashed up and sore. A servant, or a pet. A doll that no one wants anymore. My music box head is broken and rusty, and my stained glass window heart is shattered and dusty. They've stolen pieces from me and I'll never be who my friend grew up with before."

The Godly song that floated up from the water shifted to match her. Opal didn't even hear her sobbing give way to singing.

"Gathering others to replace what I lost, only to suffer and pay for the cost. A life everliving- Gods never giving- me what I had needed before! All that I know is how to obey, I always give in in the end... I smile and learn, and I listen to concerns. But all that I've gotten for my unending loyalty- was to be then thrown away!"

The music swelled. "A doll! A doll, a pointless doll. Nameless and useless alone. Thrown down a well and forgotten forever, never to be given a home. I'm not my own. I am owned. I am always the property of someone else. I pray every night, to let me grow old and die, so I can finally escape from myself!"

"I hear them- I hear them- the ones who loved me before...and yet their faces and voices and names I held closest, have all washed away from the shore. Stolen from me forever more."

It grew quieter. "My...music box head plays songs I was filled with. They don't sound right all alone. My mangled flesh body is laying there bleeding, cut down right to the bone. A soul I may have, split and a coward, buried deep in despair. I call for the one who gave me my purpose, but He just doesn't care."

"I've tried to be strong, and I did my part. I obeyed and I slaved over a war I didn't start. I've been left to be lonely by those who made art... out of the pieces of my..."

"Stained-glass-win-dow-heart."

Opal continued to cry, but her voice was silent.

(Apparently, since the original post got so long that it started falling apart, we are continuing this roleplay via a new and shiny fresh post. Enjoy! @gigglealongshiney-shadow-watcher)

Endless. That’s what the darkness is. Webby didn’t expect anything less. The dark left you uncertain and afraid of what might come and get you when you weren’t looking. This was also true of goddesses, it seemed.

Yet again, Webblin had not been comfortable in any sort of black in a long time.

The presence set itself heavy on her chosen form, smelling as sickeningly sweet as it had on the battlefield.

...

If only she knew that young girl’s name. That would make locating her - the real her - far easier.

As she keeps going in a direction that even she can’t identify, sound and feeling returns in drips and skips, as if on a warped record. First, there’s the tingle of warm sun, and something other than the barely present floor - which feels as cushioning as fresh grass for the briefest of moments. Bright, bubbling, laughter bursts from nowhere, echoes of two children who the world no longer knew. Webby lets herself smile.

Then, just as quickly, rat-tat-tat-tat, bang, crash, the thick and looming iron scent and shouted orders from a battle long since won. Animal roars punctuating the horrified screams. Music sticks in Webby’s head. She shakes it away with grit teeth and keeps moving, bare feet scraping against red-and-blue-stained concrete.

[snafu-maniac1]

Zuko deserved better

So I rewatched Avatar the Last Airbender recently and let me tell you......

I wanna murder several people.

Looking back on this entire series I’ve come to notice something. I watched the show just like any other audience member and only saw the good and the bad characters. One of these prime examples is Zuko. Zuko’s redemption arc has been praised as one of the greatest in history, succeeding where others have failed. But watching it all again......it wasn’t redemption. Not to me personally.

Before everyone gets angry and defensive at me, please finish reading my post and hear what I have to say. I do not wish to start any fandom wars or discredit or disrespect anyone’s opinion, this is just my personal psychological analysis of Zuko’s character....Sigh and let me give you a warning.

It’s gonna be LONG. 

So if you’re not interested or don’t want to hear it or don’t feel like reading something this long that’s fine, you can go ahead and just click away and ignore this post.

Starting from book 2. 

Now you may be wondering why I’m starting here and not from the start of Zuko’s childhood but I first want to address the one question everyone had been wondering since the series 2 finale. What would have happened if Zuko hadn’t sided with Azula?

My answer is.....that wouldn’t have happened.

Everyone’s been focusing on the entire arc where Zuko was struggling to accept that the war was wrong and how Iroh was trying to get through to him when he tried to capture Appa and afterwards, but here’s something everyone tends to ignore.

Why didn’t Iroh try sooner?

Why didn’t he try to stop Zuko before Aang came, before he’d gotten so deep and desperate to the point that he continuously committed heinous acts to capture the Avatar? People would justify it by saying Iroh wanted Zuko to realize the wrongs of his father and Nation by himself to shape him into his own person. But that is in no way the appropriate way to approach a physically, psychologically and mentally unstable and abused child. Zuko was a thirteen year old boy when he was burned and banished. This is where we go into his childhood. Zuko was raised like any other Fire Nation citizen. As we’ve seen in book 3 and in the Pirate comic book, The Fire Nation citizens were led to believe that the other Nations were ‘savages’ and ‘barbarians’. It villainizes the Fire Nation even more. The very fact that they would spread heinous lies against other people when they themselves were responsible for the war that ruined so many lives. But when you realize, what Sozin and the other Fire Lords did was a solid battle tactic. Making the opposing side out to be these horrendous monsters. Making lies or accentuating every one of their worst traits to dehumanize their enemies so that the people would not have any qualms about fighting them. All of the Fire Nation schools were taught these lies. And Zuko was no exception.

Zuko was a member of the Royal family. And from what was shown in the Avatar series, the Royal family was isolated from the rest of Fire Nation society. Zuko had no way of knowing what the other Nations were really like, no way of knowing the truth about the war and no one had bothered to explain it to him. The one person that could have, did NOT. And yet people had expected him to just automatically know that he was being lied to and that his people were the villains. Zuko’s only social exposure was with Fire Lord Azulon, Fire Lord Ozai, Dragon Of The West General and Crown Prince Iroh, his cousin Prince Lu Ten, his mother Princess Ursa and his younger sister Princess Azula and her friends Mai and Ty Lee. All of whom believed in the Fire Nation propaganda and all of whom had no problem in participating in the war and making jokes about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground. Zuko was under scrutiny and aggression from Ozai. Ozai was Zuko’s ‘handler’, his ‘groomer’. He groomed Zuko into a certain type of submissive and obedient behavior. Zuko was not allowed to show any type of emotion otherwise he would suffer severe repercussions. Ozai and Azula taunted Zuko for having a sense of compassion and with how he was ostracized in a war loving family, he began to believe his behavior and way of thinking was unusual. It was like Azula said to Mai, “Your mother had certain expectations of you and when you strayed from them you were shot down.” In Zuko’s case, the expectations he strayed from resulted in severe punishment. Ozai was willing to permanently disfigure and traumatize Zuko when he was a thirteen year old boy. It’s not unusual to think that his punishments towards Zuko would sometimes very likely be physical and many people even write alternate universes of the Avatar series where Ozai was even more abusive than he already was. He was a manipulative man who brainwashed his daughter into being his perfect, obedient little slave and manipulated his son into questioning his own sense of reality. He would tell him that Azula was born lucky and he was lucky to be born, cementing Azula’s view of herself of receiving everything she wanted and turning her personality toxic while he made Zuko feel inferior and faulty. If there was something wrong with him, his father would tell him and he needed to fix it. But he never could. He strayed towards his mother, who like Iroh, abandoned Azula because of Ozai’s manipulation and did nothing to help her like they ‘helped’ Zuko.

When Zuko was thirteen he wanted to ‘prove’ himself to his father by attending one of his war meetings. Zuko very likely only wished to do what his father wanted because by then, Iroh had abandoned him when he left after the Siege of Ba Sing Se, his mother disappeared and his grandfather and cousin were both dead. The only ones he had left of his family were his father and sister who both abused him and he only wished for their approval and their affection. Humans need mutual affection. Children who do not receive affection from their parents, tend to not take that type of neglect well. Because people need affection to properly function. Our parents love us from when we are young and that emotional connection is something very important to every human being’s mental state. However, Zuko’s only source of affection, his mother, was taken away from him. Azula herself, had no source of affection. Not from her mother, who thought she was demented from her father’s brainwashing, nor from her brother who feared her, nor from her father who used her as a tool. Returning to the day of the Agni Kai, Zuko wished to be of use to his father, he craved his affection because that is what the abuser does. They make you believe they are the only ones who can validate you and if you do not abide by their rules or follow their orders then you mean nothing. Zuko for the most part from what I could see in the flashback, held his promise and did not speak. But when he refused to back down when his people were in danger, Ozai was not pleased. This is because he is an abuser. He is Zuko’s ‘handler’ and when someone who is abusing another person witnesses this type of behavior, they have a feeling of loss of control. They desire control, they crave it, over the abusee especially. So when Zuko showed empathy towards the Fire Nation citizens and did not do as Ozai wished, he decided to ‘rectify’ that. In the most BRUTAL way possible. An Agni Kai. A public spectacle where he would establish dominance over his son, over his pawn and he would make a show of it. He would show everyone that HE was the one in control and NO ONE could defy him. When Zuko refused to fight Ozai, because of his love for his father, Ozai only saw that as a weakness. Ozai is a psychotic man. The fact that he did not have any problem in burning his son so cruelly shows that he does not have any sense of morals. Going back to Zuko, a thirteen year old child at the time, he had just been punished for disobedience, for straying from his father’s expectations, in the worst way possible.

Zuko did what many people would say is the right thing to do. He tried to defend his people from a cruel man intent on sending them to their deaths. But in doing so, he had defied his father and was punished for it. He was punished....for trying to HELP people. His life was essentially DESTROYED and he was thrown out of his home...for trying to help people. For showing empathy towards others. He was punished in the worst way possible for defying his father. His entire perception of right and wrong was thrown out of balance. He was taught that the war was right and that the Fire Lord, his father, was all knowing. And his mother tried to teach him kindness and her lessons of kindness got him punished. The amount of physical and mental damage he had sustained from such a punishment would in some cases be irreversible. Iroh was right there with Zuko and he did nothing. I CAN understand why he did not step in during the Agni Kai. He had been gone from the Fire Nation, his brother had taken the throne and he could have very well himself been punished severely for intervening. However, why did he allow Zuko to continue to believe he was the one at fault? Everyone of us has seen Zhao, has seen the way he treated Zuko during his banishment. Zuko very likely spent those entire two years before Aang’s arrival, being subjected to that type of behavior from everyone around him. All of them blamed him, all of them very likely said that he’d deserved what had happened to him. No one was on his side. He ended up turning aggressive and cruel towards others, because that was the way his father behaved and it was his empathy towards others that got him punished in the first place. He said in The Storm ‘the safety of the crew doesn’t matter’, just like the general that called the 41st division ‘fresh meat’. It was easier for Zuko to lash out at others and be aggressive than to let them see his vulnerabilities and hurt him for them again. It was the same with Song and her mother. Ozai tried to force him to be cruel, he tried to groom him the same way he did Azula. They dehumanized the other Nations and Zuko behaved the exact same way he was expected to. ‘Their compassion would cost them’. It was exactly the way his father wanted him to be. It was what Iroh did not wish for him, and yet despite claiming he thought of Zuko as a son, he did not in any way try to convince Zuko to give up his quest during the two years he had been searching for something that at the time was believed did not exist. The only instance we were shown of Iroh saying anything against his search, and even that is a stretch, was in the Western Air Temple episode where Zuko has a flashback of Iroh telling him that ‘destiny was a funny thing’ when Zuko said it was his destiny to capture the Avatar. Iroh had time to run the White Lotus, an antiwar organization for two YEARS maybe even longer and he did not think of taking two MINUTES to talk to Zuko, to ease him into realizing the wrongs of the war. Okay, yes he could have passed it off as character growth. But how do you expect a person, surrounded by people telling him he was at fault, he had no choice, either obey or never come back, to realize something like that? How do you expect an abuse victim to accept help all by themselves when their abuser forces them to depend on them? Did Iroh take him to some Earth Kingdom villages to see that they aren’t the vicious savages the Fire Nation portrays them to be? Did he take Zuko to the Southern Water Tribe to see the damage done to them at the hands of his own country? No. Instead he acted like an oblivious old man who had no interest other than Pai Sho and speaking proverbs that Zuko could not hope to understand.

Two years Zuko spent looking and looking and he turned desperate to the point that he was willing to do anything to go home. And then The Avatar finally returned. And then the people that Zuko was raised to perceive as brutal savages continued to stand in his way. And did Iroh intervene? No. He still did nothing. He allowed Zuko to continue his pursuit and turn into the worst possible version of himself. People say that Zuko should own up to the consequences of his actions. And he should. But would he have done those actions had Iroh stopped him earlier? Would he have done any of the things he did when the only remaining adult figure in his life had told him otherwise? Would he have listened to Iroh? The answer is yes. He was willing to do what Ozai had expected of him so why would he not listen to Iroh with time and patience instead of waiting till the last possible moment to do so? Children don’t automatically know right from wrong from the moment of their birth. They are taught by their parents, by the adults in their lives and Zuko had Ozai as his parental influence. And Iroh knew that. He knew the type of man his brother was and he did not try to overwrite his brother’s abuse to help his nephew until Zuko was already on the path of no return. When they became refugees Iroh still did nothing until they got to Ba Sing Se and until Zuko, again in an act of desperation, tried to capture Appa. That was when he FINALLY decided to step in. Three years since Zuko’s banishment, sixteen years of his father’s influence and abuse and he decides the very moment his nephew is close to the brink of insanity is the perfect opportunity to DESTROY his entire world view. He had worked day in and day out for two years before Aang appeared, only for his uncle, someone he TRUSTED, to tell him it was all for NOTHING. Two years of TORTURING himself. A year of fighting against his Nation’s enemies and SUDDENLY he’s being told it was all for nothing. When Iroh and Zuko reunited, Iroh told him he found his way again ‘on his own’ like how Zuko told Ozai he had to learn everything ‘on his own’. And they were both right. Zuko had no one to help him. He had to suffer through so much on his own, without anyone’s help and they’re SURPRISED he acted the way he did. When everything came to ahead in Ba Sing Se with Katara, people thought ‘Oh Zuko has changed he’s going to help Katara.’ And when he did not they HATED him for it. 

The reason for this is because Katara was the ‘good guy’ and Zuko was the ‘bad guy’. Black and white. Katara and Zuko shared a moment of understanding from both losing their mothers and Katara offered to heal his scar and he chose to side with Azula and both Katara and the viewers saw this as a betrayal on Zuko’s part. This assumption however is completely unjustified and unfounded. Everyone sees Zuko and the Fire Nation as the bad guys. The villains of the story. But Katara and the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom were the bad guys in the Fire Nation’s eyes. Katara was the ‘savage’ standing in the way of Zuko going home. The Avatar was his home’s greatest ENEMY and THREAT. Had the situation been reversed and Katara had to choose between Zuko and the Water Tribe and her brother and father, people would have supported her choice because they were the good guys. Zuko’s people were the bad guys so it had to be the wrong decision and a betrayal to Katara and Iroh. But Zuko was an unstable, traumatized child who did not wish to believe his people were bad, who did not want to fight his home after he spent so long trying to capture Aang, his home’s greatest THREAT and ENEMY. Katara hated Zuko because he represented everything that the Fire Nation did to her family. And Zuko hated her because she was the ‘savage’ keeping him from his one way home. To Zuko, Katara was the bad guy. And looking back at their moment of sympathy where Katara said he betrayed her trust I can only ask one thing....how could Zuko have known that Katara wasn’t trying to trick him? Now, the viewers would automatically respond ‘Katara’s not like that! She wouldn’t do that!’ but the fact is, we the viewers KNOW Katara. We know she’s not that type of person because we got to know her through out the series. Zuko does NOT know her. To Zuko, she’s just another faceless enemy out to KILL his father. He chose Azula’s side because he could not accept what Iroh was saying to him because why hadn’t Iroh said so sooner? He did not want to join Aang’s side cause this was the AVATAR. The one out to KILL his FATHER and take down his HOME. When Zuko returned, he was conflicted about what he had done because he had begun to see how wrong his father and sister’s behavior and The Fire Nation’s war truly was. And Iroh cemented that further by proclaiming Zuko’s struggle was because of Roku and Sozin’s conflict when that was clearly not the case. Zuko was groomed and brainwashed by the Fire Nation propaganda like every other citizen but he was not dispelled from that belief by anyone. No one tried to make him question that belief. Iroh did not try to ‘help Zuko’ until the very last moment in Ba Sing Se. People believe Zuko betrayed Iroh because that’s how it’s supposed to be when Zuko was the ‘bad guy’ and Iroh was the ‘caring’ Uncle and ‘voice of reason’. And yet he did not think to ‘reason’ with Zuko before this entire mess even started. He did not in any way try to disrupt Zuko’s view of the other Nations or his father. In my opinion, IROH was the one who betrayed ZUKO. Iroh KNEW the entire time that what Zuko was doing was wrong. Zuko was a child who was not allowed to think for himself and Iroh KNEW Zuko was brainwashed by the exact same propaganda he himself had believed before he lost his son. If Iroh, who had believed in the Fire Nation for so many years, was unable to realize the wrongs of the war until his ADULTHOOD when he lost his son, how in the world did he expect a 13 year old child to do so? And Zuko became even more unstable and then he chose the Fire Nation.

When he realized it was wrong and went to join team Avatar, they were reasonably mistrusting.

Zuko’s redemption arc from a simple perspective, from team Avatar’s perspective was very well done. Team Avatar did not know what Zuko had been through. To them he was just another Fire Nation monster who had hurt them. To the audience, he was just another Fire Nation monster who had hurt the good guys. No one would think that deep into a fictional character’s perspective or psychological and mental state. No one would think past the ‘good guy’ and the ‘bad guy’. But one thing I cannot justify is Katara’s accusation of betrayal towards Zuko. As we have mentioned, Zuko and Katara were enemies who had a mutual hatred towards each other before his ‘redemption’. They had one single moment of shared empathy and understanding and that is NOT the basis for earned trust. What would Katara have done had she been in Zuko’s shoes? Fighting her enemies, fighting people she sees as nothing more than monsters and she has to choose between her long time enemy and her sibling and her home and her family. If she was in that position, she would choose Sokka and Hakoda and Aang and the Water Tribe over Zuko in a heartbeat because those are her FAMILY members and her FRIENDS and people would justify her because she’s the ‘good guy’. The hero. But Zuko is the villain so his actions automatically AREN’T justifiable. I understand Katara’s mistrust towards Zuko because of their history and because again, she doesn’t know anything about him or what he went through. But she cannot expect him to just automatically leave behind everything he’s ever known and ever believed in because of one single moment of understanding. Zuko should have done everything he could to make it up to the group because he owed it to them and they again, did not know any of his reasons for hunting them. But Zuko does not deserve to be labeled simply as ‘a bad guy turned good’ when he was NEVER a bad guy to begin with. When he was never even mentally stable enough to make that type of decision for himself. In today’s day and age Zuko and Azula would have BOTH ended up in a mental institution. And after all of the things he went through, Zuko was the one who ended up going back to Iroh and apologizing when Iroh was the one who abandoned him and then Zuko at 16 years old ended up as the leader of a nearly fallen apart country. He had to suffer through insomnia, assassination attempts and mental instability and abandonment. Iroh left to Ba Sing Se and only made two appearances in a total of SIX comic books after the end of the War and one of those was entirely brief. So while Iroh gets to enjoy the rest of his life selling tea, Zuko has to suffer the consequences for what his family did. He was also abandoned by Mai which brings me to another point.

Zuko’s toxic relationships.

Some people say they dislike Mai because she is emotionally abusive towards Zuko. It never occurred to me before but looking at it now, I have to say that I agree. In the comics after book 2 had ended it was shown that Azula used Mai’s childhood crush on Zuko to manipulate him into going back to the Fire Nation with her. And Mai.....I don’t even know how to get started on the entire mess that is their relationship. Mai is a person who does not like emotion. She doesn’t like to express herself and immediately shuts down anything even close to emotion. The same applies to Zuko. Zuko is a very emotionally unstable and insecure person. And instead of reassuring and calming him, Mai immediately cuts him off whenever he loses a handle of his emotions and just flat out ends their relationship on the spot. She gives Zuko no explanation, just gets angry at him and then all of a sudden when Zuko can’t take anymore and explodes she suddenly says she cares about him. Their relationship is toxic. Mai demeans his problems and things that trouble him. Quote “I just asked if you were cold, I didn’t ask for your whole life story.” when Zuko was nervous about going back home. She demeans his guilt towards Iroh and tries to make him feel better by ordering servants around. And then in the Boiling Rock episode she attacks him for his letter which is reasonable on her part, but there is the problem that despite being Zuko’s girlfriend, up until that point she was Azula’s subordinate first and foremost and she could have tried to let Azula know. Still was a shitty way of ending their relationship, I’m not gonna act like it wasn’t but I still wanted to put that perspective out there just for thought. Not to mention how she ended things in the comic books. The trust issue I understand. But I don’t understand how ONE single mistake would lead to her just immediately ending things instead of at least TRYING to work it out. She could have listened to him and seen why he was so upset and scared of messing up that he went to Ozai of all people for help. She did not stick by him when he needed her and that was what forever ruined their relationship for me. 

In simple terms, Zuko was a bad guy who became a good guy and redeemed himself.

In psychological terms, Zuko was an abuse victim who was brainwashed since his childhood, blamed for it and made into a scapegoat while his sister ended up in a mental institution because of her father’s influence and because the same people who ‘helped’ Zuko didn’t think she deserved it too.

So from what I’ve seen while rewatching the series....

Zuko never needed redeeming. Zuko needed help.

And he didn’t get it. 

[amethystpath-writes]

So Cold

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

“The world is ending. You realize that, right?”

Villain’s brow twitched before his eyes became squinted in a cool, calculated gaze. He realized, Hero knew, he just didn’t care.

“You’ve already won.” The statement- that admittance- it hurt. Hurt in a way Hero couldn’t have even begun to describe herself. It was emptiness and it was starvation, but it was necessary if Hero wanted any chance at receiving a semi-proper death. “I’ll die regardless of where. Let me go,” she said- rather begged.

Hero glanced down as Villain leant forward, newspaper in hand. She’d seen this paper before- seen it more times than she cared to count. It was part of Villain’s breaking in process. “The streets are empty,” Villain told her. She nodded.

“I know.” Her voice was quiet, hardly existent.

“You would rather die alone than in my company.”

Her chin lifted in an instant, and she couldn’t tell whether it was her own response, or if Villain had made her do it. Either was likely. Both was likely. “That isn’t what I said.” Her voice was already much more solid, albeit panicked. “I just…”

“Yes?”

“I want to see light again. Real light.”

Villain hummed, his eyes becoming hooded again as he brought the paper back to himself, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs. “There is none.”

“There has to be. It’s warm in here; that means the sun is out.”

“It’s warm in here because the sun is too hot, too close for the air conditioning to stop us from cooking.”

It was this sentence that Hero had a revelation. He’s scared to die. Not only this, but he was scared to die alone. It was why he chose to keep Hero instead of letting her go. It didn’t matter to him whether Hero had her final moments with someone else, just as long as they weren’t without him.

“You would rather die in my company,” Hero whispered. “You don’t want to be alone when the world ends.”

There was something- something hidden- in Villains posture. He was grouchy all the time, but his posture was straight, confident, and otherwise concealed. He used his stances as a veil- a mask.

“You’re scared.”

“You are becoming cocky, Hero.” It was a warning, a threat of sorts, though there was nothing for him to do to Hero anymore. She might as well have been a pet parrot, a useless thing that spoke and mocked on occasion.

“I’m curious,” she piped. Any amount of fear or caution was slipping away, crawling down off her body like a thick and slow oil. “You won, finally. You could have- should have killed me, and I’ve wondered all this time why you haven’t.” She paused, and there was a heavy silence draped between the two of them. “It’s because you knew the world was ending…wasn’t it? Because you knew and you knew there was no one else to take advantage of which would give you so much satisfaction.”

Hero didn’t say it in hopes of besting him; she knew that was impossible at this point. Impossible when she hadn’t trained in a year. It took one capture, one method of restricting her. Of course, Villain had failed at first, keeping her from escaping whatever bonds he had her in. She would twist and turn, burn her wrists to get out- could never figure out the alarm system though. Regardless, Villain finally found a way that Hero couldn’t escape, and that was all it took.

“Are you the reason we’re going to die?”

Villain cleared his throat, and Hero knew she would need to sit down if she were standing. “Not exactly,” he admitted. The constant authoritative tone in his voice dropped, the sound of his voice becoming lighter itself. “What am I, Hero?”

“An oracle.”

He nodded.

“So, you did know the world would end,” Hero snapped. “If you are so scared to die,” she began to ask, “why not stop this? You must know the way.”

He nodded once again. “I do.” Villain rolled his neck, letting it crack one way, then the other. He was stalling, but there was only so much he could do before he had to fess up. “But I’ve never killed anyone before- only hunted them down and gave them to someone else. That someone else died before I could give them the person the world needed to die.”

An anchor dropped in Hero’s stomach. It didn’t occur to her yet that she was the one meant to die. “You’ve taken others?”

“Didn’t think you were the only one worth hunting, did you?” Villain scoffed, lightly. “Prophets are cursed, Hero. Plagued with every way the world could fall into catastrophe. It isn’t fixed in killing one person; someone else just takes their place. It’s like Earth wants to die, alright?” His fists were clenched, fingernails undoubtedly digging into his palms, likely almost enough to draw blood. “You’re the first one who can’t be killed.”

To both of their surprises, Hero said, quite simply, “I can be killed.” She wouldn’t meet Villain’s eyes as she continued by saying, “If it’d save everyone, even temporarily, I could be killed.” The idea had finally struck her- that she needed to die- but she couldn’t respond as fearfully as she typically would have.

The newspaper slid across the floor in an angry sweep. “You weren’t listening.” Villain stood, paced. “I can’t kill you, Hero. I don’t have it in me to.”

A silence laid still in the room. Neither’s breath could be heard, nor the scribbles within their mind. They sat, Villain, comfortably in a chair, and Hero, uncomfortably on the floor.

“If you couldn’t kill me, why be cruel to me? Why not just let me go?”

Hadn’t she already said it herself? Villain didn’t want to die alone.

“I thought if I could convince myself you were an untamed animal, then I could just put you down. Shoot you, or poison you, or shove an empty syringe between your toes, but…dying is worth it to not have to kill you.”

“I’ll die anyways.”

“We all will.”

“You can stop it!” Hero protested. “I can stop it! Stop everyone from dying. Why would you let the world end when you know how to prevent it?” Hero didn’t understand. If killing her would save everyone, even if temporarily, why not jump on the opportunity? Villain had been doing it all along, according to him. Maybe not the killing part, but generally. “I’m going to stop it,” Hero declared.

“You are? How do you plan on executing that plan?”

“I’ll hold my breath.” And she did, but not before sucking a breath in to hold.

Villain chuckled, “If your plan is to kill yourself, taking that big breath you did was pointless. The point is to not have air.”

Hero let the breath out. “So, you won’t kill me yourself to save the world, but you’ll instruct me on how to do it myself?”

“I’m doing neither. You’ll die with the rest of the world.”

Another stretch of pause. Hero spoke up, “And if the end of the world is more painful than anything you could ever do to me?”

This was an outcome Villain hadn’t thought of; Hero could tell. His posture slackened, shoulders dropping like weights had been placed on them.

“Would you kill me then? If you knew the alternative was worse?”

“I would,” Villain admitted, “but you don’t know what the end will look like.”

“Shouldn’t you, prophet?”

“I said if it were worse then I would kill you.”

The two never bickered like this. They only ever stared at one another, while Villain might have occasionally sent a soft insult at Hero, calling her a rat, or a pesky mouse. She would do nothing because there was nothing to do.

Now, though? Now, it was a matter of the universe, and Hero had every intention of saving it. Intentions meant nothing, unfortunately. “Why can’t you kill me yourself? Beyond the end of the world doing it more gently.” She stated this last part firmly, making sure Villain had no way to run around the question by giving the same answer.

“I told you. The person that could have killed you died. He’s dead, so you’re not.”

“That’s not you,” Hero once again protested. “Whoever that was, they’re irrelevant. You can stop this. This heat. This devastation. This end. You can stop all of it in its tracks.”

Hero clearly didn’t understand that it was Villain himself who he was talking about. She didn’t understand that a piece of him died at the thought of killing her. Her. Only her, dammit. Villain had killed so many people before her, centuries before her, and yet…he couldn’t kill her.

“I have a handheld fan. It’s about the only thing I have to cool you down. You want it?”

With the slightest nod, Hero accepted the offer. She wanted to argue. Wanted to keep going, keep pushing, but she was finally gaging that doing such was pointless.

The world was going to end.

[lavendersb]

Provider

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din wants to give you the universe. Making you see stars seems like a good place to start.

Warnings: Smut, this is str8 up sin, fingering, soft!dom Din, service!dom Din, overstimulation, so much praise, i wrote this at 3am so if this is hardly literate im so sorry :)

@maybege​ i have you to blame for encouraging my sinful behaviour 

Din doesn’t know how he survived before you.

Of coursed he coped, he hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in the parsec without a certain level of diligence. His structured Mandalorian upbringing had taught him the importance of being capable and organized, of always being one step ahead.

But the child had brought with him its own unique set of challenges. Din could deal with the bounty hunters and imperial forces, they where nothing new to him. The joys of parenthood however had taken some getting used to.

He was an angel most of the time. Din could spend hours with the little womp rat and not encounter the slightest hitch, but when the fancy struck him, the child could turn into a little terror of angry gargles and twitching ears. The fact that he could also throw items around the crest with his strange magic powers didn’t make these tantrums any easier for Din to handle.

That’s when you had arrived. Offering your services as caretaker and claiming to be a half -decent mechanic as well, Din had hired you almost instantly. The child was almost as taken with you as he was, and from that moment on, Din never looked back.

He learns quickly that you had been very modest about your skills. Not only where you capable of handling whatever the child threw your way, you could also help with just about any problem the crest came up with. Din also learns that you’re not bad in a fight, and on the odd occasion he invites you out on a hunt with him. You work together like a well-oiled machine, united by a common goal of protecting the child. Protecting each other.

Perhaps it was your caring and capable nature that drew Din closer to you than he ever expected he would. Regardless of what it had been, Din has never felt as happy as when he comes home to see the love of his life waiting for him with his strange little son.

This is where his mind has wondered as he trudges through the swampy mud back to his ship. The bounty was on planet thankfully, so Din never had to worry about bringing the quarry near to his safe haven. The safe haven in question, the metallic body of the razor crest, peeks out at him through the trees and Din’s feet just can’t move fast enough.

Din lowers the ramp, and as he reaches the warmly lit interior of the hull he can’t help but pause a moment in shock.

The hull when Din had left it was a state. On the previous planet you had returned to the crest just as a team of Jawas had started to tear it apart. Thankfully Din had managed to scare them off before they could cause any real damage, but a fair few interior wall panels had already been unscrewed and tossed aside. This morning Din had left the hull in that same state. Now it was as if there had never been any damage at all.

But there, in the centre of the hull is the thing that makes Din’s heart clench beneath the beskar. You’ve set a small metal container on the ground, filled it with some warm water which gently steams, and placed the little green child inside for a bath. He watches where you kneel beside the tub, grinning at the child as he holds one of your fingers in one tiny hand, and splashes the water with the other.

“Hi,” you say through a slight laugh, snapping Din out of his reverent staring “we’re almost done here”

Din walks forward, coming to stand beside you and bending to press his forehead to yours softly.

“Did you fix the ship?” he asks softly, though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, pulling away from him reluctantly. The child, now wholly interested in the return of his father, reaches out to Din and begins to babble uncontrollably.

“We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we? But you’ve been such a good helper,” You say to the child, and Din watches you fish the wriggling child out of his bath and wrap him up in a soft towel. He notes that the task of fixing the crest must have taken almost all of the day, and having to keep the child entertained at the same time wouldn’t have made it easy for you.

“Mesh’la, have you eaten today?”

Din takes your silence as an answer and his happiness falters just a little. Of course you would prioritise your task and the child before yourself. Sometimes he wonders how you would survive without him.

“I wanted to wait” you reassure him weakly “enjoy my break when the work is done”

“I’ll take him from here, you should rest” Din says, leaving no room for argument.

He takes the child from you, now dressed in a freshly cleaned robe (another task you’ve completed that he wants to thank you for). Din sees a moment of doubt pass over your face as you try to argue with him, but the feeling of tiredness creeping into your bones wins you over. With an acknowledging smile, you kiss the child on the head and disappear towards the nearest bunk.

Din takes care of the last few jobs of the day, content in the knowledge that his love is resting nearby. He makes the jump to hyperspace first, cradling the child in his arms. The little bundle is still warm from the bath, and Din watches his big glossy eyes blink slowly at him, trying to savour the last moment seeing his Buir’s shiny helmet before he falls asleep.

Once the child is safely asleep in his cot, Din goes to fish through his bag, producing one of the fresh bread rolls and a selection of berry’s he bought before he returned. He plates them with the last of the soup that’s left, and once he’s finished his own portion and secured his helmet back in place, he calls out to you to join him.

Woozy and half asleep, Din watches fondly as you float towards the little kitchen set-up. The sleep in your eyes is replaced with excitement as you catch a glimpse of the fresh food on the table.

“Din,” you breathe “you shouldn’t have”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done today”

Din watches as you happily devour the food. He listens intently as you tell him all of the things you and the child got up to that day. How long it took to fix the panels, how the two of you played out in the muddy swamp for a while before you brought the child in for a well needed bath. This domesticity is something so new to him, but you make it feel easy. Just like you made it easy for him to fall in love with you. He would give you the galaxy, Din thinks, if only he knew where to start.

When the food is finished, Din clears the plates away but there’s a feeling deep down in his soul that he can do more for you. There’s still something else he can provide. As he sees you walk away towards the refresher, he knows he must act fast.

Din crowds you against the wall, pressing you against the panels you’ve just diligently fixed. A hand that rests at the back of your head prevents you from hurting your skull, and Din lets his fingers wind through the strands beneath them. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at his visor, surprised by his sudden movements and hopeful, Din can tell, that he might be about to pull unspeakable pleasures from you.

“Have I taken care of you? He asks quietly.

“Y-yes”

“No,” Din chastises “I haven’t. Not yet. Tell me what you need”

Your lips flutter as the words Din seeks dance around your mouth. He encourages your response by fisting your hair a little harder, not to be cruel, but to ease you into his instruction.

“You, Din” he finally hears you gasp “I need you”

Pride swells in him at your words, and he moves the hand in your hair to wrap around the small of your back and fasten on your waist, pulling you close to him whilst he presses you to the wall.

“Then you’ll have me”

Din uses his free hand to pull at the obstructing fabric that keeps him from the apex of your thighs. Softly, but without preamble his hand dips to your heat and makes a gentle swipe through your folds, groaning when he finds it warm and soft and so very wet already.

His fingers find your clit and with tiny, firm little circles he plays with it to his hearts content. Din feels you tremble and sag against him, enjoying how accepting you become to his touch.

“My sweet girl,” Din breathes, and it’s said so reverently it makes you tremble and mewl just that bit more.

“My sweet girl, you’ve worked so hard today” The movements against your clit slow and you whine in complaint. Din chuckles and shushes you “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine desperately, moving to grip the arm that reaches between your legs, hoping to encourage it to move again.

Din smiles beneath his helmet, satisfied with your compliance as he returns to your clit with vigour, plucking from you tiny gasps that draw his hungry eyes to the way your pretty chest rises and falls.

“Then cum mesh’la. Come so I can fuck your pretty cunt with my fingers”

And oh how that filthy promise pushes you off the edge. He feels you stiffen in his arms and pulls you closer to him until you feel crushed by his solid presence. You can hardly register it though, too lost in the waves of pleasure that don’t seem to ease at all. Din doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your pretty moans turn to gasps and pleas to stop.

He doesn’t remove his hand from you, simply sliding his fingers down to trace that little fluttering hole he loves so dearly. He watches your face the whole time, enjoying how slack it goes when the first finger makes a teasing press against you.

“Pretty girl you take such good care of us, but you neglect yourself” he teasingly scolds, pressing into you a little further with his finger and watching you keen at his tone.

“Would you like to be taken care of? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Din, yes” you nod frantically, squirming in his firm grasp.

He squeezes your hip in warning, before sliding his finger deep inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling of your soft heat welcoming his finger. He starts to pump into you, his pace direct and precise, hitting against that soft spongy spot with each push. Din wanted to give you the galaxy, making you see stars seemed like a good place to start.

“I knew from the first minute I saw you that you’d be so warm and soft everywhere” Din says as you cry out for him “and I was right, wasn’t I mesh’la? Your cunt might be the warmest, softest thing in the whole galaxy”

As he adds another finger, Din swears he’s never felt more whole then when he’s breaking you apart like this. Letting you be tender and vulnerable. You break apart for him so well he muses.

“Won’t you cum for me?” he says, and stars you’ve never wanted to come so bad in all your life. Not just because you think you might explode at the way his fingers are aiming for that spot that makes you cry out in pleasure, but also because you want- no need him to know how much you love him. How grateful you are that he treats you so well.

When you do cum its electric. You reach for Din’s pauldron for support, gripping the metal as you rock against his hand. He feels you soak his palm and groans, shamelessly grinding himself against whatever part if you he can.

He doesn’t pull his fingers from you, instead he massages your walls gently watching you twitch when he rubs that special place inside you. He waits until you meet his eye through the visor, expectantly waiting for him to withdraw his fingers.

Instead he presses his thumb back against your thoroughly abused clit and holds you tighter as you give a startled jolt against him.

“Din,” you whine, and he smirks at how wrecked and helpless you sound “I can’t-“

“You can” he insists, picking up the pace of the fingers inside you “You’ll cum again because I’m telling you to. Because I’m taking care of you, right?”

You can barely nod in response, your body to busy trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. Din gazes at your face, taken by the way your brows pinch and fat tears fill your waterline and weigh down your eyelashes. 

The sight of you has him desperate, and he removes the hand from around your waist, using his torso to pin you to the wall so you don’t collapse. He tugs the cowl away from his neck to expose the tanned skin of his neck. You don’t need his instruction to know what to do next, and with what little energy left in your body, you lean forward to press messy, fluttering kisses to the skin over his pulse.

Din grunts, truly blissed out by the feeling of you on him doubles his assault on your sensitive heat. He barely hears your gasping warning before he feels you come utterly undone against him. Your cunt squeezes his fingers so tightly, and he makes sure to tell you that, though he’s not sure you can hear him. Your face is still pressed against his neck, breathing against him, and he swears he feels a wet tear drop against his skin.

“I love you, sweet girl” he says, pulling his fingers from you softly.

The hum that comes from your heavy, satisfied, and sleepy body tells him he’s done his job well. He lets himself feel proud. Upstairs, his child sleeps soundly in his crib. Well protected and well loved. Here, in his arms, lays his love. Soon she’ll be asleep in their shared bed, and Din will find himself wondering how he was blessed with such a wonderful and loving partner.

[retvenkos]

the sun kissing the earth | d.

Anastasia: The Musical - Dmitry x Reader, fluff for @locke-writes 1.5k Writing Challenge!

tw: mentions of death

word count: 1.3k

prompt: “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and I blame you”

A/N: i finished it! and on valentine’s day, no less. i hope you like it!

Summary: A snowstorm sends Dmitry out into the cold and (Y/n) left pacing, wondering if he’ll return

The snow had started to fall in the morning, and by midday, it was a blizzard, painting the world in cold shades of grey. Harsh snow wasn't anything new, this time of year, but weather like this always swept in a feeling of dread - a bitter sort of restlessness that lay at the heart of every Russian, stirring worry in the pits of their stomachs and sending tremors down their spine. (Y/n) had slept the evening prior with the distinct feeling that something in the air was changed, and when they woke to sleeted streets and snowy oblivion, they knew the feeling wasn't going to go away.

Not until the wind stopped howling and the skies stopped damning them from above. 

When Dmitry woke from his slumber, his hair was mussed and his smile was wide. It melted like frost on a summer day when he opened his eyes and saw the rigidity of (Y/n)'s stance. He made no sound of greeting, only stood and grabbed their blankets, walking over to wrap (Y/n) in warmth from behind.

(Y/n) sighed, their tight chest, making them shudder. Dmitry rested his head on their shoulder, something poignant in the way he paused - as though he didn't want to disturb their thoughts but wanted to be in them, nonetheless.

"It'll be a blizzard." And (Y/n)'s statement was as certain as the earth beneath their feet, unshakable, solid, and omnipresent.

Dmitry kissed their cheek, and when he spoke, his words tickled their skin. "I'll be back before the worst of it starts."

"Promise?"

"Always."

He kissed (Y/n) again and then slipped out of their grasp.

It wasn't immediately after his departure that (Y/n) started to worry, but by midday, they were pacing. The cold seeped beneath their skin, the snow obscured their vision, and the wind rattled (Y/n)'s thoughts as though their worries were two spiders in a jar, only waiting for a reason to tear the other apart. What was once a layer of snow became a mountain, the storm having deposited so much weather, walking through it would be like wading through water. By now, the ice was thick and the wind was terrible - all it would take is one small step in the wrong direction, and Dmitry would never come home.

Part of (Y/n) insisted that Dmitry was strong and stubborn, and he was especially bullheaded when it came to them. Not even Death himself could stop Dmitry from coming home - a blizzard like this stood no chance. Not when Dmitry's smile was like the sun itself - able to quell any storm into submission, able to burn the frost off of (Y/n)'s aching heart, able to bring something as beautiful as summer in the dead of winter. 

For Dmitry, the snow would be a minor inconvenience in a world pitted against him from the beginning. One storm was nothing to worry about.

But another part of (Y/n), a more conniving and sinister force within them, said otherwise. This world was cruel to people like them; hope could turn its back on them easier and faster than breathing. Rarely did the world take pity on the likes of them, and even rarer did it give them the smallest of sympathies. Dmitry had been a boon against the ceaseless tide of misfortune; perhaps (Y/n)'s blessings had run out. It wouldn't be the first time (Y/n) lost someone, and it wouldn't be the last.

But could they survive losing Dmitry? Or would he steal everything they were, with his swift departure?

Already, (Y/n) could feel themself slipping away, just like Dmitry had, that morning.

Thud.

Something hit the door with a force that could knock the old wood off of its hinges, had Dmitry not fortified it with everything he had. (Y/n) jumped at the abrupt sound, and their heart ran a marathon in their chest.

Thud.

(Y/n) unbolted the door and the wind knocked them back, whistling and moaning, ushering in frozen snow and icy sleet. Dmitry, wrapped in the thinnest of coats, stumbled in, and together they pushed the door shut.

The door clicked in place, but the wind still battered against its frame. For a moment, all (Y/n) could hear was heavy breathing and the wails of a ghostly, vengeful wind.

Dmitry, his cheeks so cold they almost looked purple, breathed against his curled fingers. When he caught (Y/n)'s stare, still panicked despite his presence, he offered a lame smile. "Back before the worst of it?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaking.

(Y/n) breathed out, a mix between relief and exasperation, "You...Dima..." He turned to them, laughter in his eyes, and (Y/n) could feel the tension in this chest start to dissipate. He was safe, and somehow in his usual spirits. How was it that he managed to nearly die and laugh all the while? (Y/n) shook their head, trying to stuff down the happiness that was growing in their chest. "I'm going to kill you."

"Oh?"

(Y/n) lunged to the side, moving to grab him by his collar, but Dmitry shot forward and quickly turned around, putting his freezing hands on the back of (Y/n)'s neck. They cringed and cried out a string of shrill expletives and Dmitry pulled (Y/n) to his frigid chest, his clothes stiff from frost but thawing already.

Dmitry kissed their cheek - just like he had earlier that morning, and his lips were cold and chapped.

"You promised you'd be home sooner."

"I recall saying 'before the worst of it' and seeing as there's no way to tell exactly what the worst of it is—"

"Dima!"

He chuckled, and (Y/n) could feel the rumble in his chest, the feeling somehow warm, despite it all. (Y/n) closed their eyes and allowed for their fear to melt off of their heart, for their thoughts to calm to contentment. Standing there, (Y/n) waited until all they could feel was the beat of Dmitry's heart.

"We need to get you out of these clothes."

"That's rather forward of you."

(Y/n) smacked the arm that was wrapped around them and he laughed again, the sound loud enough to cover the wind.

They rolled their eyes. "So you don't get sick, Dmitry."

"That's not nearly as fun."

But Dmitry untangled himself from their embrace and got to work stripping off layers of wet clothing - jackets, scarves, and socks - and (Y/n) found him another set of clothes to wear. It was still cold, and with little else to do, (Y/n) and Dmitry settled into bed prematurely, talking in hushed voices. It was dark and peaceful, and while (Y/n) couldn't see Dmitry's face, they could tell by the sound of his voice that he was tired.

After hearing about Vlad's latest adventure, sneaking valuables from the abandoned palace, (Y/n) closed their eyes with a smile. Silence wrapped the two souls comfortably, shielding them from the weather that raged above and the uncertainty that swirled around. For a moment, (Y/n) thought that Dmitry had fallen asleep, but then he spoke, his voice almost dreamy - thick and far away, soft but sure.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been."

(Y/n) hummed, not daring to open their eyes, lest the spell be broken and they find out it had all been a dream.

"I blame you for it."

(Y/n) opened their eyes and shifted to the side so that they could see Dmitry's smiling face, his gentle features reflecting a pure, and beautiful bliss. "You blame me?"

Dmitry dipped his head in a nod. "I mean, I could blame my good looks for it, but that's not nearly as fun." (Y/n) scoffed, and in the dim light of the storm, they thought Dmitry winked. 

"Well, I blame all of you for my happiness - good looks included."

"I'm glad," Dmitry murmured, and he leaned forward to kiss them gently, like the sun kissing the earth; all the universe seemed to pause for Dmitry to pull away so that the two might have calm in their precious moment.

Dmitry closed his eyes to sleep and (Y/n) came closer, kissing his eyelids before allowing themself to drift off, as well.

-- taglist: @musicallisto​, @locke-writes, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena, @amortensie, @captainshazamerica // message me if you want to be added!

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold. 

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back. 

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire. 

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound. 

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay. 

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but  stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I… Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override. 

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried. 

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him. 

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

[hughiecampbelle]

Parting Gift (Sam Wilson Oneshot)

Character/s: Sam

Word Count: 1,411

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: This was supposed to be fluffy, but the closest I can get to that is melancholy lol. The weathers been nice and it got me feeling nostalgic for summer. I hope this gives off that vibe, if that makes sense? Sam just seemed perfect for this and I kinda love this :) It doesn't exactly fit the timeline, but oh well :P There are only Endgame spoilers, none with TFATWS. I can't thank you enough for letting me rest with my health/writing and posting in general. I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You finally got him back 💌

Gif Credit: @biwilson / link 💕

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 /WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The low hum of the fan stirs in the quiet heat, restless, a lullaby you've grown used to since the season thawed. The snow puddles disappearing from the hot sidewalks, the grass growing green, the layers shedding around you until there is nothing but skin and the cool air that kisses it. It's old and shaky, the blades twisted, the fixture rattling, threatening to fall from the ceiling with every spin. Another chore you simply never got around to fixing, neglected much like the rest of the house. Like you, it was lucky it was still standing. The floors cried and creaked, needing to be replaced, but where was the time? The paint chipped, falling flake by flake, the shelves in need of dusting, the lawn grown too long, things were rusted, ruining, aging. Everything crooked, leaning, too heavy to stand on its own. One in the same, you and it, a reflection of your inner world, your inner turmoil, your grief defying, humanizing, materializing in rusted pipes, in thorny bushes, and weeds sprouting in the cracks of the sidewalks.

It was your dream. An escape. A slice of heaven he plucked from the skies. At least, that's how he'd described it. His hand, warm and calloused, over your eyes, letting your suspicions get the better of you, questioning like a child. What color was the door? How many windows? Was there a backyard? A steadiness in his voice you knew was not as solid as he showed, leading you past the street, past your new neighbors, the shade of the trees making your skin prickle. Up the path, you tried counting your own steps, anything to cheat the system. A leap of faith, you put so nicely. A house he passed by, one that struck him, caught his eye in a way nothing ever had. You? A house? Romanticized by the shoe box apartments the city had to offer, you never pictured any other life. Not out of opposition, but sheer innocence, a passive, thoughtless gesture you'd never recognized until the opportunity came along. Little convincing, it took. Somewhere far away from danger, from life, where you would always be safe together. That was enough. Always would be.

A fixer upper, that's what it was. Someone to care for in their old age, a long forgotten space only one with a heart of gold could fall for. Whether you were speaking of you, or the house, he'd never get the chance to ask. Where he saw the two of you, together, watching the rain pour from outside, comforted by a warm kitchen, a grand bedroom, nooks you could fill with hints of yourselves, you saw a slanted driveway, an unkempt garden, leaky ceilings and no hot water. He had hope. Dripped in honey,band hope, his voice sang through the thin walls, a symphony of ideas, of dreams for what it would one day be, taking you by the hand, leading you through. A maze of projects, big and small, things you'd add to a list of infinite length, your pen running out of ink long before you ever reached the bottom. For now, a coat of paint, a bucket or two for the leaks. He promised you, in the middle of an empty house, that it would one day be your home. You trusted him, because he was so sure of it, unlike anything else before.

You watched him sleep, the two of you facing one another. The sheets long discarded, too warm to even touch. You could follow the rise and fall of his back, the way in which he held the pillow to him, as if scared to let go. Tracing every line of him with your eyes, taking note of every single change, drinking him up every second you had together. The beads of sweat across his hairline. The upturn of his mouth, a whisper of a smile, as if caught in a sweet dream. The lines you see in yourself not yet reflected in him. Untouched by time. Five years could turn into a lifetime with the right kind of loneliness.

Plastic stuck to the furniture, bloated, sweaty, patiently waiting to be unwrapped. You couldn't bear to look at it, any of it, turning away from entire rooms, going only where it was necessary, using what you needed, not ready to face this place alone. It wasn't that first day, where your things, tightened by the city smog and lack of breathing room, were scattered wherever they might fit, left to expand in their new environment. The kitchen table in the living room. Chairs in the hallway. A couch discarded by the window, blocking the natural light. For the time being, he promised. Too many boxes to count, filled to the brim of glasses and mugs, wedding pictures and high school yearbooks, things you thought you needed, and things you knew you did. All of it wrapped in plastic, paper, t-shirts and towels. Whatever you could find to protect it. Sleeping on the floor those first few days, the mattress late, the frame even later, leaning on one another for that kind of comfort. It wasn't that first day, or week, but enough time to settle. The small things weren't yet opened. Two cups, to dishes, an endless waiting game for supplies to be shipped, of time to be found between work days and exhausted nights. He had a plan though, first the inside, then out. Sometimes there weren't enough plans, or lists, or schedules in the world to stop what would come next.

All of this, less than a month before The Blip.

Things hadn't changed since then, not without him. Five years you carved your path into the floorboards, avoiding everything that hurt like a landmine. His cup, his dish, his knife, and fork, and spoon, untouched. You would not look through your wedding album, or seep into the couch you bought together, or pluck the thorn riddled bushes like you pictured. His side of the bed empty, his clothes tucked away where you didn't have to see. All except one shirt taped up, turned away. His cologne fading from the collar, something out of your control, that made you want to scream. Everything these days, it seemed, was out of your control. Others, they moved on eventually. Started dating. Remarried. Found new friends, had more kids, picked up where they left off. Family reached out, teammates too, but you couldn't look at them. The anger, the sadness, all of it overwhelming. It left you drowning in questions no one had the answer to, everyone asking themselves the same thing: Why him, and not them? Why him, and not you? Why did any of this happen in the first place?

Isolating became the cure, and the corruption. The salt in the wound, a familiar sting you grew to expect, even want. A home for two, he promised, only now you were one. How cruel could the universe be? Hour by hour, day by day, you counted, carrying on for when he'd be back, because he would be. Sam, your Sam, too stubborn a man to give up like that. You would have dusted, washed the floors, made the place a little more welcoming if you'd known he'd be back when he did. Everyone came back, reappearing out of thin air, but where they felt frenzy, uncertain in explaining all that's happened, you were at peace, able to breathe again. Time had stopped when he was gone, your life paused. You could feel it, the moment when, the clocks in the house ticking once again inside their boxes.

Now, you lay together, as you had that first night. Not on the floor, not as naive as you were, but together none of the less. The sunlight strains, wanting to light up the room from behind the curtains. Even without it, you find yourself baking, wishing the fan would have a little more power. Sleeping in, you could have laughed. Five years he had, somewhere else, to rest, and yet you let him, not wanting to wake from what you fear might be a nightmare. If you woke up, and he was gone again, you weren't sure what you'd do, how much longer you could stand it. He assured you though, much like he had with this house, everything would work out in the end. That he was here, and he'd never leave you again.

Ever.

[p---ink]

Stark Contrasts: Chapter One

Author’s Note PLEASE READ: Hi, this is my very first published fan fiction, and I wrote it because its so rare to find Tony Smut. Everyone wants him as a dad, while I want him as a daddy. Please give this story a chance, and if there are any grammar errors let me know. I proofread the shit out of this, but there's always the chance that I missed something. When you write something it could make perfect sense to yourself, but 0 sense to the next person. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story, I really enjoyed writing it! Also as aforementioned (hope I’m using that word right), this is my first story so go easy on me! I only have room to improve. PLEASE DON’T REPOST MY WORK!

Summary: AU where you're dating Tony Stark’s son, even though it’s Tony you really want. He isn't ironman in this one guys sorry.

Warnings: Smut, cheating, daddy kink, some other shit I already forgot about. :)

Song: The song I listened to while writing this was Kiss it Off Me by Cigarettes After Sex. 

Word Count: 7.4K 

Parts: one | two | three | four | five

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine.

You and Edward James Stark had been dating for a solid six months before you both declared your undying love for one another. Had you known he was lying through his teeth you would have never said those three words. Not even a month after that, you found him in bed with another girl. You see, he was a serial cheater who didn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. You can’t say you didn’t see this coming though, you weren’t the best at picking them. 

Edward was not the first, and he would not be the last to break your heart. Blame it on your daddy issues, or maybe blame it on the shit-head men who insist on eating their cake and having it to. Of course he gave you every bullshit excuse in the book to keep you from leaving. “We were really drunk” is what he came up with when you first caught him cheating. “Those are my cousin's”, was what he said when you found a pair of panties that weren’t yours in his penthouse. Your favorite excuse though, was the one where he blamed your all-night study sessions on his latest fuck-up due to the lack of attention you were giving him. 

 You didn’t know why Edward was still with you, especially since he could have relatively any woman he wanted. Perhaps it was because you were great for his brand; you were a good girl, straight-A student who made everyone around you fall in love. You could charm the pants off of your professors and peers, and you were one of the nicest people anyone would ever meet. It didn’t hurt that you were easy on the eyes either. Above all however, was your modesty and selflessness. You always put others happiness above your own, which made you completely different to Edward’s arrogance and narcism. 

You and others often questioned how you even fell for him. You had a theory that he only dated you, because you were what the other guys wanted. 

Whatever the reason he chose to stay, could not matter any less than it did to you…because the reason you stayed, was because you were hopelessly in love with his dad. 

Tony Stark—girl, did God take his time with this one, was a more seasoned, mature version of his son. Don’t get me wrong because he was just as cocky, but in a more attractive way. And the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, because the billionaire playboy had just reached a divorce settlement due to his infidelity. In other words, he was just as much of a piece of shit as his son, the only difference was that he was trying to change. He was older than any of the men you had ever been with, but maybe, like him, you needed a change of pace. 

You met Tony seven months into your relationship with Edward. He had hoped if you saw how rich his family was, you would want to stick around. If he knew you were still with him because you wanted to fuck his dad he would have lost his shit. Yea, Edward was the type of guy to throw a bitch-fit if you so much as blinked at a guy in the wrong way, yet he wouldn’t hesitate to fuck a bitch for breathing. 

Though Tony had a notorious reputation for being cruel to the women he either slept with or wanted to sleep with, he was good as gold to you. He appreciated your love and passion for your studies and crafts. He thought it was refreshing that you spoke your mind with no fear of repercussions, most people kissed his ass with the hope that he would give them a handout or put in a good word in terms of life-changing opportunities. What he loved most about you, was the faraway look you had when you were thinking. He thought that your carefree spirit was the secret to your beauty. 

It was not lost on you that Tony at least felt some of the same feelings towards you that you did to him. You’d be an idiot to not notice the long trips his eyes would take across your body, or the fact that he insisted on doing menial tasks for you that you could easily do for yourself. The sexual tension and flirty conversations with hidden meanings were enough to have the two of you in a bedroom for hours, but you both would never act on your feelings. He didn’t want to hurt his son, and while you couldn’t care less about Edward’s feelings, you didn’t want people to think you were that kind of girl. That being said it really surprised you when he offered for you and Edward to move in with him. 

You had known each other for several months now, and up until then you two avoided each other when you could, due to your feelings, but Tony claimed his house was too big for just him since Pepper, Edward’s mom, was now gone. Edward was on board with the idea, because it meant more time to kiss his father’s ass in hopes of him eventually letting him inherit Stark Industries. 

“..anyway, I think it’s a good idea.” Tony explained, ripping you out of your daze. You all were currently sitting in his dining room drinking coffee and discussing the move. “I have plenty of room, and all I ask is that you pull your own weight. Your mother took the housekeeper along with–“Edward interrupts.

 “Yes dad I know, along with–“ Tony cuts him off.

“Hush Eddy, daddy is speaking. Along with my beloved corgi Jarvis who was like the son I never had”. Edward rolls his eyes, while you stifle a chuckle that earns a glare from Eddy, and a wink from Tony. 

“Anyway,” Eddy starts, “We think it's a great idea dad, we’ll do it.” You internally groan at his use of we. What the hell does he mean we, you weren’t that out of it to not remember if he had asked you how you felt. There he goes again thinking about himself. 

“There you go again thinking about yourself.” Tony mocks, once again pulling you out of your thoughts, as if he could hear them. “You didn’t even ask poor Y/N how she felt about all of this.” He turns his attention to you and starts, “Now I know your university is further away from my place, but I could provide you with a car–“ This time you interrupt.

“Hold on Mr. Stark, this is too much. We’re only three months into our lease, I don’t want to impose on you, and you shouldn’t be just giving cars out like its noth–“

“Y/N” Tony starts, holding eye contact with you, “…daddy is speaking”. You felt small because of what he just said, but in a good way. Your panties were getting wetter the longer he looked at you so you broke eye contact. Tony relished in your submissiveness. Eddy, as clueless as always brushed off his dad’s comment and decided it was just another one of his eccentric quirks, but you knew and Tony knew what he was doing. This is why you didn’t think it was a good idea to move in.

 “And for the one thousandth time, you can call me Tony. Now where was I? Ah, you didn’t let me finish” he continues, “I could provide you with a car, or a driver, as long as you’re comfortable with it. I’ll never do something without running it by you to make sure its okay”. That there was the reason you loved Tony more than you would ever love Edward. Eddy rushed into things with no regards for your feelings, and when you voiced your worries or concerns he’d blame it on you for not telling him or guilt-trip you into just going with it.

Tony took his time with you. He was patient, and he tuned into how you perceived things. He was a real man. And if this was how he was with you now you could only imagine how attentive he would be to your other needs.

“Maybe we can work something out with your lease. I can continue paying your bills. That way if you guys need an escape away from me to fuck your brains out, its still there”. You cringed at that last part, which didn’t go unnoticed by Tony, who was always watching you. 

You don’t sleep with Edward. Besides the fact that he was a cheater, he never made you cum. He was the type to chase his own nut at the sake of your own. 

“I really think having young people around here would liven the place up.” Tony finished. “So what do you say kid, you wanna move in so we can have some fun?” Tony asked briefly raising an eyebrow.

 His hands were clasped together on the table, while his long pointer finger taped his closed fist absentmindedly. His mouth was tucked in a firm smile and his honey brown eyes, which were focused on yours, were gleaming with hope. You smile back and brace yourself. How could you say no to this?

♡♡♥︎♡♡

Three months had passed since you and Ed moved in with his dad. While your relationship with Edward began to decay more than it already had, the one you had with Tony only blossomed. 

You became more comfortable around him. The two of you would watch movies together, go grocery shopping with each other, cook, bake and sing embarrassing songs out loud without a care in the world. Your favorite part of your relationship however,  was the late night conversations the two of you would have when you couldn’t sleep. They happened more often than sometimes. How in the world could you sleep, when the two of you were in such close proximity. 

Naturally, your feelings for each other only grew stronger, which was exactly what you were afraid of. Though the two of you still had Edward to worry about, he never seemed to care about your budding relationship. He was too involved with himself or one of his latest escapades to notice the events unfolding in front of him. And if he did notice, he thought it was innocent. It was just his girlfriend and dad bonding. 

Tony and you never discussed how you felt about the other, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. The only thing in your way was his son, but that was about to change since Edward’s ass-kissing began to work. His dad was finally about to give him a feel for how to run the company.

 This of course meant more responsibilities, more control, and more time away from home. Tony couldn’t take it anymore. Part of him wanted to remain faithful to his son, but the other part couldn’t sleep peacefully knowing you were just a wall away. At least with Eddy being gone, he could see if the two of you could resist each other. He wanted to test himself, and see if he had really changed. And if he hadn’t, at least he would get you out of it. This was a good thing, he would tell himself. While Edward worked hard to prove he was worthy to his dad,Tony would work even harder to prove that he changed by forcing himself to resist you. If only you would make it that easy for him. 

You were innocent enough, but that’s what drove him crazy. The way your knee would brush against him when you guys were sitting close watching a movie. Or when you would accidentally tap your foot on his when you sat across from each other at the dinner table. Don’t get him started on the way you’d look away from him, when you realize you said something that may have crossed the line. Anything you did would set him off, and he was beginning to regret sending Edward away. 

“Y/N”, Tony shouts, trying to find out exactly where you were in the house. It was 2 p.m. and he had just got home from training Eddy. The car he brought you was still in the driveway so he knew you were home. “Y/N, could you come here for a second.”

“I’ll be there in a minute” You shouted back. You had just had a workout, as you usually spent your mornings in his home gym to relieve stress. You jogged into the kitchen where you had heard his voice earlier. Tony heard you bouncing through the hallways, but his focus was on the trash that you failed to take out this morning. 

“I thought it was your turn to take care of the waste” He states, taking his glasses off before turning his attention to you. “Kid, we had an agree–“ He stops his rant when he realizes your risky attire. You had on a sports bra that accentuated your full breasts perfectly, and your track shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination. Your curly afro sat on your head like a crown, while a few stray pieces fell into your eyes like bangs. Your pecan-tan skin was currently glowing with a sheen of sweat from your previous workout. You looked like the Goddess Aphrodite hand-sculpted you herself. 

“I can take care of it now, I’m sorry. I just got a bit distracted” You apologize. 

“N-No, I can do it, besides these old bones need the exercise from the walk anyway” Tony stutters, patting his arms and averting his eyes. “You can continue whatever it was you were doing”. He excuses himself from the kitchen, but not without giving you one more lingered glance. 

You smile to yourself, knowing you were the reason he was so flustered. Sweaty from your morning activities you decide to grab a shower. You jog upstairs, grab a towel and head into you and Eddy’s shared room to prep. Grabbing your bathroom essentials you quickly get naked, and wrap the towel around yourself. While reading a text, you walk towards the bathroom.

 Not paying attention to where you were going, you crashed into Tony who was heading in from taking out the trash. The sudden contact was so hard that you had to catch your towel from falling and exposing your naked person. 

“I'm so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going” you apologize, but when you look up at him, his expression is blank, only his eyes were a darker shade of brown than his usual soft honey. 

A moment passed before he held you upright and patted your shoulders, “Just be more careful next time” he simply states. On that note he walks off towards his room, leaving you alone to be the one who’s flustered this time. 

♡♡♥︎♡♡

About twenty minutes had passed since your little hallway accident. Tony had tried throwing himself into a book, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft you felt in his arms for the split second he got to hold you. Being so enthralled in his thoughts, the loud thud and the yelp that followed caused him to jump out of his skin. 

Immediately running to your aid, he rushed to towards the bathroom to investigate the noise. Flinging the door open, expecting to find you bleeding out on the tub’s floor, he is surprised to see you on top of the counter, eyes wide in terror. The thud came from a fallen bathroom organizer. All of its contents were sprawled across the floor. Tony looked from you, to the mess, then back to you, silently demanding an explanation.

 “I thought I saw a spider…but it was just a clump of my hair, I’m so sorry” You cried. He looked at you with tired eyes, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. You imagined what he must think of you.

How could such a smart girl, be so dumb, you thought. You felt so embarrassed. The circumstances almost made you forget the position you were in. Like before, nothing but a tiny towel to cover your soaking wet body. Tony didn’t know if he believed in God, but if there was one, he was testing him. 

“It’s okay,” he began,

 “Go put some clothes on, while I clean up this mess.” 

“Tony I did it, so I should handle it” you try to argue, but like always he cut you off and insisted, 

“This is my house, and you’re a guest. Now go do as I said.” He was firm with his words. So you hopped off the counter, and went to do as he said, face and neck hot from the embarrassment you just endured. You just wanted to lock yourself in your room until you gained the courage to face him again. Which is exactly what you did.

♡♡♥︎♡♡

Hours later, you woke up from a nap and found yourself growing hungry. Figuring that around this time of night Tony would be in his study, you venture downstairs in hopes of finding some food.

After eating, you fix yourself a snack and choose a movie. As of lately living with Tony, made you feel sexually frustrated, so you chose Fifty Shades of Gray thinking nothing of it. Edward would likely not be coming home tonight, since he usually blew off steam with a whore or two after work, and Tony was most likely settled in for the night.  You would be all alone with your thoughts and fantasies. That was until Tony plopped himself down on the couch next to you. 

“Watcha watching?” He teased in a childish manner, eyes glued to the screen. 

“Um, Fifty Shades of Gray” you replied, immediately regretting your choice of entertainment. I mean it was a shitty movie, why were you watching it in the first place?

 “Hmm interesting. You know believe it or not, I’ve never seen it. Mind if I watch it with you?” He asks, looking at you briefly before back to the screen. 

“Well you can watch it, but I was just about to do some cleaning” you answer, standing to your feet. 

“Are you kidding, that can wait. We always watch movies together, besides they’re better with company. Sit down.” He commanded, though he said it in a playful manner, his eyes challenged your own. You sit back down. 

“Maybe we should watch something else, this movie is pretty terrible” you suggest. 

“Silly girl, I just told you I haven’t seen it. Let me be the judge of that.” He insists. How the fuck were you supposed to escape this awkward ass situation?

“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week” Christian declares to Anastasia, before leaning down to take a bite of her toast. 

“I like the way this Gray thinks” Tony whispered. 

You heard, him but you elected to ignore him. The two of you had tested the waters way too much today. 

Shifting in your seat to make yourself more comfortable, your thigh brushes against his warm hand. You slightly jump further away, the gesture making you realize just how close the two of you were. Tony chuckles at your actions. He always loved making you squirm. You think he got off at how worked up you’d get. 

“What’s funny?” You challenge, eyeing him because you were getting a little agitated at this point. 

“Nothing” he simply replies, eyes never leaving the screen. The hand that you brushed against was now hanging over the edge of the couch, he had crossed his legs so that his foot rest on his knee, and there was smug look on the bastard’s face. He looked too comfortable with this shit. 

You thought about all of the seats in the room. You even thought about all of the tv’s he had in his house. Why was this smug son-of-a-bitch sitting so close to you after everything that happened today? Did today’s events mean nothing to him? Did it only bother you? Maybe you only imagined that Tony had feelings for you.

 “Look kitten, I know how sexy I am, but would you mind watching the screen instead of me?” Tony states, finally meeting your gaze. You hadn’t realized you were still staring, so you apologized, fell back in your seat and began browsing apps on your phone to distract yourself from your growing shame. 

Fast-forward into the movie, and you guys come across your first sex scene. No matter who you were watching them with, sex scenes always felt uncomfortable to you. You thought of ways to escape the room. You reached into your popcorn bowl, and immediately found your way out. “I’m gonna go and get some more snacks.” You yell, jumping up to remove yourself.

 “But there’s plenty of popcorn, how much do you need?” Tony argues, startled from your outburst. 

“Well we could always use more, my stomach is like a black void.” You state before taking the half empty bowl, and running towards the kitchen. 

Finally away from him and that wretched movie, you had minute to collect your thoughts. While you act like you’re doing something, you fail to notice the footsteps slowly approaching.

“What are you doing to me?” Tony questions, his sudden presence making you jolt away from the task at hand. 

“Tony, you scared me” you sigh, grasping your chest. Thinking about his choice of words, you quirk your eyebrow and ask, “What does that question mean?” You’re genuinely confused about his random interrogation. He was leaning against the doorway on the other side of the kitchen. His gaze was currently fixated on your figure, eyeing you up and down. His dark hair looked like he had just ran a hand through it, and his arms were crossed forcing his muscles to bulge. He pushed himself off the wall and started towards you slowly, the closer he got the further you backed away.

 “It means, why are you running around here half-naked one minute, then acting innocent the next? Hmm? Are you trying to test me?” He accuses. 

 “I don’t know what you–“ 

“Don’t act stupid Y/N.” Tony warns. “You’re a smart girl, and you know what you’re doing”. His voice is raised slightly, and though he isn’t the tallest, his height towers yours at the moment. “Do you know how hard it is to control myself around you? You didn’t make it easy today.” At this point he had you backed in between the kitchen island and himself. He was close enough that you could smell his skin. A mixture of sandalwood and citrus assaulted your nostrils, and sent your mind into a blissful haze. He wasn’t lying, you knew exactly what you were doing. Even if it wasn’t intentional, your body craved him. It was as if the two of you were being pulled by a gravitational force towards each other. You just couldn’t help not being around him. 

You stayed silent. Your only form of communication was the look you were giving him. As your doe-like eyes bore into his, your lips quivered with anticipation. 

“Kid, you shouldn’t look at me like that.” He warned.  Straightening himself, to appear more intimidating, he asks, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I���m sorry, Daddy” was all that you could say. You swear you didn’t mean to, but your body betrayed your better judgement. Would he believe you if you told him that?

“Oh fuck” he sighed, before throwing his self-control out of the window. His hands were on your face pulling your lips to his in a fevered manner. He licked your lips begging for entrance, and you immediately obeyed his request. Although his lips were softer than any you’d ever felt, they were rough against you, desperate to show you the months of pent-up sexual tension in one heated session. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed the area beneath your thighs, and lifted you on the island. You reached your hands up to his hair, to tangle your fingers in the almond strands pulling him closer in the process. You wrapped your legs around his waist to feel his hardening bulge against your entrance. He groaned at the gesture, holding your waist in his hands.

 He pulled back for air, but it wasn’t long before he attached his lips to your neck. You tried to bite back a moan, but Tony being the arrogant prick he was sensed that, and took it as a challenge. He dug his fingers into your thighs, and slowly dragged them closer to the hem of your shorts tugging at them while simultaneously sucking hard on your neck. This action produced a whole slew of moans from you. Between the burn from the trails his nails made, and the spots he licked on your neck, you were in shambles. You placed one hand on the back of his neck, and used the other to claw at the fabric of his dress shirt. But then, he suddenly stopped. 

You opened your eyes to figure out what had distracted him, when you saw he was focused on the phone beside you. It was vibrating and lit up to reveal a notification from a close friend. But the text wasn’t what Tony focused on. It was the lock-screen that Edward made you save of the two of you. Son of a bitch, you thought. Suddenly consumed with guilt, Tony removed your hands from his neck and shoulder. 

“Sweetheart, we can’t do this. I’m sorry for coming on to you like that” He sighed, upset that he let things get this far. 

“Tony please don’t stop, I’ll do anything you want,” You beg, grabbing at his shirt and tightening your legs around his waist “please just stay.” You plead. 

“Maybe if you were never with my son, we could make this work, but you know that we cant. I’m sorry princess.” He unwraps your legs, and kisses your fingers before bringing your hands down to your sides. As he walks away, you shout, 

“I don’t let him touch me.” He stops in his tracks, “You’re the only man I want inside of me. Please don’t go.” You pleaded one last time. It takes every bone in his body not to turn around and take you right there, but he continues walking, grabbing his keys and heading out the door, leaving you all alone.

♡♡♥︎♡♡

When he had left, Tony originally planned on going to a bar to drink his problems away, but he just couldn’t start the damn car. He opted on sitting in the driveway for two hours instead. He contemplated going on vacation for a few days to get himself together. Or maybe he could spend his days at the company like Edward did. He even thought about packing you up to run away with him to the Poconos. That way you’d be away from Edward, and away from judgmental eyes. But alas, the best thing to do would be to go inside, talk out your issues, and decide from there. So that’s what he would do. 

When he entered the foyer, he immediately noticed the packed luggage in the entryway. It was yours. Oh hell no, he thought, she doesn’t just get to leave. 

More determined than before, he marches upstairs ready to confront you and beg you to stay. If anyone was gonna leave, it’d be him since he started the situation. Just before he knocked on your door to speak with you, he stopped due to the faint noises he heard on the other side. Were you already talking to someone? No.

 What he heard were needy pants and moans, and what he thought was his own name. Carefully opening the door slightly ajar, he peeked in to see you lying in bed. Your eyes were closed, and you had changed into an over-sized tee. Your hair was sprawled across your pillow, and your hands were busy at their own tasks. You had one underneath your shirt, toying with your nipples, and the other was underneath your panties finger fucking your hole. 

This. This was his breaking point. A man could only take so much.

 He burst into your room, alarming you so bad you leap out of your skin and sit up on your elbows. He began loosening his tie while he continued his stalk towards. He wasted no time crawling on top of the bed to hover above your face. He placed a hand beside your head to hold himself up, and then he ripped your drenched fingers out of your panties to examine them. Eyeing your slick digits, he pushed them into his mouth and slowly removed them, groaning from the taste. 

“Is this all for me?” He whispers, loud enough for you to hear. 

You didn’t answer him because you were still stunned from his unexpected appearance. Growing impatient from your silence, Tony slaps your pussy, causing you to whimper. “When daddy asks you a question, he expects an answer, okay kitten?” 

“Yes daddy” you choke out in a strangled moan. 

“Mmm, good girl” Tony praises. He grabs your hips , and positions you so that you're face down while your bare legs dangle off of his lap. 

“You know Y/N, you’ve been a very bad girl” Tony starts, as he takes off his tie. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson for being such a tease” As he says this, he wraps the fabric around your wrists, tightly securing it. He then proceeds to remove your panties. You can feel his dick getting harder. You squirm, placing your heat over his. “Don’t move.” He commands, before he places a hand on your ass, rubbing circles on it. “Now, be a good girl and count em for me.” Before you could protest, Tony delivers a harsh smack to your left cheek, you try to stifle the squeal that escapes your throat, which just makes him even more aggressive. 

“Fucking count, and if you hold in another sound, it's only gonna get much worse.” He cautions. 

“One” you cry. Smack, “T-two” the second blow was much harder than the last. 

Eight smacks later, and you can finally end this torment. “Ten!” you cry out, voice shaking, and  tears streaming down your face. By the time he got to ten, you were sure he’d left a handprint. Your tears stained the sheets, but he wasn’t done with you yet. He soothes the areas he smacked earlier with his hands. He leans down and begins to place kisses on your throbbing skin. You whine at the feel of warm lips, yearning for more, “I’m sorry about today Tony. Just please…no more teasing.” You beg, already dreading what he has in store. 

Tony pauses to respond, “You’ve been saying sorry quite a bit today, kitten. But it’s not gonna work this time.” He soothes, ignoring your pleas. 

When he’s done planting kisses, he takes two of his thick fingers to run between your sopping wet lips. He lightly brushes a finger against your clit, causing you to wiggle. “Look at daddy’s girl. So nice and wet, just for me.” He moves you both so that he’s face to face with your ass. “Such a pretty pussy.” he praises, in awe of how beautiful the sight before him is, dick growing harder by the minute. Fed up with waiting, he inserts his tongue into you. You taste even better than he had imagined. You fist the sheets underneath you, crying in bliss. You could feel the hair from his beard ticking the inside of your thighs. That, paired with the thick tongue inside of you, made you a moaning, writhing mess. 

He’s biting and sucking on your lips, carefully making sure to collect all of your juices. His tongue occasionally darts between your folds, causing you to yelp and squirm. You can’t help bucking your hips backwards to relieve some of the tension. To focus better on your clit, he reaches one of his arms under your leg, and plants  his hand on the area above your ass to hold you steady. He uses the other hand to finger fuck you while his tongue toyed with your clit. 

Pushing yourself against his tongue was all that you could do since your hands were still tied, but Tony had a death-grip around your waist now.“Please untie me daddy, please I can’t take this anymore”, you whine, getting overwhelmed from the pleasure. 

He comes up for air, and says “Since you asked so nicely princess.”,  and with that, he flips you over so that you’re on your back, unties your wrists, then trails kisses down your body until he reaches your pussy again. He was hungry, and you were the only one who could satisfy him. 

You tangle your hands in his hair, pull him closer to your mound, and start to grind yourself against his face.You were chasing your orgasm at this point and any kind of friction helped you get closer, but he didn’t seem to mind; it just turned him on even more. Tony begins sucking on your clit like his life depended on it. He used his fingers to stretch you open. First it was just one, then two, and now a third had you feeling full. Unable to stand the pleasure any longer, you began pushing him away. He placed an arm over your waist to restrain you. Still fingering you, he looked up to say, “Stay still. I’m just trying to make you feel good”. You throw your head back in response, moans roaring from your chest. 

 Even though you were just lying there, the sounds you made, and the way you tasted were setting him off. He wasn’t eating your pussy just to please you, he was doing it to please himself too. He started to hum into you, and the vibrations sent you over the edge. “Tony I’m so close” you cry, as you try to push him away one last time. The feeling was too new and foreign to you, “Fuck daddy, I’m cumming!” you screamed, just before you came all over his face.

He continues licking and sucking to help you ride out your high. Tears were clouding your vision. He finally comes up, meeting your eyes. He sits on his knees in between your legs, and begins to wipe away your tears. “You see the mess you made?” He questions, referring to his wet lips and fingers. You take the long appendages into both hands, and without breaking eye contact, place them in your mouth only to slowly remove them, repeating his actions from earlier. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” he says more to himself than to you. 

“Anything you want.” You reply. 

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you in awe. You take advantage of his silence, to get up and meet his level. You both just stare at each other for a moment. He’s the one to make the first move. You two share a slow and passionate kiss. He fights for dominance, and you obey him. 

Your hands are placed on his shoulders to steady yourself. He rubs his hands up and down your sides, contemplating whether or not he wants to get rid of your baggy t-shirt. He decides he does. He breaks the kiss to pull the material over your head. He’s instantly met with your perky brown breasts, and the chocolate buds that grace the middle of them. 

Grabbing your neck to pull you back in for a kiss, he begins palming at your chest. You move away from his lips to attack his neck. You slowly lick a stripe up towards his ear, biting the lobe when you meet it. Tony growls at the gesture, tugging your hair and making you whimper in the process. You continue endeavors, sucking and biting. You blow cold air over the bruises you make, which drives him crazy. He starts tugging at one of your nipples with and brings his free hand down to play with your clit again. You kiss your way passed his neck, to meet his collarbone. Before you can go any lower, he stops you.

“Not this time princess. Tonight is about you.” He coos, grabbing your chin up to meet your face. “Trust me we’ll have plenty of time for that in the future.” You can’t help the small smile that comes to your face at the mention of this happening again. 

“Look at that pretty smile, I can never get enough of that.” He returns a smile to you, and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt. He stands up to pull the fabric off his shoulders, and tosses it to the other side of the room. You crawl over to him, and begin unbuckling his pants. “Impatient are we” he chuckles, cupping your chin. He bites his lip, turned on by how eager you are. 

When you finish unbuckling, he pushes you back on the bed to finish releasing himself. His member is bigger than you imagined and you wonder if it will even fit. 

“Get over here” he commands. You do as he says. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and lines himself up with your entrance. He teases you both by pushing himself between your folds to gather some lubricate. His head was big, so even that felt a little uncomfortable. 

When he felt he collected enough wetness, he pulled back so that his tip aligned with your opening. “Do you want me stop?” He asks, sensing your uneasiness. 

“No. Keep going” you respond, you’ve wanted this for so long, a little pain wasn’t going to stop you.

He eases his head into you, causing you both to let a string of obscenities. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so tight.” He growls, hunched over trying to ease the rest of himself in. Your mouth was wide open, and you didn’t breathe out of fear that you were gonna pop. Tears began to well up in your eyes. For one, you hadn’t been fucked in so long it felt like you were a virgin, and two, Tony had the biggest dick you’d ever taken. 

“Sweetheart just relax for me” he urges, the veins in his dick were pulsating against the walls of your pussy. He would explode if he didn’t fuck you within the next two minutes. You try to do as he says. He reaches between the two of you, to apply pressure to your clit, which immediately makes you welcome him. He waits for you to adjust to his size.  When he feels you clench around him, he pins your hands above your head, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. His strokes start off slow, but hard. He’s rolling his hips into yours, and his grunts and your moans are filling your ears. You shut your eyes, the pleasure beginning to overtake you. Tony reaches between you to pinch your clit. You yelp and fling your eyes open. “Don’t take your eyes off of me baby.”

He picks up the pace, and starts to fuck you faster. His hips are smashing into yours, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. “You look so pretty with my cock stuffed inside of you.” He growls, “Who else fucks you like this, hmm?” He questions. 

“No one, Tony” you whimper, relishing in his dirty talk.

 “Better not be” , he warns before delivering a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out in pain. “You look so good underneath me. Fuck!” He grunts. “Say my name, princess.”

“Tony” you whimper, which was apparently the wrong answer because now he’s fucking you at an inhuman speed. 

He pinches your clit again, “Silly girl, thats not it. What’s my name?”

“Daddy!” you scream,

 “Good girl” he grunts, before burying himself into your neck claiming your skin. He doesn’t give a fuck about Edward at this point. He’s fucking you in his son’s bed, and he wouldn’t even care if he caught the two of you right now. That would be his punishment for the way he treated you.

His hand still on your clit, his throbbing dick inside you, and even his bare chest rubbing against your nipples is enough to make you explode. “D-daddy I’m gonna cu-umm.” You stutter, your words becoming incoherent. The pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight. 

“Cum on Daddy’s cock, kitten.” He whispers into your ear, sending you over the edge. 

“Fuck!”, you screamed, when he kept fucking you even after you came. Tony was close too, his thrusts were becoming more inaccurate, and he began to pull out before you stopped him. 

“Cum inside of me.” You begged, wrapping yourself around him. 

And that’s when you see something in him snap. You didn't have to tell him twice. He kicks up the pace sending your body up and down against the mattress as he urges himself to give you what you both want. 

And after one more thrust, he lets out a sound so animalistic, and spurts his seed into your sex. All you can feel is his hot cum filling you up, as you both come down from your highs.

 Staying put for a moment, he looks down at you, both of you covered in sweat, and tired from tonight’s activities. You both are gasping for air, trying to catch your breath. Tony was usually a man who kept his composure, so to see him before you now, sweat rolling down his body, disheveled hair, gasping for air, completely fucked out,  was a memory you hoped to never forget. 

He finally decided to remove himself from you, and you instantly felt empty. He left the room for a moment, only to return in a pair of sweatpants. He also had a damp washcloth, that he used to clean you with.  “Who knew you could be so sweet” you murmur grabbing your t-shirt off the floor to pull it over your head, before you push yourself under the covers of your bed. 

“You’re right. Now I have to kill you.” He responds, making you giggle. He smiles, “That’s such a sweet sound.” He whispers. You stop smiling and avert your gaze. 

“You don’t get to be shy now.” He says before crawling into bed next to you. You’re positioned so that your back is against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and you intertwine your legs with his. He nuzzles his face into your neck, and plants a kiss. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He asks, while playing with your hair. 

“You just did, but I guess that’s not what you meant” you say, earning a nip to the ear. “Ow! What’s your question, stupid?” you ask, chuckling. 

“Where were you gonna go? I saw your bags packed downstairs.” He asks. 

“I was gonna go back to my old apartment.”

‘I need to stop paying for that right away’, he thought. “ Well what stopped you?” He pushes. 

“I saw your car in the driveway and didn’t want you to try to stop me, so I just went back upstairs until you were gone. I guess I was still pretty horny from earlier.” you admit. 

God, did he love this girl.

“I’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t ever think about leaving” he cautions. 

“Me too…and I won’t” You start. Changing the subject you say, “You know…i’ve never done that before.”

“Done what?” He prods.  

“Ive never came before.” You confess. 

“Are you serious?” He half yells, making you jump slightly. 

“Well yea, not even by myself.” 

“So you mean to tell me, Edward never made you cum? I thought I raised him better than that.” He states, making you laugh.

“Well you two are completely different.” 

“One could say, that it's a Stark contrast.” He jokes, laughing to himself.

“Remind me to never fuck a dad again.” You sigh, before turning around to give him one last kiss goodnight. 

A/N: Please tell me what you think if you've gotten this far ;)! Like, reblog, comment. Also do not repost. 

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Picture Kevin, three years old, running after his mother on awkward too-short legs in the park across the street from their home.  She laughs and grabs his little hands, swooping him off the ground in a great arc and he squeals and kicks his feet and shouts, “Again, mummy, again!”  He seems to glow in the sun, and Kayleigh had never thought that love could be like this, something so big and all-encompassing it feels like pain.

Picture Kevin, four years old, already learning to read; at first Kayleigh thought it was memorization of his favorite books, but one day at the library he finds a book with a frog and a toad and he sounds out words on his own.  Her heart swells with pride, and she kisses him on the top of his head and brushes back his silky hair and the frog and toad book finds its way home with them.

Picture Kevin, five years old, coming home from school bubbling with excitement day after day.  “I made a new friend, mummy.”  “Did you know that a long time ago Ireland was covered with ice, mummy?  And there were furry el-fants and huge deers and all kinda stuff that’s gone stinked now.”  “We drew today and I drew you and me and we were playing exy and the teacher said it was really really good.”  “I know maths now, mummy.  So much maths.”  After school he pulls out his legos and starts adding to the giant structure that has taken over one corner of their living room.  “It’s a castle, mummy.  It’s s’posed to be big.”

Picture Kevin, six years old, leading Kayleigh through the streets from shop to shop.  Gravely saying hello to the shop owners, who smothered their smiles and exchanged looks with Kayleigh over Kevin’s head.  He talked about fish to the grocer and dinosaurs to the bookstore cashier and space to the pharmacist and then ran into the green to kick a ball around with some kids from school.  “I like football okay, mum, but it’s not as much fun as exy.”  They put on music in the car and he sings along, not caring if he’s in tune, just singing for the pure joy of it.  Kayleigh wonders when she started becoming afraid of people who couldn’t even hear her; how many years had it been since she hadn’t cared what anybody thought?  She turns up the music and sings along too.

Picture Kevin, seven years old, in tiny exy gear, playing in little league.  He throws himself into it with abandon; sometimes the ball ends up in the little stands set up around the pint-sized court; sometimes he releases too late and it just bounces sadly off the ground; once it ricocheted off the low wall and whacked him in the shoulder.  He rubbed at it, glaring at the offending ball, but two seconds later he was laughing and leaping back into the fray.  He knocked a defender over, then stopped to extend a hand to help him up, and they hugged it out while someone else scored.  Afterwards the defender went out with them for pizza and they talked about space robots for a solid hour until Kayleigh was ready to scream.

Picture Kevin, eight years old.  Somber.  Lost.  Riko, promising to be his friend, and Kevin swallowing against the lump in his throat and nodding.  Riko, a dark-eyed island in the sea of grief.

Picture Kevin, nine years old.  Riko made good on his promise; he’s Kevin’s friend, his only friend; his brother, in all but genetics.  Kevin trains, and he doesn’t make mistaken throws anymore.  His footwork is sure.  Tetsuji praises him, and he basks in the words, and vows to train harder.

Picture Kevin, ten years old.  Riko drawing a 2 on his cheek; Kevin returning the favor, the 1 he draws precise, painstaking.  “We are the best,” Riko murmurs, “you and me,” and Kevin smiles.  One of the college students plays some music in the locker room, and Kevin remembers this song—the melody, the words.  The song plays through his head, and he longs to sing along, but Riko ignores it and Kevin closes his mouth on the lyrics.  He can hear something, in the Master’s locked office behind him; a muffled thud, and a groan, and somehow it’s louder than the music.

Picture Kevin, eleven years old.  They go on a trip to a natural history museum, something their tutor recommended.  Riko wanders around, haughty and bored; Kevin trails after.  The placards at the exhibits call to him; so many facts, laid out before him; a real mammoth skeleton towers above, and Kevin wants nothing more than to gape at the enormous curving tusks, but Riko tugs him away.  “This stuff doesn’t matter,” Riko says.  “We’re going to make Court.  We’re going to build Court our way, and it will be perfect.”  Kevin wonders if perfect is worth it, but then swallows down the traitorous thought.

Picture Kevin, twelve years old.  Already there are murmurs.  Of his greatness, of Riko’s.  Together, they are unstoppable.  The Master tells them they would be the best, and they do not wish to prove him wrong.  Always, Riko is with him; except once in a rare while when the Master takes him away.   At first, he would come back pale and shaken, and Kevin would hear him sniffling in his bed; but that stopped a long time ago.  Riko never talks about what they do.  “Moriyama stuff,” he said, stiff and proud.  They meet a new player; a possible recruit, for Riko’s Perfect Court.  Nathaniel’s tiny and fast and he laughs as he intercepts a ball from Kevin that he never should’ve even had a chance at, and for a few moments Kevin thinks he can remember what it was like when his mother would cheer him on.  Then the three of them are brought up, up to the tower where they meet Nathaniel’s father who looks just like him, and Kevin learns what “Moriyama stuff” really is.

Picture Kevin, thirteen years old.  Someone asks him in an interview, after his team wins the Little League championships again, about how it feels to follow in his mother’s footsteps.  He doesn’t even really know what he says; he’d been coached on this so many times it was all automatic.  But that night all he can think about is that he doesn’t remember his mother’s voice anymore.  He doesn’t cry; he can’t cry, there’s nowhere that he’s safe.  For he’s not really a Day anymore, except in name, and he knows too well what it means to be a Moriyama.

Picture Kevin, fourteen years old.  A new recruit arrives, and this one won’t run in the night like Nathaniel did.  He doesn’t speak a lot of English, and he’s taller than Kevin, and he doesn’t know why he’s there.  One day he checks Riko into the boards, and that’s when Jean first starts to learn his place.  Riko and Kevin—they had already learned.  That night Kevin holds Jean in his arms as tears leak from his eyes unbidden, and they don’t talk, lest they be found. 

Picture Kevin, fifteen years old.  They play against the college students now.  Faster.  Harder.  More.  At night, he soothes his aching muscles by delving over his books.  He was smart, the tutor told him; he could study anything he wanted.  But it was history that drew him, history that was endlessly fascinating.  Who knew that facts were such subjective things?  So many layers to unpeel, to distract.  

Picture Kevin, sixteen years old.  Pro teams already are banging down the doors for contracts for the pair of them, but they will have to wait.  The professional leagues have less status than the NCAAs; the Master had already decided that they would use the pros as summer training, nothing more.  He pored over college tape instead of worrying about it.  He knew all the coaches in NCAA exy, all their styles.  Except Coach Wymack, who was new.  Coach Wymack, a bleeding heart with a hopeless future at a mid-sized university.  Oh, the university would humor him, for hadn’t Kevin’s mother taught him?  But they would lose patience, once they realized he could not win.  Kevin would pity him, but pity was for the weak.  He thought he remembered reaching a hand out to a fallen player, but he must have made that up.  He would never be afforded the luxury of kindness.

Picture Kevin, seventeen years old.  A letter, creased and yellowed in his hand.  Jean, wide-eyed beside him as he studied the writing in a strong and graceful hand.  “Will you tell him?” Jean asks, little more than a whisper lest the Master come in and see what Kevin found, hidden in a history book that had no doubt remained unopened for a decade.  Kevin refolded it, slowly, carefully.  “There’s nothing to tell.”  And if Jean noticed him tucking the letter into his jacket pocket, he didn’t say a thing.  That night, he charmed one of the college students to pass over a bottle of vodka, and he relished the burn down his throat, the way it made him forget.

Picture Kevin, eighteen years old.  Newly annointed to Court, Riko by his side.  He raises his chin as the cameras click all around him, the smile on his lips foreign and familiar.  He knows his press smile, his press laugh, his press voice.  He doesn’t remember what his real one is anymore.  He looks at Riko, laughing easily next to him, and he thinks there was a time without that glint in his brother’s eyes, without that cruel note to his voice, but then he thinks maybe he was fooling himself all along.  

Picture Kevin, nineteen years old.  Watching Riko, sprinting up the court, waiting for the pass.  Kevin has a clear shot; a guaranteed goal; but he pivots and throws to Riko instead.  Two seconds later the goal lights up red, and Riko is celebrating.  Kevin swallows down the bile in his throat and joins in the cheer.  Thea looks at him from across the court and shakes her head, but she never says a thing.  She’s never felt the sharp edge of Riko’s cruelty, but rumors travel fast underground.  She may not know, but she has held onto Kevin in the dark and helped him find relief from the pain.

Picture Kevin, twenty years old.  His legs are bruised in stripes from the Master’s cane, from Riko’s racquet; he’s slumped on the hotel room floor.  Nothing feels real, anymore; it hasn’t for a long time.  He cradles his hand against his chest, but he doesn’t see the red; just the green green fields and cobbled streets.  He doesn’t hear his own shallow breaths, whistling through his teeth; just his mother’s voice, that he thought he had forgotten, singing off key.  Softly at first, then louder.  Jean pulls him to feet he can barely feel, and he presses his forehead to Kevin’s, and he whispers in the accent he never surrendered, “Go, and be safe.”  And Kevin goes, but he knows not what safety is.

Picture Kevin, twenty one years old.  He feels scraped raw; has, since the day Jean whispered in his ear; like his hand has healed, but he was dragged across cement every day without end.  Only Andrew keeps him here, keeps him from bleeding out upon the ground.  He’s not certain if his facade is intact, but he reaches deep inside himself and finds it.  Neil’s fighting him, and somehow that helps; if he focuses on Neil’s idiotic stubborn streak he can forget that the last time he was here he had Riko by his side.  He walks out onto the stage to a round of applause, and Andrew is staring up at him with those eyes and he can breathe a little easier.  But then—he’s there.  Riko is there, and his cruelty has been whetted like a blade.  Kevin has not forgotten its sharpness.  But Neil parries every blow of Riko’s, and he’s stupid and he’s brave and Kevin wonders how on earth he got this way and he wonders if—if maybe he should try to learn.

Picture Kevin, twenty two years old.  The crowd is screaming; the stands are rumbling with the thunder of thousands of feet.  Neil is to one side of him; Andrew to the other.  They are becoming what he had once seen; the sculpture inside the marble, slowly being chiseled out.  The rest of the Foxes range behind him, and his father stands tall at the back.  Kevin takes a deep breath, drops the butt of his racquet to the ground, shifting it to his left hand.  The stadium quakes, and it should.  He takes a step onto the polished wood floor of the court he knew better than any in the world, and nothing will ever be the same.

[antihentaiclub]

i’m rating manga/manhwa i’ve read because i don’t want to do my schoolwork

1. Blood Bank

status: completed

rating: 8.8/10



this was the first one i read and MAN. i like how in the beginning there was no relationship whatsoever but because Shell had power, he was able to use it and see One whenever he felt, at first, Shell was almost like a sugar daddy trying to use that to win One over. but over time, they developed a genuine relationship that was unbreakable and brought them back to each other in the end so they would receive their own happily ever after that they Definitely deserved.

2. bj Alex

status: ongoing (side story)

rating: 8.9/10



the basis of the story was good. i liked the growth of Jiwon throughout the entire story. watching Jiwon accept and move forward from his past trauma was therapeutic and so wholesome. it would probably be my favorite aspect of the series. however, i wanted to punch Dong-gyun Real hard in the beginning because of how he thirsted of Jiwon, but i think that factor is what made him so realistic. he was nearly obsessed with this idea he had of Jiwon and we got to see that idea destroyed and rebuilt multiple times. one another note, i really liked the side story with MD and Chanwoo. it was subtle enough not to overtake the main plot, but present enough o make an impact. now, though, in the side story i want to murder Chanwoo because he’s taking MD for granted. anyways, overall, bj Alex is a very good story. i also quite liked that it was drawn in black and white and the important parts were in color.

3. Make Me Bark

status: completed

rating: 7.5/10



Make Me Bark was very cute. different than my usual tastes, but definitely a good, quick read. i like how Sungjoon was having nothing go his way but Hyo-in kinda swooped in and knocked him off his feet. although, i do wish that we got to know a little more about Hyo-in. i feel like i know so little about him.

4. Well Done!

status: completed

rating: 7/10



i liked the overall concept quite a lot actually. i think the author did a decent job in proving that there doesn’t have to be a good person, or a hero, in a story and that both sides can essentially be villains in their own respect. parts of me wished that Sangwoo and Jaehyun worked out in the end, but i know their relationship didn’t have a solid foundation whatsoever. i don’t want to say the end was fitting for Jaehyun, but he definitely got knocked off his high horse.

5. Walk on Water

status: ongoing

rating: 9.8/10



one of my absolute favorites. this story takes you on so many twists and turns emotionally. the author has beautiful art and an incredible story including growth for both McQueen and Yeowoon. i can’t talk enough about how much i like it. it starts with Ed, who’s later revealed to actually be name Yeowoon, trying to find another source of income to pay off debt that his grandfather accrued. he stumbled upon this gay porn website owned by Glen McQueen and decided to give it a shot, despite not being gay. from then on a shaky string of hookups to hide true feelings ensues until McQueen and Ed finally reveal their real emotions. they begin dating and one would think that’s it, things are fine. but instead, things all start going wrong and Ed and McQueen get in a huge nasty fight in which they both end up regretting but Ed can’t bring himself to be the bigger man and apologize. he starts finding himself in less and less fortunate situations, but currently things are starting to take a turn for the better as he and McQueen have apologized and are talking in hopes of eventually creating a new relationship that will not lead to the hurt they experienced before.

6. BL Motel

status: ongoing

rating: 8.7/10



in this story i liked watching Jinwon and Byul’s relationship grow. you get to see them develop feelings and not tell each other despite how obvious it is. you also get to see Byul struggle with he and his brother’s relationship and how it had been flawed from the beginning. it showed Jinwon helping him and letting him finally resolve the situation so now they are on better terms and healing and finding proper love. i liked that a lot. my one thing that bothers me though, is that a lot of the character designs are similar so i get super confused on who is who. it’s a little disorganized in that sense which can make it a bit hard to read. otherwise, it’s a great story.

7. Dear Door

status: ongoing

rating: 8.6/10



i love the art style for this story. it goes from sophisticated and attractive to cute doodles in seconds and i like the laid back approach to storytelling. in this universe demons can use people as “doors” between the human realm and Hell, which is how Cain, a demon, and Gyeong Joon, a human police officer. Cain begins to use Gyeong Joon as his door and they develop an interesting type of relationship that still has a lot of room for growth. it’s still very early on for this story but i look forward to updates.

8. Love or Hate

status: ongoing

rating: 9.5/10



another favorite of mine. first, the art style is incredible and the character designs are so good. plus, the story is well structured. in this story you witness Haesoo conflicted between two people, his long time hookup Joowon, who he had known for ten years and had immense history with, and Taekyung, a photographer who he met through his job and funny enough, resembles Joowon’s actions. the story shows the damage of toxic relationships and how vulnerable people become when they’re in love with another person and when all they want is them. the characters, Haesoo especially, are so well thought out and complex and it adds so much flavor to the already good story. i heavily anticipate season 3 and know i’m in for a rollercoaster.

9. Back to School

status: completed

rating: 6.8/10



hear me out, by no means am i saying i didn’t like Back to School. what i am saying is i think there was potential for so much more. the ending was abrupt and left me with too many unanswered questions. i also thought the writing was a bit inconsistent towards the end. anyways, the concept was good. Cha Chiwoo left school because of a traumatic event and went back after taking his time off to finish and get his diploma. there he met Ki Kyujin, the class president, who tried befriending him despite the rumors that surrounded him. later on he reconnects with someone from his past, Song Jihyun, his ex best friend and the reason he left school in the first place. now, Jihyun decides to finish school and they’re all in the same class. throughout the story we got to unlock more of Chiwoo and Jihyun’s history, which was a factor i enjoyed. however, at the end, after Jihyun left, i think there should’ve been a point in the future where he comes back and he and Chiwoo actually resolve their last and can healthily move forward. i know it’s not my story, but i think something like that would’ve provided more of a resolution than Chiwoo just confessing his feelings and kissing Kyujin. i also think Jihyun was demonized more than necessary. he already had been falsely arrested for murder, he had multiple settled cases for his violent nature, and he had the major fall out with Chiwoo but in the q&a at the end the author said that Jihyun had raped Chiwoo which i don’t think matches his character. it was clear that everything he did was because he loved Chiwoo and he isn’t stupid enough to do something so cruel, or so i think.

[xbunnybunz]

the devil is always cold [jimmy bae x reader x jack kang]

Summary: You and Jimmy used to be close, or at least, as close as the public eye would allow. After he is defeated by Ben Park, he grows distant. As you struggle to hold onto the last pieces of yourself and the fourth strongest member of the Union, Jack Kang reaches out to you. Loving the devil has never been easy.

Genre: Angst, Romance

Date: November 27, 2020

------

The act of loving goes far beyond things we hear from others.

Jimmy Bae is ferocious, people whisper. A person of violence, of destruction, of pride. He’s merciless, a real devil. Instead of a hot pitchfork, he saunters around Yoosun with a wicked grin and a balled fist. He punishes the good and the bad and everything in between.

Fire springs from the ground his feet have kissed, and making eye contact—even from a distance, has said to cause temporary loss of bladder control. (Noted from the Shuttle Patch itself.) His knuckles never fall dull upon any jaw, anonymous writers post. They say the crack can be heard resonating through the school lot, through the local park, through Yoosun alleyways.

He’s a dangerous man.

Jimmy Bae the fearsome, they say. Jimmy Bae the heartless.

And to some extent, you guess it’s true. You’ve seen the look in his eyes before, the life that sparks like an electrical fire right before the first swing—that look that completes Jimmy Bae’s desperate drive for adrenaline like a missing puzzle piece.

But to you, Jimmy Bae was none of those things. To your ever-expanding universe, he was the raging sun. He had a gravitational pull on you, managed to suck you in with nothing more than a look or a few words. A magnetizing man, a killer man, a lovely man.

You were no stranger to the rumors floating around Jimmy, but those words will always stay just words to you. After all, you’d seen firsthand how he cared for his closest friends. Cared for both you, and Jack Kang.

Jimmy knew of his reputation of course, and had a strange and lingering adoration for it. And so the affection that was dealt to both you and Jack was always subtle, always something that would appear like a wisp of smoke. There for one second and gone the next. It was always appreciated for the ephemeral moment it would show itself, and though Jack didn’t seem to mind the brevity, you always secretly yearned for something more.

At night alone in your room, you’d bundle yourself up nice and warm in blankets. Staring at the ceiling, thinking about Jimmy. Wondered if he did all this because he was fearful of losing claim to his title.

Jimmy Bae, fearful. Anyone else would’ve laughed at the incredulity, but you weren’t anyone else.

So you wondered more, pondered further. Wondered if he was afraid that he couldn’t convince himself he was a cold-blooded predator if he allowed himself to love, even just a bit. If he realized he hadn’t embodied the mask people had carved out for him, would everything he had been fighting for become a charade, gone up in smoke?

You both stir yourself from peace and lull yourself to sleep on these thoughts, in vain. Your concerns and curiosities did nothing to answer your questions. The most you can bring yourself to do is observe and understand.

So when he snarks you, feet propped on the table in the pools place for the third time that week, you do nothing but smile at him.

“What do you mean Jimmy?”

He groans and gets up, rolls his eyes like you’re a waste of his time and space.

“I told you I fucking hate coke. Pepsi, dumbass. Pepsi!” He taps the cold metal can on your head, but it doesn’t hurt and you’re not scared despite his looming height.

You’re sure he said exactly the opposite last time, but when you catch sight of Eunjang uniforms by the cue sticks, you swallow your words.

“Ah Jimmy, sorry about that. I totally suck, huh?” You laugh and let him keep pestering you with the can.

You glance at the Eunjang kids again and pause when you catch Jack’s gaze, eyes dark and hard like shining onyx stones. You recognize the look. It’s the shimmer he gets in his eyes when anyone talks shit about Jimmy, the twinkle that possesses him the moment his fingers itch to form a fist. Strangely, it’s been growing in him recently. Stranger yet, it seems to surface more frequently when Jimmy speaks.

Your eyes fall into a lock with his, and his brows are furrowed just slightly. Perhaps a bypassing detail for anyone else, but for the ever-reticent Jack Kang, this was a telltale sign of a temper quickly boiling over.

You soften your eyes and wink at him. This simple gesture is enough to derail him from his previous growing anger, simmering down to flickering embers. Jack turns away from the scene, but his fists are still balled.

It didn’t always used to be like this. You’ve found yourself reminiscing on the older days more than you care to say aloud. It was something you did in private, so you could pretend you didn’t notice Jimmy changing.

You recall when Jimmy used to loop his arm around your shoulders when the three of you strut down the street. His body was always pressed to yours, large and warm in the summer, arm weighing on you like a heavy blanket. The arm migrated to your back as the leaves turned crimson, then your waist when the wind blew harsher.

You would never say, but you ached for the feeling of his fingers on you again. It used to be so effortless, he was a casual man. A friendly pat here, and a loving ruffle of your hair there. It was addicting, he was a passionate man.

Once he had brushed his fingers along your jaw when examining a bruise you had gotten in the crossfire of a fight. Gossamer touch, but leaving searing skin in it’s wake. You remember the look on his face like it was singed into the back of your eyelids. A slight smirk, cocked head, eyes gleaming auburn—a kindling fire waiting for a forest to burn.

Jimmy Bae wanted you. You felt it with every aching fibre of your being, and you so desperately wanted him too. So you leaned in and let the flames consume you.

He reciprocated as much as he dared, which was enough to turn heads in public. Induce hushed voices asking who that was, standing so close to Jimmy Bae? The whispering was widespread, but no solid evidence of a relationship could be forged from any amount of blurry cellphone pictures, or firsthand accounts. This was, of course, because Jimmy Bae and you were stuck in the limbo between friendship and perhaps something more. Whenever you wanted to ask, your eyes meet his and there’s always a silent plead—sloppily hidden as a command—to never ask.

So you didn’t.

Somewhere between the brawl with Ben Park and Jimmy Bae, Jimmy had grown cold. Harsher on you, more secretive to Jack. Both of you asked, but he would say nothing worth noting. Always throwing red herrings, making shitty jokes. Brushing you off, brushing Jack Kang off, brushing you both off. Even smaller things, like his phone, would always be flipped upside down. Never answered when ringing. Never noticed when vibrating, at least, not around the both of you. A smile plastered on his lips like a dare to even fucking ask. Soon, all you and Jack had was each other.

You recall the week things shifted, even thinking about it left a creaking throb in your chest.

Jimmy had flaked out on Jack for a while and completely avoided you altogether. He’d be busy, he said. Union things, he muttered, before stalking away. He was always occupied now, always too focused on everything and anything but you and Jack. A month of diverted gazes, shifty feet and shitty grins later, he finally called you and Jack out again.

“How much of that shit are you gonna drink?”

You blink and look up at Jimmy, sitting across you with a sneer and some bruises on his pretty face.

“I’m sorry?”

He leans in and sucks his teeth audibly, almost obnoxiously. When he speaks, it’s slow like ridicule.

“I asked, when the fuck are you going to lay off on those sodas?” He scoffs and points at the drink in front of him, then at you. “You know how slow you’ve been getting?”

Jimmy laughs and elbows Jack, who sits stiffly beside him. “They think it ain’t shit enough that all they can do is run!” Jack does not utter a word. You can see his adam’s apple bob when he swallows, his jaw tense when he clenches his teeth. But he says nothing.

Jimmy doesn’t seem to mind. He turns to you again, gesturing in the air.

“Do us all a favor and get rid of that, will ya?”

All you can do is watch the words form and fall from his lips and nod. They descend deep into a cavern in your heart, which consumes it eagerly regardless of the sour feeling it leaves behind.

Jimmy was tenser. Meaner. More eager than ever to defend his title.

You forgave him, because he never seemed really happy about it. His eyes didn’t crinkle the way they used to when he made a jest, his teeth never flashed a smile quite the same. But the words that used to be just words still echoed in your mind.

Jimmy the wretched, Jimmy the heartless. Jimmy Bae, the real devil.

But not all was lost. Almost immediately, Jack caught onto your plight. He noticed the hurt in your eyes when you laughed at a particularly cruel joke Jimmy made about you, hears the drag in your tone when you’re asked to do another chore suit for a shuttle.

Jack Kang is a quiet one. He’s silent, but ever watchful. This makes him a hard opponent to read, a hard opponent to fight, and an even harder opponent to hide things from.

“It doesn’t bother me at all,” You say, picking at your fingers. “I hadn’t even noticed.”

You press your back into your bedroom wall, kicking your feet absentmindedly off the bed and hoping to recede into the cracks, away from his umber gaze.

He clicks his tongue and sighs, shoulders dropping, brown eyes piercing straight through you.

“’Doesn’t bother you?’ ‘Haven’t noticed?’” He sits beside you and the bed creaks under his weight, movie on the television long forgotten. He reaches out and places two hands, almost familiar, on your shoulders. “Tell me what’s going on. Doesn’t this…”

He hesitates, like he’s wondering if ‘hurt feelings’ is something he should talk about. Like he’s wondering about the implications between you and Jimmy, about the space he had to wriggle in between the both of you and ask. You hate that he figured you out. Hate that you even had feelings to be hurt in the first place. You despised that Jack and Jimmy were so hardened by the streets that even emotions were embarrassing to speak about in private, let alone display in public.

You place a hand on his wrist and feel his bone and tendons under your fingertips. Somewhere beyond that, there’s a faint pulse, quiet and steady, just like him.

“Jack, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You smile at him and hope it’s enough reassurance, but one look at him and you know otherwise.

Jack holds your stare. He’s calling out your bluff without speaking, and for some reason that hurts more than all the horrible things Jimmy has said to you. You never lied to Jack, because you never had a reason to. As close as he was to Jimmy, he was to you. He had unwavering loyalty to anyone he trusted, brutally honest and always genuine. You couldn’t ask for a better person to be by your side.

Jack hadn’t spoke much when you first met and that put you on edge. His gaze was too intense, eyebrows always set in a deep furrow. There was no way to read this man, and yet no way to read him wrong—don’t mess with him, and he won’t mess with you. You avoided him, much like everyone else does when they first meet Jack, until the day you watched him fight.

It was an accident. Your eyes were always on Jimmy, always following his bouncing feet, flying jabs and dirty mouth. Then Jack crossed your vision, and you were unable to look away.

He was fierce, hits landing hard, fast, and always right on target. Jack was like a machine, churning away at making the best hits with the fastest recovery times. Most shocking to you was, unlike Jimmy, he never lashed his tongue even once. He made no promises to take his opponent down, no taunts or mockery to discredit their fighting style. For what Jack lacked in banter, he made up for in actions.

It was then you noticed the way he purchased hot drinks for you after a cold day, how he offered you the spare motorbike helmet each and every time, opting to ride without one even if it destroyed his gelled hair. “I like the wind.” He’d say. But you knew he was lying the moment he looked in the first rear-view mirror you came across, re-styling stray pieces.

Even then, you hadn’t cared for him much. All your mind and body was dedicated to Jimmy, until one day you found Jack glancing over his shoulder in the middle of fights, something Jimmy never did, seeming to search for something in your direction.

It irritated you at first. Made you feel self-conscious, but then you realized he was checking to ensure you were safe from harm. He was sweet in a subtle way that was different from Jimmy, the sparseness in his care was due more to nativity than selectivity.

You learned to trust him, understand him through actions and not words. Jack always found the time to be with you. He’d listen to your doting on Jimmy, nodding along, pretending to be intrigued and only falling asleep once. From your time together, you had learned Jack was always honest, always straightforward, always speaking his mind.

You appreciated his commitment to tell the truth, which is why your inability to reciprocate was so painful now.

“Seriously.” You slide your hand from his wrist up his arm, the muscle rippling like a tide under his pressed white shirt. His eyes travel to the movement, stare weighing heavily between you two.

“I’m alright, Jack.” You try to pry him off you gently now that he was distracted.

“Confess to him.”

You stop short. “What?”

You look back up at Jack and he’s got those steely eyes trained on you again, pinning you to the spot.

“You like Jimmy, so confess to him.”

You falter for a split second, then create a diversion with raucous laughter. “Oh Jack, I thought you were being serious for a second. Geez dude!” You slap his chest lightly but he doesn’t budge an inch. “Confess? You already know how deep the Union’s got him.”

Jack remains unfaltering and you try your best to hide how it unnerves you, reminds you of when you knew so little about him.

“Do it. You have nothing to lose.” His words slice through you like a hot knife and it breaks your heart just a little bit more. Nothing to lose?

Jack’s lips are set in a straight line, like always. He’s always so monotonous, but when you speak it sounds like a squeak of the mattress springs, “Jack... Are you alright?”

He’s got a look in his eye you can’t understand. “He’s hurting you and I hate it. Tell him how you feel. If he likes you then it’ll stop.”

You almost want to laugh at how easy he makes it sound, how he just ignored years of your strife and struggle just to hold onto a piece of the ever-elusive Jimmy Bae. But when you look at Jack, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but shrink away.

“…I’m scared of what’ll happen after.” You say.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and like always, you feel so transparent around him, so naked and bared to the bone.

“Me too.” He says.

Before you can make anything of this, he pulls you into a hug. He’s much larger and envelopes you too easily, all the sharp edges of his bones and firmness of his muscles and the pounding of his heart boxed into one embrace.

Jack Kang was the turbulent one. The tricky one, calm on the surface and storming underneath.

You’ve seen him throttle men twice his size with no trouble at all, a fierce energy blazing through him thirsting for more bloodshed. His fists are iron, and he’s fast as a bullet. But in this moment, he holds you tenderly, carefully, as if you’d splinter and shatter under his callous touch.

“Jack…”   You return the hug and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pushing your face into his neck. He smells like motorcycle gas and hair mousse. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” You say.

He swallows a lump in his throat, you can feel him gulp against your shoulder. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “You didn’t.”

“Jack?” You knit your brows together, using your hands to pry him away so you can get a closer look at him. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

He holds on tight for a long second, constricting his arms around your torso like it was the last thing keeping him afloat on a storming ocean, trying to drag him deeper, deeper, deeper. But he pulls back eventually, and it’s so sudden your teeth click with the motion.

His hair is disheveled, falling across his forehead and brushing his dark brown lashes, close enough for you to count, so close you can see the pang of desire, of reservation in his eyes, shining like wet gems, feel every single warm breathy exhale on your lips.

“…Jack?”

He doesn’t reply, holds you there, just watching, oozing restraint. Despite his stiffness, you become aware of the soft duvet beneath you both, aware of the deepening orange sky across the horizon, bleeding past your curtains, washing over the room, and the chill that comes with it.

His grip on your arms tightens and then relaxes, tightens then relaxes, like he’s debating something. You watch him, entranced by the way the sunset put embers into his chocolate eyes.

“I…” He begins, voice low, lower than you’ve ever heard, almost a whisper. “I…”

He cups your face with his fingers, just barely daring to touch you. Everything he does is done with hesitation. The moment feels fragile, like glass. Like a pin dropping, or just a fragment of doubt would shatter it into a million pieces, but now, this second, he was here. Moving closer so slowly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes searching, breathing heavy and mingling with yours.

You were confused still, conflicted. Jack was so close, so warm, so enticing, and yet Jimmy lingered in the back of your mind, his auburn hair, chesire grin and cheeky personality burning a hole into your heart and shooting tremors through your hands. What would he say about this, about you, about Jack? And darker still, a thought slipped into the cracks of your heart: would he even care? Did you even mean anything to him anymore?

You knew Jack was thinking the same, knew he was keenly aware of his proximity, aware of how he was waltzing along the edge of no return—not just for himself, but you as well.

And this may have been what stopped him short. Pausing, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, each seeming longer than the last. Then he pulls away, the space between you put a cold ache in your chest.

Jack puts his face in his hands, twisting his body away from you, like he can’t bear to see you.

“I’m… Sorry.”

You still feel an icy tundra washing over your body, but couldn’t understand why if Jimmy was the one you were thinking of. Still, for whatever reasons Jack had, you wanted to be there for him. You reached out a hand, caressing his back.

“It’s alright,” You say. “We’ll always have each other.”

He says nothing, but you think he leans into your touch just a bit more.

After this moment, Jack makes it a point to sit beside you, much to Jimmy’s surprise.

“Picking favorites now are we?” Jimmy would joke, but his laughter was always hard around the edges. Like he knew he missed something vital. “How the tables turn.”

Jack wouldn’t respond to him, instead finding your hand under the table to give it a squeeze. Just a simple action, fingers interlocking with your own.

This was enough to keep you going for another month—the time it took for you to find Jimmy squatting behind the school, smoking a cigarette and palming at his eyes.

It was chilly out, almost nearing the end of the winter. A thin sheet of snow covered the floor, and though you were bundled up, Jimmy was wearing the same old Union jacket Na had assigned to the Yoosun district. You learned a lot about that jacket, learned to love how Jimmy beamed, wearing it for the first time back in middle school, learned to hate how Na used it as a chain to keep dragging Jimmy back into the dark. Those harrowing nights he’d return from always beat, bloodied, but never defeated.

“Jimmy,” You start, and flinch at how your voice echoed, louder than you’ve heard it in months. You clear your throat, adjusting your volume. “Jimmy, what are you doing out here?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Only exhales through his nose, something between a grunt and a gritty chuckle scraping past his lungs. He palms at his eyes for a few seconds more, turned away from you, spine curved into a lazy cove.

Then he looks up at you. His eyes are gleaming in the winter sun, bursting with something like adrenaline, anchored down by something so heavy, so deep in those spiraling fiery eyes.

His words make a puff of smoke in the air, mingling with the cold mist seeping from his lips, “The fuck do you want?”

You cringe at his tone and look away, sticking your hands into your pockets, swaying about.

“I was just…” You trail off, because you’re scared, that’s what you are. Scared of making him mad, scared of making things worse, scared of being pushed away. “…Wondering if you were cold.”

He gives you a look and shakes his head, turning back to face the furnace, gray smog exuding from the pipes.

“The fuck? Why would I be?”

You say nothing. His voice is clipped. Sharper than it usually is, and although you’re used to the pain, it cuts deep. You can tell he isn’t interested in speaking to you, that he’s telling you to leave in the subtle way Jimmy Bae always does, in the subtle way he used to hold you, touch you, worship you.

But you know what this means. You can feel the end creeping up on you like a shadow when dusk looms, rising from the grave you’ve dug so deep for it, hoping to never see it in the light of day again. If you leave now, you’ll never get the chance to speak to him again. He was closing you out, so slowly you hadn’t even recognized it at first. Looking back now, he had given you all the signs.

“Jimmy, I really—” Your voice flickers in and out like a dying flame. “I have something to tell you.”

He sighs. A deep, heavy, burdened sigh. You’ve never heard him sound like this before, you think he must be just as heartbroken as you, maybe, but then he flashes his teeth like he’s laughing at a joke.

“Listen. Babe.” He pivots himself, now facing you completely. He rests his elbows on his knees, propping an arm up and resting his chin on it. “Babe. You’re killing me here. People drift apart, you know that, don’tcha babe?”

He takes a drag from the cigarette, sucking so deep into his lungs you swear he’d turn purple. Pulls it away from his lips, chapped from the cold.

“I’m sure everyone else has noticed, catch my drift?” He cocks his head at you and suddenly you’re thrust back in time, back when he first looked at you like that under a spring sky. Eyes on fire, man on fire, Jimmy Bae and you, on fire. Then you’re back, standing frigid in the ice, snow dusting your lashes, your hands, your cheeks. Just you, in the cold.

“You’ve been pissing me off, babe. Clinging like a bitch. And I know ya know better than that, so I’m gonna ask you nicely, listen real fuckin' close.” He leans in like he’s telling you a secret, an eyebrow quirked up. “Give me some space, and I won’t take out your two front teeth.”

He takes another lengthy inhale of burning tobacco then drops it alongside the numerous other cigarette butts on the floor, crushing it underfoot his new sneakers.

Grins up at you. “Nothing personal though, right babe?”

You’re stupefied at first.

Jimmy bae, the fearsome.

So shocked and numbed that you can barely feel anything but your bursting heart.

Jimmy Bae, the heartless.

It itches like a fresh scab stretching across all the flesh of your insides, thrumming for the moment you reach the end of your rope, thrumming for release.

Jimmy Bae, the real devil.

You take the first faltering step backwards, and the spell he had over you is finally broken. Another shaking step, another, until you turn and run back towards the school, running past a blur of leafless trees and a halted figure, leaving Jimmy alone by the furnace.

Jack unsticks himself from the ground, wrenching around to watch your retreating figure, brows shooting upwards. “What the hell?” He spots Jimmy, a loose smile playing at the corners of his lips. “What did you…?”

Jimmy combs a hand through his hair and shrugs sluggishly.

“What? Don’t tell me you feel bad for them?”

Jack freezes, watching Jimmy. “Fuck,” He mutters, squeezing his eyes shut, harder and harder until he sees stars, sees your silhouette fading into the distance, sees himself telling you to confess. “Fuck!”

He opens then, shooting Jimmy a look that he’s never once in his life had the anger to muster. Jimmy hums, amused, as Jack takes off after you.

He hears the echoes of Jack calling you ringing in his head, ringing in that small enclosure, carrying long and far from the tiny alley leading to the school.

Only when he’s sure that both of you are long gone does he let out another exhale, body uncoiling and falling into itself, crumpling like paper. He pats his hair free of the snow and rubs at his reddened nose, snowflakes falling upon his face, melting instantly. Walking up to the furnace, he warms his hands and pulls the Union jacket closer to his body. Pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.

Click. Click. Click.

“Ah, forget it.”

He pockets the lighter and just lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, crossing his arms over his body, letting the frigid air slow his mind, his pulse.

Jimmy stands there for a long time, until the sun falls below the horizon, until the shadows cast by the trees consume him, all alone. He doesn’t mind. He conditioned himself to be alright with it last year, right before the fight with Ben Park. Right after he saw the way Jack looked back at you.

He takes out his phone, switches it on. The light is blinding for a second, like the sun, then his eyes adjust. About a dozen messages from Kingsley Kwan, a few from Phillip Kim.

Trash to him. Amber eyes search beyond that, swipes a finger to clear notifications.

Jimmy stands there, reveling in the image, basking in the light it sweeps over his face. The last bit of you he had to hold onto, a photo taken earlier last year. Just you, Jack and him sitting around a trashfire in the Yeongduengpo Local Park. Simpler days, easier days.

His eyes drift to your face, then to the arm he had wrapped around your waist. Hears the wind bellow, feels his fingers twitch, colder than ever.

“Hah, shit.”

He shoves the phone into his back pocket, shaking his head and speaking to no one in particular.

“I’m freezing my ass off here, you dense motherfuckers.”