#i remember someone insisting i needed proof

[goongiveusnothing]

Ben ,Cameron(Jeff’s brother bff with Harry too ) ,Alison (Jeff’s sister) ,Florence and Gemma chan posted pro Israel 💀you know they’ll use this as he’s not close to Gemma/florence they deserve to get cancelled but not the family that took him in for years 🥴

oop ooop ooop

this has been an incredibly enlightening moment for me.

[be-good-to-bugs]

when i feel very lonely i get fizzled out of doing anything after less than an hour

[liveyun]

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵��💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

[sugarushwriting]

ot7 vampire enhypen and their human blood bank (you) part two

ni-ki went rogue (yikes)

sfw with some innuendos (the nsfw is coming i promise)

not proof read

reblog, like, and let me know your thoughts! please don’t repost or translate.

kinda like a filler part (?) but still interesting and the next few parts get more interesting (?) please trust me and bare with me!

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

jay had picked you up and brought you straight to the house (actually mansion) the boys lived in. it was in a historic part of downtown, which happened to be no more than a 30 minute walk (5-7 minute drive) to main campus.

historic brick home, built in the 1800s and renovated to fit modern style but also kept the original charm and character. you loved the bookshelves and home library the house had. jay made sure to let you know you were welcome over whenever and that would be your safe space. when you were in the library, none of the boys would bother you. even if they had to feed, they would use the blood bags before bothering you.

5 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, and a finished basement for entertainment. the newbies all share a bedroom. apparently jay was currently searching for a bigger house.

entering the house, sunoo and jungwon were waiting for you and jay to arrive back.

“where’s ni-ki?” you asked barely above a whisper.

“he’s downstairs with sunghoon and jake.” jay answered.

“and heeseung?”

“went to check on the girl in the hospital.”

you let out a big sigh of distress. you hope she was okay, you really did. but would she remember what happened? would she tell the cops on ni-ki and jeopardize the boys secret?

“what—what happened?” you asked looking at all three boys attentively and walked to were jungwon and sunoo sat. both immediately grabbed your hands in their own as jay sat on the coffee table facing you to explain what happened.

jay and sunghoon, the two being the oldest members (in vampire age) had always reiterated to the newbies how feeding on a human for the first time isn’t something to take lightly. it can be deadly for both sides, as well as the newbie losing control due to lust.

there was a curfew for the newbies. be home by 8 pm, if they needed to be out later, sunghoon or jay had to be with them. absolutely off limits was being alone with someone. not just a girl, but a guy too. a newbie will feed on any human with a heartbeat. you did learn though, whichever the newbie is attracted to though, the longing and lust would be stronger.

sunoo had warned ni-ki not to break the rules, but ni-ki insisted he would be okay. he had snuck out around 12 to go meet the girl. sunoo immediately told the olders when he awoke seeing ni-ki’s bunk below his empty around 1:30 am.

jay and sunghoon went out to find ni-ki, and luckily, it didn’t take long as sunoo had ni-ki’s laptop and saw the messages where they were meeting.

the girl had somehow cut her hand earlier that day, and while out with ni-ki her wound reopened. ni-ki smelt the flesh blood. his eyes changed and before the girl could even scream, his teeth had been embedded into her wrist. his other hand had gripped her other wrist so hard, his nails caused a cut, and he fed on that too.

while jay pulled ni-ki off, ni-ki, covered in blood on his face and shirt, smirked and ran off, leaving a trail. jay went after him. sunghoon stayed back to make sure the girl’s memory was erased from the last 30 minutes. he made sure she repeated,

“ni-ki and i said goodbye. he was not the cause of my accident.”

“how—what happened when you caught him? why did sunghoon leave the girl?”

“sunghoon wasnt going to leave her, but he heard someone coming.” jay explained, “i caught ni-ki in no time. although i’m and elder and he’s a newbie that was hyped on his first feed, i am still faster and stronger.”

jay explained how with ni-ki’s behavior right now, an elder needs to be with him at all times, as he wouldn’t be able to manipulate them. ni-ki also doesn’t have the ability to manipulate the one who changed him—hence why jake and sunghoon was with him.

“can i see him?” you asked standing up.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea, love.” jay shook his head but you pouted.

“please jay.” you begged. “i won’t be scared, i promise.”

“it’s not you being scared of him i am worried about. it’s how his behavior will be towards you.”

“what do you mean?” you crossed your arms. it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“love, he’s very hungry, thirsty, lustful, right now. he’s chained in our basement in a small, hidden room we have for reasons like this. never thought we’d need it. if he smells you, heck he probably smells you now, he will literally not be able to control himself. his mind, emotions, words, all of it.”

“jay—,”

“no, i will not allow you to see him right now. he’s also very angry cause we are denying him of blood, and draining his body of the human thirst.”

your face dropped, “draining?”

“more like, detoxing. he won’t have blood, well, good, fresh blood for a while. the next day or 2, we will be giving him old blood, that doesn’t taste good, but will keep him alive.”

“and that will help him?”

jay nodded, “yes. it could take 12 hours or it could take 12 days.”

“what about school?”

“it’s already been taken care of, okay?” jay tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, then cradled your cheek. “are you hungry?”

you shook your head. “no just tired.” it was still early in the morning from being woke up out of your sleep.

“go lay in my bed. you can sleep in some of my clothes if needed.”

you smiled. “thanks jay.”

as you went up the stairs, jungwon turned to jay with panic in his eyes. “how am i supposed to feed on her now? i don’t want to hurt her, jay.”

“and you won’t because you’ll have me and one of the others with you, okay? we’ll guide you.”

jungwon shook his head with a sniffle, “i don’t want to lose control.”

“jungwon, if i didn’t think you could, i wouldn’t even had mentioned it as a possibility.” jay soothed, “you have the best control as a newbie that i’ve seen and i mean that.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

you woke up next to an empty bed around 10 am. you sat up and stretched with a groan, your bones popping.

going to jay’s ensuite, you brushed your hair and teeth, before going downstairs to a quiet home.

you walked around looking for life (haha) but when you found no one, your eyes turned to the door leading to the basement. your heart picked up as your hand reached for the doorknob.

“baby doll, what are you doing?”

you jumped with a squeal hearing sunghoon behind you. he had a smile on his face showing his natural pointy k-9s.

“i, uh, i was looking for someone.” you scratched your head. “i walked around the house and didn’t find anyone.”

“that’s because we’re all still asleep.”

“why aren’t you?”

“i sensed you were up to no good.”

“what about jay? he’s not in bed.”

“he’s with ni-ki.” sunghoon said. “and jay made it very clear you are to not go in the basement, no matter how many times you pout and bat your eyelashes.”

you groaned. “fine.” your stomach grumbled. “can you fix me breakfast?”

“you know i’m not the best cook.”

“you’ve been dead slash alive for how long and you still can’t master it up like a chef like jay?”

“no matter how long we’ve been living, there are just some things you’ll never be good at.” sunghoon laughed and he led you to the kitchen.

“what do you want, baby doll?”

“mhmm, pancakes?”

“that, i can do.”

“can i help?” it was jungwon’s voice who joined you both in the kitchen, with sunoo right behind.

“sure. i thought you two would still be asleep.” sunghoon said, then explained how newbies usually sleep most of the day away for at least the first 6 months as they’re building up their strength.

“too worried about ni-ki.” sunoo sighed and sat at the barstool next to you.

“he’s fine.” heeseung’s voice was next to say as you heard the basement door shut.

you quickly turned around. “you were down there with him and jay?”

heeseung nodded. he kissed the top of your head with a “hi pretty,” greeting.

“how do you define, fine?” you challenged.

“he’s not dead—again.”

you smiled at the joke and nodded. “how long have you and jay been down there?”

“just about 3 hours.” heeseung yawned.

“you must be tired!” you gasped and turned to sunghoon, suddenly feeling guilty of having him make you breakfast.

“it’s no worries, okay? i’ll sleep after breakfast is done.” and sunghoon did just that. after finishing the pancakes to feed the whole house, he went back to to his room to sleep.

heeseung explained to sunoo and jungwon that he would be taking them out today to learn to control their urges while in public.

“where are we going?”

“fighting match.” heeseung smirked.

“so violent!” you screwed your face in disgust.

after those three left, jay was still downstairs with ni-ki, jake was still fast asleep, and sunghoon was asleep in his room.

you took the opportunity to go to the library and find a book to read. eventually you fell asleep on the big couch that was in the library.

ni-ki, it was ni-ki. but why were you in the basement?

“help me.” ni-ki pleaded and you went closer to him. poor boy looked pathetic. he was extremely pale and looked as if he hadn’t eaten in years!

“i need to feed or i’ll die.” he said. your feet moved before your mouth. his eyes changed, and his fangs came out.

“feed on me.” you said.

ni-ki’s smile did not look welcoming. his smile looked creepy. the basement light flickered and the next light, ni-ki was covered in blood staring at you. “don’t mind if i do.”

just as ni-ki went to attack, you awoke startled, you too out of breath to even scream. you were gasping desperately for air, and looked around your surroundings.

you were still in the library. the book fell to the ground. your hand went to your head as you felt a headache forming. “what the fuck was that?” you whispered to yourself.

“you okay?” sunghoon asked from the doorway to the library.

you turned with a startle, but smiled and nodded. “i’m good.”

“are you done reading?”

you nodded and got up from the couch putting the book on the shelf. “you need to feed? it’s been a while.” you asked.

sunghoon nodded, “if you don’t mind doll.”

“i don’t.” you said truthfully. another thing you learned is that the older vampires (jay and sunghoon) can go longer in between feeds, especially since their feeds are more intense.

once you reached the doorway to the library, sunghoon intertwined your hands together and led you to his bedroom.

you got in a spot on his bed lying down. you were still in your (jays) shorts, so sunghoon would have no trouble accessing your right thigh. just like jake, his favorite place to feed was your upper thigh.

in no time, sunghoon had his teeth sunk into you. you let out a quick groan of pain with the initial feeling, but it didn’t last long. as sunghoon fed, your mind with fuzzy, and your head fell back on the bed. you don’t remember sunghoon gripping your other leg to make sure you stayed open for him. you don’t remember him finishing, his face stricken with panic as he noticed you weren’t responding to him.

“baby doll, open.” you faintly heard him say.

“what’s wrong with her?” it was jake’s aussie accent.

“i don’t know.” sunghoon said with genuine concern. the guys always made sure you had enough energy and strength before feeds, and they made sure that you knew that. if you didn’t feel well, you were supposed to tell them.

your mouth was opened by jakes fingers and a thick drink was poured down your throat. it was some kind of protein shake to hopefully get your strength back up.

your breathing resumed to a normal rate. you don’t know how long you were out, but you had the same nightmare about ni-ki.

this time when you startled awoke, sunghoon and jake were there. “baby doll, what happened?”

“nightmare.” you said, but sunghoon and jake demanded you told them about it. and when you did, sunghoon wasn’t happy.

sunghoon stormed off out of his room, down to the basement, ignoring jays confused face as he opened the door to the single blocked off room. ni-ki was there, smirk on his face.

“aw man, you’re not who i wanted to see.” he chuckled.

“leave her alone!” sunghoon yelled.

jay rushed in beside sunghoon. “what happened?”

before either boy could speak, they heard your footsteps coming down the basement steps. your eyes glazed over in almost a trance.

“she wouldn’t stop! i didn’t want to hurt her.” jake voiced with worry from behind you.

both sunghoon and jay turned to ni-ki who still had an all knowing smile on his face. “what?” he clicked his tongue. “looks like she wants me to feed on her.”

“ni-ki.” was all you said. before you could step closer, sunghoon slammed the door back, and jay rushed to your side.

“wake up.” he commanded. you did so. his tone was dark and deep, which was probably his authority as head vampire.

“huh?” you looked around confused. you noticed you were in the basement when you saw the pool table. then you panicked looking at jay. “jay,” you began but jay cut you off.

“no worries love. go upstairs and pack an overnight bag. jake, go get jungwon to meet in the living room with an overnight bag as well.”

you didn’t question or argue and went straight upstairs with jake right behind you.

sunghoon and jay discussed amongst themselves. the detox wasn’t working quick enough. ni-ki smelt you from the moment you walked in that door. with sunghoon feeding on you, it got stronger, your smell.

ni-ki had tried to use mind control to let him feed on you. that’s why you were drained so quickly from sunghoon’s feeding.

“i knew it was a bad idea bringing her here, sunghoon.” jay explained. “i’m taking her and jungwon to a hotel overnight.”

“make sure she eats really well.” sunghoon warned, not wanting earlier events to happen again.

jay and sunghoon have decided, it was time for jungwon to feed.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

[bekaroth-reads]

Baldur’s Gate’s 3 Characters x Reader/Tav Misunderstanding

[This is basically the situation of, “As my partner-“ “Wait, we’re partners?!” Might add more characters later. Proof read but quickly. Sorry if there are mistakes]

Astarion- The two of you were planning out a way to get into a tomb that had some sort of artifact that Astarion insisted was important. “Important,” was, in fact, the only thing that he was using to describe it. This was something that was causing the most problems as you didn’t want to go through the danger of it all for something that might have been nothing more than entertainment for him. When you tried to ask him to give you more details, he snidely scolded, “Listen, as your partner-“

“I’m your partner?!” You interrupt before he could say more.

Immediately, he covered his mouth and his cheeks with his hand, embarrassment flooding in after what he had just said as he turned away. While he could usually recover from almost anything, this struck the line of being too intimate for him to handle. In fact, you were both so flustered and embarrassed from the whole thing that you had to push the planning of everything for the excursion at least a week out. It’s hard to plan adventures when you can’t even look the other person in the eye.

Gale- He thought that you were overworking yourself; and, if Gale Dekarios of all people thought someone was overworking, then it was pretty bad. Then again, you were important to him, so he was also inclined to mother-hen over everything you did. When he thought the time was right, he pulled you aside to gently scold, “I know this is very important. But, as your partner, I must insist-“

“We’re partners?!” You exclaim.

He felt awful as he sees this as him trying to force you into a relationship that you might not have wanted. And, given his history with Mystra, it makes him feel like he has taken on her role, and it makes him nauseous. You will need to take some time to get him to understand it was simply a misunderstanding and that you do want to have a relationship with him.

Raphael- He insisted on taking you to find, “better,” clothing. When you got over the initial insult of the indication that your current choice in clothes was bad, you questioned why he was so adamant on doing so.

“Because, I am a public figure. I cannot have my partner-“ He started to explain before you interrupted,

“I’m your partner?!”

This seemed to entertained him to no end. “Why of course, Little Mouse. Hurry along now.” He hummed as he gave you a tap on the nose before ushering your stunned self out the door.

Haarlep- The two of you finally had an evening to yourselves. They were sitting on the end of your bed in a soft nightshirt, reading a book. It wasn’t even that they were expressly interested in the book, but between all of the scheming with Raphael and succubus work, they couldn’t remember the last time that they had the chance to do something so simple as reading. They gave a contented sigh as they lied back, their horns bumping against your legs where you were sitting farther up on the bed. Without much thought, they sighed, “I am so glad that you are mine.”

“Wait! Are we… partners? Actual partners?” You question in surprise.

They put down their book and turned themselves to lie on their stomach so that they could look at you with gleaming eyes, your reaction seemingly tickling them.

“Well, of course! I’m never this relaxed with anyone but you.” They sat up a bit and motioned to what they had on. “I mean- just look at me! I even put clothes on for you! That’s not something that happens everyday, my sweet.”

Gortash- To say things were tense would be an understatement. Enver Gortash and you had tried to kill each other about a month ago, and you were both nearly successful. It had taken you these past three weeks to heal, and the whole time the both of you were sure the other was going to try to sweep in at any moment and finish the job. Or, you were, and it didn’t take too much imagination to see his situation as the same. You were both in a similar state when your respective parties had broken up your fight.

Now you found out that you would have to work with him publicly for a time. It wasn’t something that you were looking forward to, but it was necessary to get answers for certain things and create opportunities for your team. You were in the hall that this party was being held at; it was nothing fancy, no dancing, no meal- just a simple gathering for some of the upper class to speak with each other and perhaps have a few drinks. You were beyond surprised when Gortash connected eyes with you and instead of an angry or begrudging response, he greeted you with one of the brightest smiles you had ever seen on the man.

“There they are now! The person of the hour!” He walked over to you and wrapped an arm around your waist. There were some compliments and coos of how darling you both looked together, and how you must have been a great match. Soon after the group walked away to give you two a few moments of privacy.

“You said that we were a couple?” You whisper-yelled at him.

“Of course. Because we are.” He whispered back as he leaned closer to purr into your ear, “We did almost kill each other after all.” Gortash gave you a peck on the cheek before moving you both to mingle with the other little groups of people around the room.

[more-lavender-syrup]

Power Play

Description: You knew something was wrong when you awakened to Daemon missing. However, when he comes home wounded, you do your best to comfort him in every way possible. But it would be much easier if Daemon didn’t turn everything into a power struggle Word Count: 3,083 Warnings/Notes: this is pretty much entirely smit, oral (m!receiving), PIV, riding, reader stitches Daemon's wound, reader has prophetic dreams that people ignore, Daemon can’t handle being taken care of so he turns it into a power play Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!WifeReader

It was the same melody, played over and over again. It was a song of screams and fire.

He was hurt; you knew it. You had felt it, as if you yourself had been maimed. But, despite the terror that coursed through you, your eyes still searched the darkness. 

Your hand searched for a warm form in the bed. But, when nothing was found, you opened your eyes only to see the empty space that remained. 

You had been wrong before. It didn’t happen often, but you had been wrong. 

Cold night air bit at your skin as you pushed yourself upward. The blankets that covered you slid downward, pooling at your torso to expose your naked form below.

“Daemon?” You called. 

He had been there when you had fallen asleep. But, now the only proof that remained of him was the indention in the mattress beside you. 

“Daemon, please?” You called again. Yet, there was no answer. You quickly pushed yourself out of bed and reached for the thin nightgown that he had expertly stripped off of you hours before. 

Pulling it on, you searched for any sign of him. Somewhere in the hall, you heard someone speak.

“Daemon?”

You quickly stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind you.

A group of handmaids were lurking in the hallway. They each turned their tired eyes to you, searching for some kind of explanation.

“Are you alright? We heard you yelling.” One of the women asked as her eyes dragged over your thin gown.

“Where’s my husband?” You asked.

“The king said that he left. His majesty said that Prince Daemon was needed for something. I think he said something about a crab, but I didn’t hear what.” It was clear that the handmaid was exhausted.

“When did he leave?” You asked. But the woman could only shake her head. She had no idea.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath as you rushed down the hallway. Surely someone who could help would still be up. Perhaps the maester was still awake; he was usually willing to humor you.

You bounded down a staircase and then made a sharp left down a tiny corridor. But, as you rounded a corner, a set of arms shot outward and quickly clamped a hand over your mouth. The form pulled you backward before your back hit the wall beside you.

Panic shot through your body as you remembered the stories of maidens being taken in the night. You struggled in the darkness, only to hear a familiar story slice through your fantasies.

“It’s just me.” Daemon whispered as he pulled his hand away from your face. 

“Where’s your guard? Do you know how easy it would have been to snatch you and vanish into the night?” He scolded. You rolled your eyes. 

“The only person attacking people at this time of night is you.” He frowned at the comment. You squirmed in his arms, however he did not release you. Instead, he began to inspect you, searching for some idea as to what you were doing out in the middle of the night. You could feel his heartbeat through his thin clothes. Warmth seemed to radiate off of his skin, warming you to your core.

As his body pressed against yours, you felt a hot rush of liquid soak into the material of your dress. He was bleeding.

***

You had insisted on helping him back to your shared room. However, with each step, he scoffed and told you that he was perfectly fine. The blood that was dripped from his leg with every step told a different story. 

When you reached the room, you helped shuffle him to the bed. Then, you rushed to get the small kit that the maester had left behind for you. The maester was well aware of Daemon’s aversion to help; the hope had been that Daemon was more willing to accept help from his wife, rather than the maester. And, on occasion, that had been exactly the case.

You glanced over at the bed, only to see Daemon watching you like a lion watches his prey.

“Pants. Off. Now.” You instructed as you began to make your way back to the bed. He rolled his eyes, however he did as he had been told. 

He began to undo his pants. As he worked, he emphasized each movement. You watched as he stripped down, checking for any new wounds that would require your attention.

As he pulled his pants downward, his already hard cock sprung free.

“Now, if this is what you wanted then you could have simply asked. It’s a prince’s duty to never leave a lady in need.”

“I’m well aware of what you think your duty is.” I mumbled. 

There was a gash that covered the side of his calf. Blood wept from the wound, staining the blankets below.

“What happened?”

“A man took a cheap shot. Luckily it wasn’t valyrian steel or else I would have lost the leg.” Daemon said it so casually. 

You quickly knelt downward and began to poke and prod at the wound. You removed the small pieces of shrapnel and dirt that had sunk into the wound. After a moment, you began to speak.

“You could have died.”

“And yet,” he waved a bloodied arm to demonstrate his point, “I’m still here to piss you off.” You rolled your eyes as you carefully finished cleaning the wound. 

The gash was deep; but not so deep that you needed to send for a maester.

Once you were satisfied, you reached for the small sewing set that lay at the bottom of the box. Daemon watched you thread the needle with a deep fascination, though when you actually began to work, he turned his attention to the ceiling above him.

“You shouldn’t be up at this hour. You also shouldn’t be wandering around without a guard.” He scolded.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You said as you carefully sewed the wound shut. Each stitch was carefully placed. You just needed the wound to close and heal properly. It didn’t need to look pretty.

“Then you could have called for one of your handmaids to keep your company.” Daemon said. He didn’t want you to be alone at night; not when there was a chance you could be hurt. “You can’t do this again. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for you to have been killed?”

“I’m not going to force someone else to endure my paranoia.” You said as you tied a knot on the end of the thread. 

“I don’t want you wandering around at night. Not when anyone could be roaming around.” You reached for the scissors that you had placed beside his thigh. You carefully snipped the thread, content with your makeshift patch that you had sewn on his leg. It should hold for now; at least, long enough for him to heal. 

“I had a dream about you. That’s why I went looking for you.” You said. That was enough to make Daemon’s face twitch. “I dreamed that you were injured. That you had gotten shot off your dragon and that you were lying somewhere.”

His face twitched again. He would never admit it to you, but that was far closer to the truth than the story he had told you. He had lied to you to keep you from worrying; maybe if you thought that he was never in any real danger, then you would be fine.

You pushed the needle back into the pin cushion and then dropped it back into the box beside you. He turned his gaze from the ceiling to you.

You lay a hand on his leg. His skin was speckled with flecks of blood. New bruises painted his skin and they would only get darker by morning. As your fingers traced his skin, his mind drifted to less tender things. You didn’t even notice until something glinted faintly in the candlelight. 

Clear fluid was leaking from his cock.

“Daemon.” You said. His eyes burned into your skin. He didn’t bother to answer. He already knew what you would do; you had always been so sweet to him. You had always been such a good and dutiful wife.

You watched his cock bob against him. He was aching with need. 

Maybe if you were very careful then it would be fine.

You sighed as you crawled closer to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You said. 

“Shouldn’t I be worried about hurting you?” He asked. It was true; Daemon had always been overly gingerly with you, even when you had asked him to be rough. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you. He adored you too much. 

“Just let me know if something hurts. Okay?” He was coated in so many new bruises that you could easily cause more harm than good. But he just looked so desperate. 

You leaned forward and gently wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. You stroked him twice before you leaned your face downward.

You carefully took him in your mouth, sliding him as far back as you could take. You closed your lips around his length. A hand landed on the back of your head. He closed his fingers in your messy locks, easing you down on his cock.

Salty fluid dripped from his tip as you began to bob your head up and down. He needed a release. Badly. His face twitched with every movement. 

Your tongue slid against the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips up to sink himself deeper in your mouth. 

But it wasn’t enough. He missed the feeling of you curling around him, desperate for more as your hips ground together.

“Need to fuck you.” He groaned.

Fuck, that sounded perfect. 

You pulled your head back, allowing him to slip from your lips with a soft ‘pop.’

“You have to be careful.” You warned him. He frantically nodded; it didn’t matter what you said; he could have agreed if it meant that he got to be inside of you. 

He began to push himself off of the bed, however you quickly stopped him. 

“I want to ride you.” You told him. He grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You quickly pushed your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall downward. It slipped down your body, exposing your bare skin below. Once  you were free of the thing, you pushed it into the floor with Daemon’s pants. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He said. His eyes drank you in as you crawled closer to him.

“Lean back.” You ordered. Without hesitation, he laid back, pushing himself against the mattress. He was desperate. A thin sheen of sweat had taken over his skin.

One of your legs slipped over his hips. You were careful as you straddled him, making sure not to brush the stitches that you had just given him. You slipped one of your hands down into the space between you and carefully wrapped your hand around his velveting length. He was still slick from your spit. You guided him between your folds. Then, in one fluid motion, you slid downward, taking in every inch of him all at once.

“Fucking hell.” Daemon groaned. He stretched you out, making your body spasm to accommodate him.

After a moment, you lifted your ass upward, sliding his cock almost completely out of you. Then, you dropped downward again, fucking yourself on him.

You felt the back of his thigh brush your ass as he moved his legs. He wanted to fuck you harder; deeper. However, it also had the unfortunate side effect of pulling on the stitches that adorned his leg. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You warned him. However, he seemed keen on refusing any kind of self-preservation. He moved his legs again, pulling on your patchwork.

“Daemon, you need to stay still before I tie you to the headboard.”

“Oh?” He took it as more of a welcomed suggestion, rather than a threat.

He lifted his hips off of the bed.

“Stop. You’re going to pull on your stitches.” You ordered. “I won’t move until you stay still.” 

He furrowed his pale brow; he took your commands to be challenges, rather than orders.

“I’m fine with the stitches popping. Quite frankly, they’re annoying so it'll be a relief to see them go.”

“Your lack of concern for your own health is horrifying.” You told him. 

“I’m not going to die from a little blood loss. And if I do, then frankly I was already too weak; no point in living when a little nick can take me out.”

“When you get a chance, please write that down so I can remember to share that with my future suitors when I become a widow.” Daemon grinned to himself before he ground his hips against yours. He curled his arms around your waist. He wanted to get more control. 

You were not going to let that happen.

You rolled your eyes. You quickly grasped each of Daemon’s arms. His skin was hot to the touch. You leaned forward, pinning his arms over his head. All the while, you kept him buried inside of you. 

Daemon was allowing you to hold him there; you knew for a fact that if your prince had wanted to, he could have easily flipped you over and had his way with you.

“Just let me take care of you without you hurting yourself.” You said. 

“I’m not helpless.” The prince scoffed at the notion.

“No, but you are hurt.”

He rolled his eyes before he shot upright, breaking free of your weak hold. He bolted upright and frantically reached out for you. He curled his arm around your waist, pulling your small frame as close to his chest as possible. He lifted you upright slightly; not enough to pull out of you, but enough so that you were no longer perched on top of him.

Then, without warning, he slammed his hips inside of you, hitting so deep that you saw stars.

“Daemon!”

His arm slipped from your waist, dropping you down on his cock once again. Both of his hands moved to your shoulders, where they slowly began to trace downward. 

“What’re you doing?” You asked. But, instead of answering, Daemon leaned in and captured your lips in an all consuming kiss. Unfortunately, the kiss was a mere distraction. 

After all, he was a master of strategy.

While your lips danced over his, tongues tracing one another’s mouths, Daemon curled a single hand around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. Once he knew he had trapped you, he returned his other arm to its previous position on your waist. You pulled your lips away from the wet kiss just in time to feel him lifting you upward once more. 

“Daemon,” You gasped. With that, he fucked himself into you again. He couldn’t help but grin at how your toes curled and the air hitched in your throat. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You said. Your arms struggled against his iron grip, but he did not let go.

“Now weren’t you the one who started this whole mess?” He taunted. Instead of pulling out this time, he left his cock buried inside of you and gave you the chance to grind against his hips. The friction was beautiful; it was enough to make your head spin as you rocked yourself against him. 

“I thought I was going to hurt myself.” He taunted again. He felt you flutter around him as he slowly pulled his hips backwards, readying himself for another thrust. “What do you want?” He asked.

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Your concerns about hurting him had melted away as you drifted closer to the edge. Now, all you wanted was him. You wanted his touch and the pleasure that only he was able to give you.

Daemon leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Come on. I know you can do it.” His voice was low and needy.

Your bodies moved in time with one another; your hips met every thrust, grinding yourself against him before you moved your hips upward again. Every movement was lined with desperation.

Then, the spring that had been twisting inside of you snapped. Pleasure shot through you, making your toes curl and your head fall backward. 

Daemon quickly released your arms. His free hand shot up to the back of your head, pulling you close before you had the chance to move away. He pressed his mouth against yours as your body was flooded with heat. You fluttered around him, overcome with pleasure. Daemon fucked himself into you again. That was all it took for him to tip over the edge. He groaned into your mouth as his cock twitched, filling you with everything that he had to give.

You curled your now-freed arms around his neck, holding him close as his lips danced over yours. 

Your lips remained locked as pleasure overtook your movements, allowing you both to ride out the highs of your orgasms. 

After a moment, your bodies stilled their motions. You pulled your lips free from his. You opened your eyes, searching for something in his face. He offered you a soft grin as he traced a hand up your spine.

The room had gone quiet. The only sounds left in the space were your mixed heartbeats and frantic breathing.

The world seemed so much more peaceful now.

You glanced over your shoulder. His legs were folded slightly, though the stitches that you had given him were still completely intact. He wasn’t bleeding and you hadn’t caused any more damage than he had come home with.

That was good enough for you. Daemon was still curled around you, pawing at your skin as he came down from his high. 

You turned back, meeting his gaze for a moment before he buried his face in your neck. 

You carded your fingers through his snowy locks, trying to catch your breath. His lips ghosted over your throat, pressing soft kisses every so often.

He was so beautiful like this. He seemed so gentle. The only thing that contradicted that idea were the dark bruises that were blossoming across his skin. 

“My sweet prince.” You whispered.

Daemon grinned against your skin at the notion of anyone thinking he was sweet.

[tabibitto]

Always Yours | Sebastian Michaelis

m.list

cw: fluff, smut, angst, toxic relationship, butler x master, oneshot, gender neutral, main character death

A/N: should i make a mini series about something like this?

Upon a summon, a demon negotiates a price, and a deal. What to give and take.

As a creature of sin, he of course, tries to make the best bargain for himself. With you, it was different. The first of contracts in over 500 years where the terms were of equal measure, in your gaze and his.

Sebastian, as you named him. Promised three things to you: Pleasure, Protection and Absolute Service. In service, he swore honesty, he swore loyalty, as both a butler and a lover. He swore to "care" for you.

Whether you looked at it as genuine kindness or the simple task of taking care of a lesser animal was up to you.

In this Loom of Fate, where you had no real future. No heirs for your earldom, where your work in your manor and buisness was for naught, you still worked hard and gave it your utmost devotion.

It amused him—watching as you worked and packed your schedule for seemingly no reason. In a hundred years you would be forgotten, but the demon supposed that this was another little quirk of the complex nature of humans.

Sebastian often pondered weather you did this to feign a sense of normality, or weather it made the perfect excuse for him to...destress you.

He teased you about it before, that there was no need to work so hard for his cock and attention. In response you had slapped him, and rode him harder that night. It was never brought up again.

You never did answer his question as to why pretend to be normal. Then again, he didn't say anything when you asked why he would pretend to love you. And unlike your usual stubbornness, you dared not to press when the chatty demon suddenly grew quiet whilst he washed your hair.

You never learned whether his silence was an answer in itself, or because...he didn't know either.

Sebastian took care to remember everything you mentioned you liked and hated, without your orders to do or not do. He insisted he always take care of your hair and body. Never allowing you to lift a finger when he was around. Sebastian always had a new excuse

Chivalry, Duty, Honor. Trivial ideals that mattered not to him.

How Sebastian took gentle care to prep you and love you the first time you urged him into your bed.

How you insisted he was the only one who could, because he was your loyal slave who would never open his mouth and boast nor gossip of his Lady in bed, to which he agreed

Sebastian would not dare, contract or not to allow another man nor woman know of your pretty moans and expressions, how you quivered around him and uttered i love yous and stay with mes that nearly convinced him of your affection.

In return, he uttered the same sweet nothings to you.

He tore apart anyone you wished dead, brought you their heads and tongues like a proud pet when you requested.

Sebastian knew it was not distrust that made you ask for proof of death. You were just as twisted as he and it made him crave your own demise even more.

Deep down, where his heart was supposed to be. Sebastian knew he loved you, he was obsessed with you and would do anything for you. His own addiction made him nurture and love your soul even more, each time he kissed you, he could faintly taste the delicacy he has cultivated for years, and would fuck you hard to satiate his thirst for your soul.

he fed you, bathed you, fucked you, loved you

he gave you everything you never had

In return, you fullfilled your own end of the contract.

you were a loyal lover to him. Never pleased nor been pleased by another man or woman then Sebastian himself. Turned down every marriage proposal and attempt to court you. Danced with no one unless absolutely needed

Never smoked nor did drugs to preserve your soul's taste, though you did enjoy wine and liquor.

You called him when in danger or if someone tried to force themselves on you, and he protected you, held you as cried and trembled, Comforted you as you wanted.

Making gentle love to you, kissing you, hugs, cuddles. Watching over you while you beat and tortured men to death. Brought you whatever parts you wanted, mailed the rest to their homes as a warning.

Sebastian would never dare himself say he loved you. He would never think it possible. Demons and Angels could not love nor hate. The divine and damned existed for a sole purpose, to carry out the word of the lord, or bring damnation to humanity. He was the latter, nothing more or less.

With you he could pretend he was someone, someone more. Someone who could come home, who could love and live. He would lay awake at night, and pretend you meant your words. Your confessions. Allow himself to feel

What Sebastian would say, is that he was simply possesive and obsessed with you. And if he had to call it love for your sake...and his. So be it.

Until the day when he would please you one last time before tearing you apart as he came. Relishing in your screams and cries, as much as it destroyed him to do such a vile thing. He would enjoy you. Every inch, every drop of you was his.

Sebastian Michaelis would love every inch of you until then. And bury himself into starvation with your body, to love and be loyal to you, his mistress. Until the end of time.

Because there was no one like you, would be no one like you. You were everything he wanted and would ever need.

Even if his stomach ached for even a cheap soul, he would ride it out until death. As punishment for making you suffer, and to keep his promise to you.

usque ad mortem im tua

[ihateliterature]

Not many people know what amatonormativity is and I think that's a shame because it's a very useful concept to keep in mind

So let's do a crash course

What is amatonormativity?

A term coined by Elisabeth Brake in 2011 in her book Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law, used to explain the societal assumption that all people seek romantic relationships in the form of long term monogamous relationships. Easy, right? No

Nothing in life is so easy, especially not something like an idea taken as absolute truth by most people for as long as we can remember

Let's take it from the top

Amatonormativity intersects with cisnormativity, heteronormativity and patriarchal gender norms. What amatonormativity tells us is that EVERYONE wants and needs a committed heterosexual monogamous romantic relationship that usually ends in children. The American 50's ideal is a good example of that

The reason why the other terms I mentioned are not enough to talk about these issues is that they don't target specifically the nature of relationships under patriarchy. They are obviously talked about (especially in discussions about gender norms) but they are not the focus. There is also the problem that many don't recognize the insistence of love as a measure for one's humanity as a problem at all

We live in a world where love is considered to be the very proof of humanity. This is obviously a problem because there is no universally accepted definition of love outside amatonormativity, which claims that only romantic and familial love exist. There is no acknowledgement of alternative ways to love or of humanity existing apart from this concept

What is love? This is what I want to ask you, and I want everyone to think seriously about this question. Is it the idea of a soulmate, of finding your "other half"? Because then comes the 'why?'. Why should anyone find their 'other half'? Why can't people be whole on their own? Is there any weight to this idea at all?

But wait! Some will say! That's not all there is to love. Love is the affection and care you hold for other people. And that is a fair answer. But now I want to ask you, why should that be the measure for someone's humanity?

This conversation goes in circles. Philosophers have tried to find a way to define humanity since Ancient Greece and probably longer, and I'm not here to attempt to answer this question

But there is another question I can answer: why is it important? Why is amatonormativity and being aware of it important? Several reasons. Not only does it affect the lives of aspecs, polyamorous people, childfree and infertile people by making them feel less human for not participating in it's rituals, it also implicitly supports cisnormativity and heteronormativity

The model proposed by amatonormativity is ripe for exploitation, manipulation and abuse. It cuts off people's support networks by devaluing all other kinds of connections, it keeps people from leaving abusive relationships by eliminating all kinds of alternatives to happiness and fulfillment, it makes people enter relationships they don't want because it makes it seem like there is no other alternative, it blinds people to potential or ongoing abuse because it makes us believe that love can only be good and pure

Amatonormativity is often talked about in aspec and polyamorous spaces, but many others are unaware of its influence, and I think this is a mistake and another example of amatonormativity (blinding people to the flaws and alternatives to the ideal it proposes is another way amatonormativity works). And this is a shame, because the queer and feminist movements (along with all the other progressive movements) can't ever attain their goals without addressing amatonormativity

[dira333]

One day after the other - Shoji Mezo x Reader

Not me needing a sick day to get back into writing. As usual I find myself writing for someone I didn't plan on writing for.

Tagging: @fuzztacular and @ur-local-simp because they love Shoji

The bed dips under his weight and a pair of warm, muscular feet press against yours.

“You need to get up in a minute,” Mezo mumbles just seconds before his arms envelop you and pull you into his chest. He’s warm, safe, and smells like the apple-and-cinnamon shower gel Aoyama convinced you to buy on your last shopping trip.

“Don’t wanna,” you argue, words slurred from sleep. 

He doesn’t argue against it, instead nuzzles his face into your hair. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, slow and steady, slow and steady.

Your alarm goes off, but you're quick to snooze it, to shuffle even closer into Mezo’s hug.

It takes you three tries to get out of bed and by the time you rush out of the door - not after demanding one last kiss for the road - you’ve got nothing in your stomach but the mouthful of toothpaste you swallowed on accident when you checked the time.

You buy a pack of fruit juices at the vending machine down the street, send a cheeky snap to Mezo - he’s always on your back about having more fruit and veggies in your diet - and rush the last few steps to the train station, arriving out of breath as always.

-

It’s only when you get out of the train that you feel the first cramp.

For a moment you curse the fact that you don’t have any pads with you until you realize that you had your period just last week. 

Probably the cold orange juice on an empty stomach you tell yourself, pour yourself a cup of tea instead of the coffee you’re desperately craving.

But two hours later you’re drenched in cold sweat and the smell of freshly brewed coffee has you running to the bathroom.

-

“Oh dear,” Yasuda-san from Accounting blinks back at from when you emerge, pale and shaky. She must have heard every awful sound you just made.

“Sorry about that,” you tell her. 

“Do you want to go home?” She asks and you nod. Yeah, you want to go home. 

But there’s nothing she can do about it, so you smile at her, rinse your mouth, and stalk out of there, down the hallway and back to your desk. 

If you keep breathing slowly it might go away.

But thirty minutes later you feel yet another cramp and the document in front of you has lost all sense. 

You get up, grab your bag, and walk down the hallway to your supervisor.

You can’t remember the last time you needed to take a sick day, not since Mezo took over cooking. 

Was it that one time you fell down the stairs - because you were in a rush to meet him at the door- and broke your toe? Or that one time you insisted on dancing with him in the rain and promptly got the flu?

“Oh dear,” Cold dark eyes blink back at you, “I already heard. I know pregnancies are difficult, but-”

“I’m not pregnant!” You argue, but she clicks her tongue impatiently.

“I know you don’t have to tell me yet, but we can be honest here.”

“I’m not pregnant. I have a stomach bug, most likely. I’d like to go home.”

“Very well,” she pointedly taps her fingernails against the mountain of paperwork on her desk. “But you know the company’s rules. I need written proof of sickness from your doctor.”

“That will be no problem. I’ve already made an appointment,” you lie.

-

Lunchtime is over by the time you wobble out of the train.

There was a nice lady at the doctor who let you skip ahead when you emptied your stomach in the trashcan next to her, but the multiple train rides have left an impact on you.

You open the door of your apartment and slip inside, fighting back another wave of nausea as you take the time to put your shoes and jacket away properly - if you’re not doing it, Mezo will just do it himself later and he’s had more than enough work this week already. 

He’s still in bed like you expected him to, muscle shirt riding up to expose a soft stomach you want to cuddle against like a cat.

You slip into the spot he’s left for you. His right eye opens.

“Got a sick-day,” you tell him, unable to keep the miserable out of your voice. You know you’re whining, but you’ve had an awful day. Well, except for the morning, waking up next to him was great.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks, voice gravely from sleep. 

You shake your head. 

Mezo nods and pulls you close, presses a kiss against the top of your head. 

“Sleep then,” his arms are warm and safe around you, “Everything will be better when you wake up.”

So you do.

-

The bed dips under his weight. 

You blink, surprised to find yourself sleeping on your stomach, alone.

“I made dinner,” Mezo tells you from your side and you turn to see him sitting on the edge, a tray filled with dishes in his arms. 

“You didn’t have to,” you tell him as he slips under the blanket with you, presses his legs against yours.

“I know. I wanted to. I made congee and chicken noodle soup and tea. Your mom’s recipe.”

“You’re the best!” You tell him, press a kiss on his cheek.

“You make me want to be.”

It’s over dinner that you fill him in. He shakes his head at your supervisor's antics, one of his warm hands rubbing soft circles onto your upset belly. 

In turn, he tells you about work. The new sidekicks at the agency or the kids that are going to be interning next week.

Much too early he has to slip out of bed again, prepare for another night of patrols and paperwork.

“About your stomach bug,” Mezo’s half-dressed, chuckling at the way you ogle his body, “Could it be that you’re pregnant?”

“I just had my period last week.”

“Yeah, but I’ve heard that it happens sometimes, you know? Didn’t one of your secretaries think she wasn’t pregnant because she got the period and it was something else?”

You stop. He’s right. As always.

“Yeah, but… that’s her. This is me.”

He nods calmly but you can tell he’s not done with the topic.

“Do you want me to be pregnant?” You ask.

“I wouldn’t mind either way,” he says simply, but you can tell there’s more to the topic he’s letting on.

“I’ll buy a pregnancy test tomorrow, okay?” You promise. Something like relief washes over his face.

“I could get it for you,” he offers but you shake your head.

“No way. The media is only waiting for a headline like that. Tentacole seen purchasing pregnancy test. Hero-offspring on the way… Wait, what are Baby Octopus called?”

He laughs, picks you up from bed like you weigh nothing to him, and kisses you. 

There’s much in that kiss that he’s not saying.

Insecurity, doubt, trust, love.

You’re smiling when he pulls back, still holding you close. Your hands are cradling his face, thumbs tracing scars that will never completely fade.

“One day after the other,” you promise.

“One day after the other,” he repeats. 

Today hasn’t been the best day. Today hasn’t been the worst day either.

But with him by your side even okay days turn magical somehow. 

You don’t doubt that also applies to the rest of your life.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen help their s/o who bumps into things

requested by anon: "I'm someone who is pretty bad with my peripheral view & I end up bumping into corners, walls, or tripping/stumbling over objects that are near me, I was wondering if you could make a svt reaction to them realizing this really bad habit & how they would react?"

notes: a 'how svt' reaction from fairyhaos after a long, long time ! i hope you guys like it <3

masterlist

seungcheol

in the beginning he'd get soso concerned that you were constantly bumping into corners and tripping over things on the floor. has attempted to book and drag you to an appointment at the opticians on a total of 5 different occasions only for you to insist that it's just your horrible peripheral vision and it's Fine. gets worried that you're gonna bruise yourself rlly badly, but you've convinced him to be less hovery-panicky when you accidentally walk into the latest inanimate object.

jeonghan

alternates wildly between acting like a concerned parent and not batting an eye. he's quick to pull you away from walls when it looks like you're getting close to bumping into it while rushing around a corner tho. makes small, conscious efforts to prevent you from hurting yourself, like holding your hand while you're out walking together or making sure that pathways through doors are as smooth as possible in his house so there are no obstacles for you to bump into. still laughs and shakes his head fondly as he remembers the one time to rammed head first into a glass door bc you didn't realize it was shut

joshua

you've bumped into his dining table and his coffee table and every piece of furniture in his house so many times that he asks you one day, half joking and half serious, if you'd like him to baby proof his house for you. finds it rlly endearing actually. gets concerned that you'll get painful bruises tho and always whips out an ice pack when you've had a particularly nasty bump with the wall, but other than that he's gonna make a surprised "oh!" sound before smiling and rushing over to you to pat your head and ask if his lovely darling is doing okay and do you want him to kiss is better for you? ^^

junhui

you're just like him fr!!!!! this little kitty keeps bumping his head on stuff bc he misjudges how short something is (or how tall he is) and so the two of you together are Walking Hazards. neither of you can walk in a straight line. you're constantly bumping shoulders, or bumping into other people, or just bumping into Stuff all the time. jeonghan jokes that you just make each other worse, and you protest every time before accidentally bumping into a table or a wall and making junhui trip over your feet bc he was standing far too close to you

hoshi

acts like it's the end of the world every time. wails loudly, whips out an emergency aid kit from somewhere and asks you to "show me the injury babe, show me where the wall hurt you so i can fix it immediately!!!!!" even if it's just a light, accidental touch against the wall as you turn a corner, he's fussing over your shoulder and asking if you need any bandages. definitely carried u bridal style one time bc you just kept on bumping into things as you walked and he was like. that's it. i can't have you being hurt anymore just jump into my arms and ill carry u!!!! he ended up almost tripping over thin air but oh well. he means well. 

wonwoo

his eyes immediately zero in on you whenever he hears a soft "thump" and the sound of you either swearing your head off or making a small "oops" sound, depending on how hard you'd hit something this time. always assesses if you've hurt yourself badly before deciding how to respond, but these days he's learnt that your bumps often aren't incredibly life threatening and more like a little kitten bumping into their reflection in the mirror bc they didn't even know reflections existed. it's kind of cute, he thinks, even if he does wince in sympathy a little when you stub your toe against a chair leg and then start swearing like a sailor

woozi

you come running into his room to show him something before abruptly tripping over a fold in a rug, bashing into the wall and knocking his headphones off his side table all in the span of three seconds, and he doesn't know whether he should laugh or ask you if you're okay. he's kinda used to it now tho, so he does both, and you just roll your eyes before flopping onto his bed and pulling out your phone to show him the video you originally came to show. it's a normal occurrence, you're both used to it, and he's long since given up trying to protect you from your habits

minghao

yelps in surprise every time, and then sucks in his teeth and clicks his tongue, pulling you closer to him to avoid any more accidents. rubs your arm or your hip or wherever you've managed to hit yourself against something this time, telling you that your body is precious okay u can't keep hurting yourself like this >:(( still lowkey thinks you look like an adorable bumbling baby animal tho, especially when you walk wobbily and end up bumping into something before shaking your head confusedly and continuing on your path. is trying to teach you better spacial awareness. can't tell if it's actually working or not. 

mingyu

he loves it. thinks it's hilarious. not the part where you might hurt yourself, but the part where you run into stuff and go "oops" so adorably. the both of you are The Clumsy™ couple with mingyu breaking things left and right and you giving yourself bruises every day when you bump into the latest innocent object that had been minding its own business. the first few times he was worried you'd hurt yourself really badly, but once he realised that you didn't get too hurt from it then he'd resorted to grinning at you adoringly (like your terrible peripheral vision was something cute???) bc he just thinks anything you do is so funny and sweet

dokyeom

always has an arm slung over your shoulder whenever he can while out walking on the street to protect you from dangerous corners or lamp posts or anything while you're out and about. it doesn't stop you bumping your hip against like, those mini standing cafe signs, or tripping over cracked paving slabs though, no matter how securely he's holding you into his side. you always end up making a surprised noise when you bump into something and then immediately apologise to the object, and it makes seokmin burst into laughter every time and pull you even closer to him because he just thinks that it's the funniest and cutest thing ever

seungkwan

soooo protective of you like actually. he would totally not be averse to the idea of wrapping you up in bubble wrap from the moment you wake up to the moment you're back in your safe and not dangerous bed at the end of the day. tsks affectionately and has lovingly dubbed you his mini walking disaster. makes startled noises every time you walk into or out of a room and accidentally trip over the uneven flooring or your own feet. tells you to pay better attention to ur surroundings, but tbh he's one to talk bc he's stubbing his toe against a table leg literally five times a month

vernon

spends like ten seconds laughing at you when you bumped shoulders with a lamp post on the street and then automatically muttered a "sorry". then he's so busy laughing that he walks smack into a lamp post himself, head first and making a concerning ringing sound as he does so and now it's your turn to laugh, even whilst you're holding his head and making sure that he hasn't given himself a concussion. you're not too bothered by your terrible peripheral vision (okay, you are, but you've kinda accepted it now) so hansol just thinks it's funny too. plus his hand-eye coordination isn't the best, so the both of u are always stumbling into stuff 24/7 anyways

chan

pretends to square up at whatever object or obstacle you've had an altercation with this time. he's all like "oh you DARED to be in the way, huh???? you're gonna pay for that!!" until you're laughing and trying to drag him down the street again. asks if you're okay, afterwards, smiling all the same bc he loves that he was able to make you laugh bc of how he reacted. and at home the freezer is stocked with mini ice packs bc he is Afraid that one day you're gonna bruise yourself rlly badly and god forbid you have to get Hurt and god forbid that you think he won't immediately try and do everything within his power to make the hurt go away :(( 

request guidelines

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[writerracha]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ like never before, part 2 — han jisung x female reader

↻ 2.2k :: best friend's brother :: cw. explicit smut. soft dom!jisung, oral sex, fingering, handjob, overstimulation, choking, hair pulling, use of "baby," "baby girl," "slut".

you spend a part of your summer vacation at your rooomate's house, and her older brother is making you feel things you've never felt before. part two of a series of encounters. -- this time, jisung wants to honor his promise.

↻ 18+ mdni :: not proof read, pls be kind :: masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You turn on the light in the small room, carrying your bundle of clothes under your arm. There’s not that much to wash but you still insist on doing it yourself - your best friend’s family is already kind enough to let you stay at their house, it’s the least you can do. Besides, it won’t take very long. 

The house is quiet today. Your best friend is gone to spend the day with her boyfriend, so you have some time to yourself. You cleaned the guest room you’re staying in, and you’re feeling hungry so you will get the washing started and make yourself a snack. Your earbuds are blasting a song you like, so you bop your head as you put your clothes in the machine. You make sure you start the right cycle, and turn on your heels to head for the kitchen. 

Except you collapse into someone’s arms. You gasp in surprise and slight fear, looking up at Jisung with wide eyes. You didn’t hear him coming because of your music - you didn’t even know he was in the house. He went out with friends the previous night, so you were sure he was still sleeping. But he’s there, smiling mischievously, holding your arms in this room that suddenly feels very small. 

You remove your headphones, laughing nervously. “Jisung, you scared me…”  

“Sorry,” he answers, not looking sorry at all. “Just wanted to say good morning.”  

“I thought you were sleeping,” you reply a little shyly, because he still hasn’t removed his arms from around you. His penetrative gaze and messy hair under his reverse baseball  cap is derailing your thoughts, too. “Did you have fun last night?” 

He nods. “It was cool. You should come next time.” 

“Maybe,” you smile. “Are you hungry? I was going to -” 

“You listened to what I told you, huh?” he interrupts you.

You blink in confusion. Jisung arches an eyebrow, his fingers descending down your arm. It sends a shiver through your body, and you close your eyes as he leans in your ear. 

“The panties,” he whispers. “Your panties, stained with my cum.” 

He places a brief kiss in your neck and you have to bite your lip to hold back from moaning. Of course you haven’t forgotten about what happened between you - in fact, it’s pretty much all you can think about. Jisung’s hot breath against your skin, his cock nestled between your thighs, the way he grunted as he came… You’ve been aching for more since, hoping he would visit you during the night again, but he hasn’t for the past two days. 

“No,” you breathe. “I kept them.”  

Jisung chuckles. “Good girl.” He looks at you, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “Although… I’ve been waiting for you to visit me. Why haven’t you?” 

You part your lips, blushing. “I - I just… I didn’t -” 

“You can’t be expecting me to make all the moves, huh, baby? I’m going to need you to ask for it. Maybe even beg. I want to see how much you want this… How desperate you can be…” 

He leans into your ear, giving your earlobe a quick lick, and you have to clench your fists to keep your legs from bucking. 

“But I did make a promise, didn’t I? What did I tell you?” 

Jisung trails his tongue down your neck and you sigh. 

“Tell me,” he says in a demanding voice. “Repeat what I said.” 

“That you’d show me how hard your tongue can make me cum,” you answer.

He chuckles. “You remember that well, huh? Of course you would.” 

He pushes you against the washing machine and you grab his shirt, looking at him with wide eyes. “Ji, anybody could -”  

“My father’s gone golfing and my mom’s on the phone with her friend,” he shrugs. “No one  is going to pay attention to us. The noise of the machine will cover those cute little moans  of yours…” 

He closes the door of the small room and quickly lifts you, sitting you down on the machine. It vibrates under you, your eyes glassy from desire, as Jisung takes your chin in between his fingers.

“Look at that little face. I barely touched you and you already look fucked out. Are you wet for me, baby?”

You nod, Jisung lowering his hand so he can squeeze one of your tits in his hand. 

“Let me see those tits.”  

He helps you remove your t-shirt and your sports bra, staring at your tits with a grin. He places himself between your legs, his crotch pushing against your already throbbing core, and leans in to swirl his tongue around your nipple. You moan softly as he kisses and licks your tits, massaging them in his hands. It feels incredible with the warm machine moving under you. You instinctively roll your hips to create friction. 

“Such a horny little slut,” he breathes. “Fuck, the things I want to do to you…” 

Leaving your tits, Jisung’s hand crawls between your legs and pushes against your shorts, right above your clit. You whimper, craving more, and you can feel him smile against your tits. 

“So fucking wet,” he growls. 

He impatiently removes your shorts, tugging at your panties with a playful smile. 

“We’re not keeping those on today,” he says. “I need to see that soaked cunt all spread out for me.”  

You nod, and lift your ass off the machine.  Your shorts and panties end up on the floor, so you sit there completely naked for him. Jisung takes a second to look at you, smirking, palming his hardening cock above his sweatpants. You’re so wet you know you’re probably already making a mess, feeling slightly dizzy with need. No one has ever made you feel this way. 

“Jisung,” you whisper, reaching for him. 

“Hm? What is it, baby?” he asks, his voice hoarse. He’s still stroking himself looking at you, so you spread your legs open so he can take a look at your soaked folds. You bite your lip, your fingers playing with your tits. 

“Please touch me,” you whisper. 

“Say it louder,” he grunts.” 

“Please touch me,” you say again, louder this time. “I - I need you… Please…” 

Jisung closes the distance between you, his fingers landing around your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, only holds you, and it makes you clench around nothing. 

“Such a fucking slut you are,” he growls. “Already begging for it, huh? Wait until you feel my cock stretching you. I’m going to ruin you for everyone else.”

At the same time his fingers make contact with your wetness, and you shudder against his touch. He circles your clit, spreading your slick all across your cunt, and enters two fingers inside of you. You moan as Jisung squeezes the fingers around your neck, clenching hard around his digits. 

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he chuckles in your ear. 

He squeezes a little harder and you whimper, desperately thrusting your hips. 

“I’m going to remember that for later,” he tells you. “But I did make you a promise…” 

His breath leaves your neck as Jisung lowers his body, his tongue leaving a wet trail on your chest and stomach. He stops in front of your cunt, spreading your legs further apart  with his hands. He starts to kiss your inner thighs, and you slightly lean back on the machine. You’re lost in the bliss he is creating, forgetting where you are, who could decide to walk in at any moment. 

“Beautiful,” Jisung breathes. “A fucking feast.”  

Then his mouth is all over you at once and you have to hold back a scream. You gasp. He is kissing you everywhere, licking you everywhere. Sloppy sounds can barely be heard above the washing machine under you, but you feel everything. His tongue digging deep in your folds, touching all the spots that make you go crazy. You haven’t experienced oral sex a lot in your life, and it has never even come close to this. 

Your head falls backwards, one of your hands grabs his head - his cap falls back on the floor and you slide your fingers in his hair. Jisung eats you out like you really are a feast, moving his tongue up and down and around, his lips slurping your wetness. He pushes you a bit back so he can reach your entrance, teasing his tongue around it, his mouth making you lose grasp on reality. 

You can’t even say anything, you can only moan, you can only whisper his name frantically. Jisung smiles against your cunt, and although your own eyes are closed, you can feel him looking at you. 

“Fucking go crazy for me,” he tells you. “Cum all over my fucking face.”

He is so skilled at finding exactly what works for you, and he doesn’t waste any time insisting on it. The combination of the vibration of the machine makes you lose your mind. When you cum, you cry out in pleasure, pushing his face against your folds, feeling your juices spill out in his mouth and on your legs. You are soaked. 

You breathe out, sitting up as Jisung continues to make out with your cunt.  

“I’m - I came, Ji - please -” 

“Oh, no, this is not over.”   

He resists against you, his tongue relentlessly lapping at your throbbing clit, and you cry out in both pleasure and desperation. You sit up, the overstimulation bringing tears to your eyes. 

“Fuck, Jisung!” you whimper.

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, Jisung inserts two fingers in your hole again, stretching it, reaching deep inside of you. You pull his hair but he still doesn’t move, and your body starts to shake. A second orgasm takes over you quickly, and you pant in exhaustion, clenching around him. You cum so hard your juices are spilling down from inside of you. Jisung finally slows down as you fall backwards, standing up to hold you with his arm. 

You are breathing hard, covered in sweat and your cum. Jisung kisses your temple, chuckling softly. 

“Open your eyes,” he tells you. 

It is hard to do it, but you manage. He is holding his fingers up, both covered in your slick. His chin and lips are too, and you blush in embarrassment, although you also find it extremely hot. Jisung licks his fingers clean, slides his tongue on his chin, all the while smiling at you. His eyes are dark and shining.  

“Come here,” he whispers. “Taste it.”

To your surprise, he kisses you. It is not a tender kiss, although it remains gentle - he pushes his lips greedily on yours, making sure you can taste yourself on his mouth. He parts your lips open to slide his tongue around yours, and you arch your back against him.  It feels good to kiss him. It makes sense, even with your mind completely empty of thoughts, trying to recover from your two intense orgasms.

You can feel his erection on your leg, so you slide your hand in between your bodies, palming it. Jisung hisses, his cock throbbing in response. 

“You took such good care of me,” you tell him. “Let me make you cum.” 

Jisung hums and nods, so you take it as a sign. You push his pants down, taking his cock out. It’s already rock hard in your hands, the tip covered in pre-cum. You roll your thumb on it, spreading the liquid on the rest of his length. Jisung grunts, his hands grabbing your waist tightly.  

“I want that cock around my lips,” you whisper.

You start to move, but Jisung stops you. “As much as I love hearing those words escape your mouth, I’ll fuck it another day. I’m not going to last long.” 

You pout in disappointment, but Jisung gives you another kiss. 

“Jerk me off,” he breathes. 

You nod and start to move your hand up and down his cock. Jisung breathes out sharply, bucking his lips on the same rhythm as you. Soon he is fucking your fist, grunting deeply, and you lean in to kiss his neck, licking his skin. It seems to work because he thrusts quicker, so you suck at his skin, near his collarbone. He lets out a moan, throwing his head back slightly, whispering unintelligible words. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes, that’s it -” 

He breathes out sharply as he reaches his climax, spurts of cum covering your stomach and your tits. You look down as he paints you white, your cunt fluttering at the sight. You can’t believe you are doing this - and that you love it so much. Looking up at Jisung, his closed eyes, his parted lips, you feel strangely safe. Seen, even. 

“That was so fucking hot, Ji…” you can’t help but say.

He opens his eyes, grinning at the sight in front of him. “You look even more gorgeous covered in my cum, baby girl.” 

You can’t help but smile. He leans in to give your cheek a quick kiss, tucking his cock back in his pants and reaching for his hat. 

“Now what was it you said about food? I’m really hungry.” 

You laugh, and he’s quick to do the same.  

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

eheh this is a bit longer than I expected... but I really hope it will not disappoint!! 😭 please please please let me know if you enjoyed and if i should keep writing this (or if i ruined it) 😭 i do still have plenty of ideas... eheh. love you guys!! have a fantastic weekend!!

taglist :: @lix-ables -- @iwannabangchan -- @yeongyulix

series taglist :: @changbinsrightboob -- @yjeonginlvr -- @fawnpeaks -- @angelescent

[stylesispunk]

"The not so invisible string" part 5

Not outbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

summary: you and Joel were made right for each other at the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, cheating, serious talk. "Doe" is her nickname. No proof reading haha

a/n: Hello! Here's chapter 5! I hope you like it, sorry for the all the wait, I've been dealing with some things. This one is more like a filler chapter and I'll be back with another one on Tuesday! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌 Remember my dms and asks are always open for you

dividers by @/saradika.

It has already been a week since you found out about Dwight’s family, and since then, you have not spoken to him. He had sent messages and had been calling you, begging you to let him explain himself. But you ignore them; instead, you initiated the divorce process with a lawyer, and you were waiting for this chapter of your life to finally be over. Even when you couldn’t bear the feeling of something you touched becoming ashes again, how a shame it was for you to be an insignificant target to fool.

The truth was that Dwight was a source of light entering through your window at some point. The very first night you met him, he was a gentleman, and he treated you well until he stopped. However, the unfaithful path he had chosen for the both of you was something you could not forgive. Your marriage was ending like all the other love stories you were part of.

And that was one of the worst parts of being an adult: having to pick up the broken pieces of you by yourself, save them in your pocket, and continue with your life because it doesn’t matter how exhausted you are or not; you have to continue because you are a woman and no little child is allowed to cry anymore.

During all this week, you had been staying at Joel’s house. He reassured me that it was okay for him to sleep on the couch and insisted that you take the bed. Joel had been acting as a supportive friend throughout this difficult situation, offering a listening ear whenever you needed to vent and a shoulder to cry on, but still, the string pulling you together was burning in your finger, and for him, it seemed okay to pretend that the kiss you almost gave him didn’t happen.

As you lay in bed one night, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts of Dwight and the life you had envisioned together flooded your mind. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and betrayal, but deep down, you knew that you deserved better than someone who couldn't stay faithful.

After all, you thought you deserved it. You had been physically faithful to him, but you always knew your heart belonged to Joel since the moment you met him, and loving a man while staying married to another was another type of treason. 

All wells end badly if they are built on lies.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

You almost dropped your cup of coffee when you heard Joel's voice saying your name.

"What?" You inquired, perplexed.

"I told you I'm leaving and taking the girls to school; are you coming?"

"No, I have to see Dwight in an hour," you said. Joel's face sank slightly at the mention of Dwight's name, as if poison had flowed from your lips. "You know, divorce things," you said somberly.

Joel nodded in agreement, although his expression revealed a tinge of anguish. "I understand," he replied softly. "Just remember, you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you, no matter what.

Touched by his constant support, you smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Joel. I sincerely appreciate everything you have done for me. And thank you for taking Tara to school."

As Joel gathered his belongings and prepared to go, you couldn't help but feel grateful for having him back in your life. Despite the distress you were experiencing, knowing you had someone like him by your side gave you the resilience to face whatever lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you prepared for the meeting with Dwight, reaffirming your courage and telling yourself that you deserved better than the pain he had caused you. And as you saw Joel leaving, you couldn't help but feel like the story was repeating itself, as if you weren't deserving of permanent love.

The mood at the lawyer's office, where you sat across from Dwight, was strained. The air seemed heavy with unspoken thoughts and repressed feelings. Dwight squirmed uneasily in his seat, avoiding your gaze and fidgeting with the papers in front of him.

You took a deep breath, ready for the talk that needed to take place. "Dwight," you said, your voice firm but laced with bitterness, "we both understand why we're here. "This marriage... is over."

Dwight finally caught your stare, and you could feel the guilt and regret in his eyes. "I know," he replied softly, just above a whisper. "I messed up, and I apologize. I don't expect you to forgive me, but just know that I didn't mean to hurt you."

Your heart was crushed at his words, but you knew forgiveness would never come. "Yeah, I bet you didn't mean to have a child with another woman," you responded, your tone strict. "But apologies are not going to fix the damage already done. We need to move forward with the divorce, and I want you to tell Tara about your child."

Dwight nodded, a sense of resignation washing over him. "I understand," he replied, his voice full of remorse. "I will sign any paper that is required and won't disagree with it. I only want you to be happy, even if it is without me."

As you left the lawyer's office, without saying a word to him, Dwight turned to you with an eager expression in his eyes. "Can I have Tara over for dinner tonight?" he requested cautiously. "I want to tell her the truth and start making amends."

You hesitated for a moment, considering your alternatives. Regardless of the hurt and betrayal, you believed Tara deserved to know the truth about her father. And perhaps, by confronting the truth together, you would be able to repair the wounds that have been done to your family.

You sighed and nodded, an overwhelming feeling of conviction coming over you. "Yes, Dwight," you replied gently. "You can have Tara over for tonight.

Dwight nodded, a thankful smile flashing over his lips. "Thank you," he replied genuinely. "I won't let you down."

"I don't trust you, and if you make my daughter cry, I will fucking kill you, Dwight." You spoke with a steely tone to emphasize the importance of your warning.

Dwight's smile faded as he gulped and nodded his head. "I know I've let you both down," he muttered gently, his expression gloomy. "But I swear, I'll do everything I can to make things right. "I love Tara and would never do anything to hurt her."

You kept his stare for a minute, looking for any sign of sincerity. You slowly nodded, accepting his words with cautious apprehension. "But you did," you responded, your tone softening slightly. "Tara deserves nothing less than your best. "You are her father; act like one."

Dwight nodded firmly; his expression full of purpose. "I won't let you down," he said, his voice full of tenacity.

With a final nod, you turned and walked away, an avalanche of emotions spinning inside you. While you couldn't ignore the pain and treachery he'd caused you, you couldn't resist the flicker of optimism washing over you.

"Hey, pretty lady, can you help me with something?" Tommy spoke while reaching over to your desk.

"What is it?" you asked, in an unnecessarily harsh tone, as Tommy lifted his gaze to meet the sadness in your eyes and laid his papers aside.

"Okay. What's wrong?" He asked, concerned.

"Nothing but a soon-to-be divorce," you responded, faking a smile as if you had said something amusing, but Tommy did not laugh or smile.

"What?" you asked. "Okay, I'm kind of stressed with some things."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied quietly, his voice full of sympathy. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

You felt a rush of gratitude rush over you after Tommy's offer of support.

Despite the facade you had been trying to keep up, the weight of recent events had taken its toll, and it felt good to finally share your burden with someone else.

"Is it because of my brother, or not? What about his date tonight?"

"Joel has a date tonight." you said, your heart cracking slightly.

Tommy's face furrowed with worry as he noticed your reaction. "Yes, he mentioned it earlier. He said he was going out with someone he had recently met."

The news made your heart sink as a range of emotions swirled inside you. "Oh," was all you could say, attempting to cover up the twinge of pain that stabbed your chest.

Tommy sensed a shift in your attitude, and his expression softened with understanding. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew since you are staying at his house."

"It's okay, Tommy," you said, attempting a forced smile.

However, it was not okay.

Not long after that, Joel came to the office door, ready to go, and drew your attention with a glance around the room. Without saying anything, he gestured for Tommy to join him, and the two of them rushed toward the exit.

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment as you observed them leave together, a reminder that you'd also lost him along the way.

As they approached the door, Joel paused and returned his gaze to you, his face softening as he did so, and despite the hurt and confusion whirling inside you, you managed to muster a small, strained smile in response.

"See you later," Joel murmured, his tone tinged with concern.

You nodded in answer, attempting to cover up the chaos that was growing within you. "See you," you said, the words seeming flat on your tongue.

Joel and Tommy disappeared in just one glance, leaving you alone in the office with your thoughts.

Maybe it was time for you to move on, leave his house, and even leave this town.

As the night fell, you found yourself lost in your thoughts, the events of the day weighing heavily on your mind. The sound of the door opening pulled you from your reverie, and you looked up to see Joel entering the house.

"Hey," he greeted you, his voice warm but tinged with concern as he noticed the somber expression on your face. "How was your day?"

You forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside you. "It was alright," you replied vaguely, avoiding his gaze.

Joel furrowed his brows, sensing that something was amiss. "Where are the girls?”

“Uhm. Sarah is upstairs doing homework”

“And Tara?" he asked, his tone filled with curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "She's at Dwight's," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel's expression tensed slightly at the mention of Dwight's name, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes before he composed himself. "Oh," was all he said, his voice neutral.

A heavy silence settled between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Sensing the tension, you took a deep breath and decided to break the silence.

"So, uh, how was your date?" you asked, trying to sound casual despite the knot of jealousy tightening in your chest.

Joel's brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching yours for any hint of jest. "Date?" he echoed; his voice tinged with surprise.

Your heart sank at his reaction, realizing that perhaps you had misunderstood or misheard earlier. "Yeah, Tommy mentioned it,” you explained, trying to keep your tone light despite the growing unease in your stomach.

As you mentioned Tommy's observation, Joel's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “There was no date; I was actually still working at this dude’s house.”

“Then why did he? you began.

“Were you jealous?” he interrupted

You paused, caught off guard by Joel's interruption. The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Your heart raced as you considered how to respond, unsure whether to admit the truth or deflect his inquiry.

"I... I don't know," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Would it be bad? I mean, would it be that bad for me to have a date?” he teased, smirking at you.

Joel's teasing tone caught you off guard, and you felt a range of emotions rushing up inside you. Part of you wanted to dismiss his inquiry with a casual reply, while another part wanted to express how sensitive you are and hurt.

"Maybe" you said, your voice tinged with sorrow.

Joel's humorous tone faded when he understood the importance of his words. He reached out and gently grabbed your hand, and you automatically retreated, feeling a flash of weakness and uneasiness. His gaze shifted, and his eyes showed fear.

"I think that it's better if I go to stay at my parents' house." You said, a lump developing in your throat as you battled to hold back your tears.

"I think it's better if I go to stay at my parents' house." You announced, a lump growing in your throat as you tried to hold back tears. "I just... I need some space right now," you explained, your voice trembling with passion. "I need time to think about my feelings and figure things out."

He chuckled gently. "I think you're being dramatic." Joel's giggle broke the tension, leaving you taken aback and irritated. The lump in your throat became bigger as tears welled up in your eyes, and your heart ached from the burden of his words.

"You don't understand," you exclaimed, your voice shaking with emotion.

"Then make me!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were going to be happier without him, but it seems like you're just a gosht."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry for being sad over the fact that the man I was married to for the last years of my life built another family behind my back as if I were nothing!"

"Dwight doesn't deserve you; he never did," Joel said.

As Joel's remarks hung in the air, a tight silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the sound of your heavy breathing. His attempts to lighten the situation had only deepened the wound in your heart, leaving you feeling even more alone and misunderstood than before.

The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally let loose, running down your cheeks in silent streams as you battled to control yourself. Joel's words were like a punch in the face, a burning reminder of the treason and heartache you'd experienced at Dwight's hands.

"Oh, and who deserves me then?" You said, "Tell me; I want to know."

Joel just stated, "Someone better,” deep down knowing it was him.

"Like you?" you questioned.

"You can trust me," he reassured.

"No, I can't because I don't know you!" you stated.

"I'm the same Joel you met," he said back, trying to stop the storm from coming between you both.

"The one who became a ghost or broke my heart? Which one?" you demanded, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Look, I understand you are afraid of things, but if you think I'm going to say I wish I could get back in time and regret having my daughter for one second, you're crazy." He merely pointed out,

You chuckled as tears flowed down your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away, attempting to remain calm as you stared at Joel, hoping for some form of understanding.

"I never wanted you to regret having Sarah," you replied quietly, your voice tinged with sadness. “I know she's the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Joel's face softened in reaction to your words, with an instant of guilt running through his eyes as he saw the pain on your face. He reached out carefully, his hand gliding in the air between you as a silent gesture of comfort and understanding.

As Joel's palm finally touched yours, a sense of warmth and connection poured over you, spanning the gap that had threatened to separate you. In that moment, you sensed a glimmer of joy and a fresh belief in the possibilities of mending and healing.

"I know," Joel said quietly, his voice full of honesty. "And I am grateful for her every day. But that doesn't change how I feel about you or us. He paused. "Actually, there's something I need to confess." 

"What do you mean?" you inquired, your tone barely above a whisper.

Joel took a long breath, his gaze never leaving yours as he began speaking. "Do you remember those nights I was working late? I wasn't only working, Doe. I was saving money."

Confusion flared in your eyes as you attempted to process his words. "Save money? For what?"

"For a ring," Joel said, his voice full of remorse and vulnerability. "I was planning to propose to you."

The air in your lungs became still as Joel's words sank in. Joel had kept this secret from you all these years, while you were struggling with self-esteem issues.

Tears welled in your eyes. "Did you buy before I left that night we broke?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He nodded. "I wanted everything to be perfect," Joel confessed, his eyes filled with grief. "But then... things got complicated." "And I thought... I thought I had lost my chance with you." 

"But you let me go," you stated, sounding weak due to the weight of your words, heavy with the distress of the past.

Joel's face softened, and his eyes reflected the grief that filled his heart. "I know, and I'll always regret that," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

His eyebrows seemed to furrow with remorse as he took a look at your intense stare. "I was a coward," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I let my fear control me, and in doing so, I lost the most important thing I had in my life."

The vulnerability in Joel's admission resonated with the ache in your own heart. For years, you had carried the weight of his absence, wondering what could have been if only he had been brave enough to fight for you.

"I should have fought for us," Joel continued, his gaze locked with yours. "But I was too afraid of losing you, so I let you slip away."

“I need space, Joel,” you said. “And I deserve to be loved, so I’m not going to follow you or anybody else unless you show me that.”

Joel's shoulders sagged with the weight of your words, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and understanding. "I understand," he whispered, his voice heavy with remorse. "You deserve to be loved, and I've failed you in that regard."

As you spoke, a sense of clarity washed over you, a realization that you owed it to yourself to prioritize your own healing and well-being. You had spent too long waiting for someone else to validate your worth, and now you were ready to take control your choices.

"I won't ask you to follow me," Joel replied, his tone filled with resignation. "But I hope that someday I can show you the love and respect you deserve."

As you walked downstairs, the weight of your decision weighed heavily on your shoulders. Each step seemed like a bitter reminder of the past and an uncertain future. But with every stride, you felt a fresh resolution grow within you—a drive to reclaim control of your own life.

When you reached the bottom of the steps, you paused to collect your thoughts before heading toward the door. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the still room, providing an abrupt contrast to the turbulent emotions racing within you.

However, as you reached for the doorknob, a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Doe, wait."

You turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression full of anguish.

You turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression full of anguish. His eyes pleaded with you, silently begging for the opportunity to set things right.

"I need to go," you replied, just above a whisper. "I cannot stay here, Joel."

Joel took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I understand," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "You need space, but I have to tell you this before."

You hesitated, divided between the urge to leave and the need to hear Joel's words. With a disturbed heart, you nodded, quietly encouraging him to speak.

"I made a mistake that night," Joel said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I should've fought for you, Doe. I should have told you how much you meant to me instead of letting you leave."

You broke down in tears when you heard Joel's confession. For years, you had felt the weight of his absence, wondering if things could have turned out differently if he had been brave enough to fight for you.

"I'm sorry," Joel said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for letting you go." He breathed in. "So that's why I'm doing this now."

“What?” you asked.

You furrowed your brow, attempting to make sense of his captivating comment. Before you could utter another word, Joel closed the distance between you, his movements swift yet gentle.

In an instant, his lips touched yours in a delicate kiss—a muttered plea for forgiveness and a promise of reconciliation. The world around you appeared to fade away as the warmth of his touch embraced you, washing away the layers of doubt and uncertainty that had tortured your heart for so long.

Joel knew words weren’t enough for you right now, and this swift action was the only way he found to pour and show all the love and promises he couldn’t save those years, being sealed in this very right moment.

Not letting you go this time was his first attempt to bring you back and offer you the life and love you deserved.

For a little moment, time stood still, and all that mattered was what you shared with Joel—a bond that transcended through the years.

Joel pulled away, his gaze fixed on yours, looking for any sign of recognition. His breath merged with yours, stealing what he believed was his. A silent exchange of emotions spoke volumes without the use of words.

"I can't let you go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not again, please stay with me," he pleaded, holding your face with his hands. 

Joel's words lingered heavily in the air, echoing his desperation and need. You noticed a genuine desperation in his request, one that mirrored your own. You had ached for reassurance of his love for so long, and now as he stood before you, baring his soul, you couldn't resist the pull of your heart toward him.

"I don't want to leave," you said, just above a whisper. "But I need to know that this time is different, Joel. I need to know if you are willing to fight for us."

Joel nodded; his eyes full of purpose. "I am," he declared, his voice filled with passion. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to prove to you that you're the one I want, now and always."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met Joel's soulful gaze and noticed the depth of his love and honesty reflected in you. You lifted your hand while taking in the warmth of his face under your fingertips.

Feeling the warmth of Joel's touch under your fingertips, you took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. Despite the overwhelming rush of love and longing, you knew that you needed time to process everything that had happened—to settle the chaos in your heart and mind.

"I need time," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Time to process everything that's happened, time to heal, and time to figure out what I want."

Joel's expression softened, and his gaze filled with understanding. "I understand," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. "Take all the time you need, baby. I'll be here waiting for you, I promise.”

Sarah

 “Guys, it worked! They talked things out!”

Tara

No way! Seriously?

Tommy

So, my lie worked? What happened?

Sarah

They kissed! My dad is over the moon!

Tara

 OMG, really?! I can't believe it!

Tommy

Wow, I didn't think our little plan would actually work.

Sarah

We just needed to give them a little push.

Tommy

We? I lied for you little girls.

Tara

I'm so happy for them. They belong together.

Tommy

Yeah, they do. Let's just hope they figure things out soon.

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @missladym1981 @yomiyasxx @aliengirl99 @lola8888673 @nottodaysattan @picketniffler @violinchick @sadgirlcheesecake @caitlynsixxx @luvwanda @sarahhxx03

[benedictscanvas]

Nobody on the BAU team believes Jack Hotchner when he says his father’s new girlfriend is rich and famous. Then they meet her.

A theoretical opening to an Aaron Hotchner x f1 reader if you’re interested, but also no pressure if you don’t vibe with it. I don’t want anything too specific, just happy chosen family shenanigans. Sending all the love to you 💛💛

cute cute cute. as i'm writing this i'm pretty sure i've seen this type of thing before but i cannot remember for the life of me who wrote it! so pls let me know if anyone knows and i'll tag them. sending you all the love back anon <3 || 1.5k words, fem!reader

"Jack, come on man! Has your dad put you up to this?"

"No!" the boy insists, then lowers his voice again, "Dad told me not to tell you, but I couldn't help it."

Derek feels his chest swell with pride until he remembers what Jack's trying to convince him. He narrows his eyes at him again.

"Dave then? Trying to pull one over on me? Just because I switched out his-"

"Derek! I'm telling you the truth. I even have proof," Jack said, eyebrows raised, waiting for Derek to take the bait. His proof was poor at best, but he needed to talk to someone about this.

"Go ahead, kiddo."

Jack pulled out his phone, tapping furiously. Derek waited impatiently, even though he was an inch more intrigued than he had been 30 seconds ago.

When Jack showed him the blurriest photo in existence, that hope was snuffed out immediately.

"Okay, I'm leaving."

Jack grabbed at Derek's arm to make him stay, let him explain and it was enough to catch the attention of the rest of the BAU at their desks. Hotch was in his office, oblivious to the scene, one he would have put a stop to before it started.

"What's Morgan done this time?" JJ asked, making her way over with a smirk. Spence and Emily were listening from their desks too and before Jack could answer, Derek was already speaking.

"No no no, you're not blaming this one on me. Jack's claiming our very own Hotch is dating the Y/N Y/L/N. You know, she's an actress?"

Emily gasped.

"She's not just an actress, she's the actress, thank you Derek. I worship that woman."

"She's pretty amazing," Spencer added.

"Derek," Jack practically whined, "Dad's gonna kill me. I told you in secret!"

"Okay, but you're not serious Jack."

"You can't be."

"I am! So serious. So so serious that you all have to swear you're not gonna tell my dad about this conversation," Jack said, and upon seeing the amused looks of the people that were practically family, he glared at them, "Swear!"

"I swear, Jack," Spencer took pity on him first, but soon JJ and Emily did too, seeing the flush that had travelled up the young boy's neck. He may have grown a lot in his first few years of being a teenager but he kept the same tells that they could all read. Even Derek.

"Alright, alright, I swear too. But when I find out what you're trying to pull, I'm gonna pull something right back. You'll never see it coming, kid."

"Sounds like fighting talk, Jack, you need me to handle this for you?" came a teasing voice, silky smooth, from behind the group. Jack was the only one facing your way, and his face lit up at the sight of you. He went to stand at your side as the rest of them turned to see you in all your glory, smiling at them with that grin that they'd all seen so many times before.

On red carpets. Or movie theatre screens. Never in their office.

"Nah, you're alright Y/N," Jack said, greeting you with a brief but intricate handshake the others couldn't catch in time, "This is Derek, you've heard so much about, and he doesn't believe you're dating my dad."

"Ah, Derek Morgan," you said, enjoying the shock on his face as you said his full name, "You're right to be skeptical, you know. This one ate the last of my cereal this morning, though he swears it wasn't him."

Jack retorts instantly and just like that, the two of you have entered easy banter that the others can't help but sit and stare at. The conversation stops short when Jack bursts out in raucous laughter and you're grinning again, but you quickly turn back to the others.

"I'm so sorry," you say, and it's genuine now without the playful edge, "To show up like this, unannounced, and not even introduce myself. When I practiced this in my head, just know I blew you all away with my first impression."

They all rewarded you with a chuckle and it was enough to put you more at ease.

"I don't think you really need to introduce-"

"Y/N?"

Emily was cut off by another voice behind the group, this time one they knew well from their day to day lives. When they turned, comically in time with one another, they found Hotch at the top of the stairs, brow furrowed as he took the steps downward and walked towards them all.

Or, more accurately, towards you.

"I thought we were meeting you there?" he asked, voice low once he reached you and getting lower still as he murmured, "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know. I want to," you assure him, eyes all sparkle as you look at him and reach out to briefly squeeze his arm, "Promise."

He nods once, like he's made up his mind. When he turns to the others, he's almost smiling. Spencer finds it a little eerie.

"Everyone, this is Y/N Y/L/N. My-" he stops short, and doesn't realise the entirety of his team is revelling in him being so flustered, "We're seeing each other."

"I'm his girlfriend," you supply, shaking your head at Hotch but you can't keep the smile from your face, "He just hates saying it."

"No," he grinds out, looking at you with nothing but fondness despite his warning tone, "It just doesn't cut it. It's not enough."

"What would you prefer?" Derek butts in, "Your significant other? Life partner? Lover?"

"Enough. She's important to me, let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Derek's suggestions had made you chuckle but Hotch's assertion had made you positively beam. JJ could read it all over her face. She'd moved past being starstruck and into being incredibly happy for Hotch.

"Jack I think we all owe you an apology man," Derek began, then winced and corrected himself when Emily elbowed him right in the ribs, "And especially me. I really thought you were kidding me."

"Jack, you told them?"

Hotch's voice is still stern, but this time directed towards his son. Derek winces again, knowing he's put his foot in his mouth as Jack's shoulders slump. Still glowing, you come to his rescue.

"Oh, Aaron, he's just happy for you," you say placatingly, a hand at his back, a reassurance, before you turn to the team, "It was me who wanted to keep this quiet, not Aaron. I was trying to protect him from my life, but I think I kept it up a little too long. That's why I'm here."

Spencer thinks Hotch might be glowing too. You, you're all ethereal anyway, and there's the essence of something angelic about you, but you seem to have pulled Hotch into your orbit. He's definitely smiling now, just a little. Spencer is trying not to frown at the difference of it all.

"You don't mind that I told them?"

"Not even a bit, Jackaroo," you chuckle when he rolls his eyes fondly at the nickname, "Been wanting to show your dad off for an awful long time, really."

It's cloying, really, the way you hang onto his forearm as you say it, but he's drinking up every drop you send his way. He even goes as far as to rest a hand on your own arm in return, and keeps you close.

"Other way round, sweetheart," he mutters, in some vain hope only you will hear him. He doesn't get his wish. As soon as somebody sighs wistfully, he's stiff again, back straight, "But I think we've shown off enough for one day. Lunch?"

Jack nods enthusiastically, still seeming relieved that you've helped him avoid any scolding, not that Hotch is very good at that, surprisingly. You nod too, sending a last sweet smile to the whole team and insisting that now they've met you, they won't be able to get rid of you. Another round of chuckles.

Emily insists they won't want to get rid of you and she's a little too eager. A little too superfan. If you notice, you don't show it, only saying goodbye to her with an extra warm hug that she can't shake off.

The three of you head off, you still hanging off Hotch's arm, your cheek now smushed against his shoulder. But he's silent, and you're blabbering away with Jack again, more laughter. When they get into the elevator and Derek cranes his head, he can see the real smile on Hotch's face and he gets a little choked up.

"Well shit," he says to the others, coughing it away, "That's me not getting any real work done today."

"You can say that again," somebody says, and soon they've devolved into sitting on desks and gossiping right into the afternoon.

When Dave and Penelope trudge back in after their early lunch to the commotion of everyone's reactions after you'd left, Dave simply asks them how they didn't know sooner. They're not surprised.

And if Penelope cries a little at the thought of just missing you, you'll never know. She has the others sworn to secrecy.

(hotch doesn't return at all)

if you'd like to request something, please do so here! i'd love to hear from you sunflower <3

[cattimeswithjellie]

Stream Recap ZombieCleo, 6-23-24

((Did I jump the queue with this one and stay up especially late finishing it specifically because DocM77 asked on Twitter for someone to go over the stream with a fine-toothed comb and give him the salient details? MAYBE. I just hope I can figure out a way to get it to him so he sees it. Anyway, it's stupidly late, have a stream recap in which Scar's audio is a main character that never appears.))

0:00 Cleo opens the stream on the Hermitcraft server. She greets the False raiders and the chatters who were already here, even as she types to False in the game chat. She asks False if she is tired, False replies that she is boiling. Cleo suggests living in Scotland, where it is cool in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Cleo asks Chat if they are good. She herself thinks Chat is great because they are here. Cleo does not know if False shows appreciation for her chat enough, but promises that False does really appreciate them, probably. Chat appreciates False. Ren enters the server and gets an OMG HI from Cleo in chat. Cleo and Ren agree they need to play Plate Up again soon. Cleo will also drag False along on this Plate Up adventure, whether she wants to or not.

3:00 A chatter plays hydration check, so Cleo takes a drink and gives chat a bonus posture check as well. A chatter asks which is Cleo’s favorite punctuation mark. Cleo says it is the interrobang (‽) because it is great. The plan for today is to try and do some planning with Chat’s help, because Chat is smart and Cleo hasn’t got a plan. Cleo is also very concerned that Chat engage in self-care activities. They go full-screen vtuber to lead a mini stretching session and tell Chat they are important and loved.

5:10 The plan-planning process requires some signs. Cleo goes to get some while talking about how nice it is to live in Scotland where it’s not so hot. They thank subs and donos and try to make heart-hands after a nice message, but realize they have not put on their hand sensors. Maybe later for that. A chatter plays the Hotdogs On Your Face song. Mrs. Tango raids into the stream. Cleo goes full-screen again to welcome the raiders and give them the same niceness and self-care message. Cleo is feeling especially nurturing today and Chat is vibing with it.

8:20 Cleo stares at the sign she was about to place down and write the plan on, but she has forgotten it. She thanks subs and donos instead and remembers the plan. The plan is to plan out the city and mark places for Shrubberies, which must be pronounced in Knights that Say Ni fashion ((a reference to the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail.)), and other important landmarks. NJCoffeeJunkie raids in, but Cleo’s not doing the nurturing thing a third time in ten minutes. A chatter plays sour jelly bean.

10:30 Cameron, Cleo’s lead mod and partner, raids in. Cleo gives in and gives the full-screen nurturing self-care speech again. Cleo finally writes “Granery Food Storage” on the sign, declaring that she is not a teacher anymore and doesn’t need to spell. She shares the plan for the granary building and says hi to Scar in game chat. More thanks to subs and donos. A chatter suggests Scar has a power beyond this world, Cleo wouldn’t go that far but does agree that Scar is pretty dangerous. ((In Season 9, Joe Hills made it a point to greet Scar whenever he logged on, because otherwise Scar had a tendency to drop by his build and murder him. This may have had a lasting effect on Hermit behavior patterns.)) Cleo has a video coming out tomorrow that also involves Skizz and Joel, and it’s going to be fun.

14:20 Cleo shows off how they have spawn-proofed their front lawn area, mostly using glow lichen, which they insist must be pronounced with a short I sound, as in “finger-lickin’” because otherwise it sounds stupid. A chatter announces they came out to their parents and shouts out the gays. Cleo shouts out the gays, lesbians and all other groups and wishes everyone happy pride. They trail off when they realize that Ren has made a stone… “upside-down T” in one of the marked-off building squares. Cleo takes down the definitely-only-an-upside-down-T and replaces it with a sign declaring it the medical tent/emergency room area. Chat is not sure it was just a T. Cleo marks another square for Delivery of Supplies, right in front of the mailbox.

17:00 Cleo makes a big square for the Tavern, which will also be the town meeting hall. When the drama happens (and she doesn’t mean Theatre Kid Ren), they can come in here and plan. Cleo thinks about what else is needed. A boat dock maybe. Chat agrees that if D&D has taught them anything, it is that a tavern is the best place to make plans. Cleo agrees. Chat also suggests an armory. During this time, Cleo also seems to perceive that it is evening and tries to sleep. It does not work. Eventually Cleo realizes it is still daytime and is a bit confused. Chat suggests that night is an illusion. Cleo thinks about the best place to put an armory without blocking the sight lines of the little town. Chat suggests a school as well, but a town on a war footing does not need a school. She sketches out an armory and puts up a sign for where the docks will be.

22:50 Cleo starts trying to sleep again. She taps the bed for about 25 seconds before finally being allowed to sleep. A kitchen tent might be good on the hill, so that gets sketched out as well. A retaining wall for the hill will probably show up at some point. A chatter asks what era the village is supposed to be, Cleo says it’s going to be Magipunk. There will be motorbikes and magic robots. There might be some ruins as well. A chatter asks about the pile of Ren and False heads in the middle of the build area, Cleo says that’s Ren and False being Ren and False. A chatter suggests adding a watchtower, but that would be on top of the hill and Cleo has other plans for that area.

28:30 A chatter says that Scar needs help. Cleo says that if Scar needs help, Scar can ask for help. It is not polite to go into other peoples’ streams and ask for help for other people. Chat suggests a junkyard or scrap heap, but Cleo thinks this community is very into recycling and mending because they haven’t got much stuff. There will be a bunch of barracks tents, those get squares. Cleo needs one more big building. Chat makes a lot of suggestions. Cleo has run out of yellow wool to make plan squares with. They head to the shopping district.

31:40 Cleo hits up Wool Street and buys four stacks of yellow wool, then goes home. Wool Street does not have an ender chest, a clear violation of the Cub Rule, but Cleo pays anyway. Chat is becoming extremely distracted by whatever is happening in Scar’s stream, to the point where Cleo’s mod bans the word “Scar” temporarily. If Scar needs help, Cleo reiterates, Scar can speak to her himself. ((If this were a video recap, there would be a smash cut here to Scar’s stream, where his profound audio issues are currently causing everything he says to turn into an unbearable auditory hellscape until he is reduced to pantomime and beatboxing just to interact with his Chat. But Cleo has no way of knowing this.))

34:10 Chat finally comes up with the good suggestion of a campfire area in the center of town. Cleo agrees with this and decides a longhouse to go with it will do the trick. They begin sketching it out when Scar puts “cLEO!” “where are yyou?” into the chat. Cleo tells him they are at their base. Chat is extremely riled up by now, telling Cleo to run, to escape, pain is coming, prepare your ears. Cameron has caught wind of what is actually happening and tells Cleo it’s not good. Cleo does not know why they should be expected to run from Scar.

35:30 Scar approaches on foot, wearing his Poe Poe skin and hat. He doesn’t say anything. Cleo says hi to him several times. He continues not to say anything. Cameron lets Cleo know that Scar’s mic is looping all desktop audio. Cleo tells Scar that he’s wonderful and she wants him to know that, but the whole no-sound thing is actually extra-creepy. She suggests that she could make things much worse by going and getting her horns.

36:30 Ren flies in, playing one of his own horns. He is clearly well-informed about the situation and intends to make it as terrible as possible. “Burning in my ears,” he sings, “the mic is echoing! It is absolutely pain, in the earholes!” Scar flies away. Cleo admits she can’t hear Scar at all, but the song has her laughing. Ren says that he and his stream are watching Scar’s stream and it is _wild._ Cleo’s Chat is in emoji-only time out right now because talking about other streams is both against the rules and all anybody wants to do. Scar flies back to the waiting pair and Ren immediately begins chanting the beginning of “My Name Is” but he doesn’t actually know the words and mostly improvises. Cleo congratulates Scar on getting her stream put into emote-only. Scar does not respond ((partly because everything Cleo says is being shredded into the nonsense avalanche of sound looping on Scar’s stream and partially because Scar also hasn’t figured out how to unmute his mic in his current OBS configuration)). Scar flies away again.

38:00 Ren and Cleo discuss the wildness of the current situation. Cameron knows what is wrong with Scar’s audio equipment, but there’s nothing they can actually do. It’s not as though they can reach through the computer and get into Scar’s audio equipment. Scar flies back, having successfully unmuted at least, and yells at them to help him. Cleo reiterates that they can’t, while Ren begins beatboxing. Cleo tells Scar he needs to reboot, but there is no way that is getting through overtop the terrible audio mess that Ren is creating. “If I say something I just echo!” Scar yells. “Echo, echo, echo!” Ren starts beatboxing again, because he is terrible. Scar flies away again. Cleo tells Ren he is mean. Funny, but mean. They are both laughing pretty hard.

40:10 In the spirit of attempting to actually be helpful, Cleo begins writing Cam’s suggestion about the problem into game chat, but is interrupted by Scar flying back while singing “Have you heard the take of Mr. Kirkland and his four-pound pie?” Ren adds backup vocals. Cleo is trying really hard to impart some actual information but it is totally buried under the audio barrage that is completely inaudible on this stream. Cleo tells Scar that he is the best, he has completely derailed everything. That isn’t bad, it’s just funny. Cleo spends a lot of streams just listening to Scar.

41:50 Ren apparently closes or mutes Scar’s stream and heaves a sigh, saying he really feels like he’s been somewhere else. Cleo bets Scar wishes he were somewhere else. A chatter plays sour jellybean. Cleo says the funniest part is when Scar unmutes suddenly to say something. Ren begins playing his guitar over his mic. “It’s getting WORSE!” Scar yells suddenly and flies away again. “You’re a mean, mean man,” Cleo tells Ren. The two of them agree that this is pretty satisfying karma for all the trolling Scar has ever done to them. Cleo shows off some of the planning they have been doing with all the wool squares. Ren looks at the 3x3 square marked off for a tent and suggests dubiously that it is a small space for a tent. Cleo assures him it’ll be fine, it’ll be made out of pants. It takes Ren a minute for figure out that the tent will be an armor stand sculpture, not a build. He thinks it’s cool.

44:30 Scar returns once more! Ren and Cleo sing to him. He flies away again. Ren turns on the stream and reports that the audio is definitely not fixed. He tells Cleo that when Scar comes back, they need to hit him with some Bohemian Rhapsody. Cleo agrees, so long as Ren handles the high parts. Ren wants to do the low parts. They practice. Cleo does have a little uncertainty on the high notes and neither of them are sure of the words, but they do a credible job. Chat is very enthusiastic about it.

46:00 Scar comes back again. His audio is still not fixed. Ren and Cleo sing to him. Chat speculates on how many horns could be made just from the shenanigans of the past thirty minutes. They forget the words and jump ahead to the “MAMAAAA” portion. Cleo decides to actually be helpful and tabs out to start sending information and screenshots from Cameron to Scar that might help fix his problem. While Cleo is tabbed out, there is no visual indicator like a menu screen but the game does freeze, leading to the strange phenomenon of Scar audibly being killed by a drowned, complete with hitting and screaming, while appearing completely fine and motionless onscreen. Chat is confused.

47:30 Cleo tabs back into the game to find the drowned attacking them now. They scold it for being on land and kill it, then survey the bits and piece Scar left scattered around as Ren tries in vain to describe the complete audio chaos that is Scar’s stream. Cleo spots Scar’s _enormous_ Poe Poe hat and starts laughing. Neither of them have any inventory space to pick up any of the scattered belongings. Ren makes a chest and does his best while thinking about other songs that he can loop into Scar’s audio purgatory. He asks Cleo if she knows a song that he describes completely as “Dadadadada, dadadadadada.” Cleo does know it enough to dadada along. ((Chat identifies the song as Sandstorm, by Darude.)) He collects up the Poe Poe hat and puts it on. The effect is striking, especially considering that his skin already has glasses. Cleo is impressed. She tells Ren she’s never said this to anyone before, but he should be a member of the Poe Poe.

49:50 Scar returns, naked but for his spare wings. He asks timorously if he can have his things. It seems possible for a moment that Scar’s audio issues are corrected, but no luck. Ren throws back all of Scar’s items, then absolutely engulfs him in the monstrous entity that is the Poe Poe hat. Cleo dissolves in laughter again. Ren starts in with Sandstorm. Cleo tells Scar that she doesn’t mind if he kills Scar. Scar says Ren might have his axe. Ren does, and throws it back while still “dadadadadada”-ing. Scar sets off several flight rockets, apparently just to add to the chaos Cleo cannot hear. Cleo tells Scar he is awesome, but whatever he is going through, she cannot relate. It is funny that Ren is being the menace right now, she says, because usually that’s Scar’s job. There’s a moment of silence, then Cleo asks Ren how long he thinks it’ll be before Scar mutes them. “Let’s keep complimenting me,” Scar suggests instead. “I like that part.” Ren starts playing guitar again. In chat, Cameron is clearly itching for a way to actually reach through the computer and fix Scar’s audio equipment.

51:50 Scar thinks he’s figured something out. He’s only getting one echo now, which is a big improvement from the four or five he’s been hearing. Cleo asks if Scar’s done the troubleshooting Cam suggested. Scar says he tried, but he’s not seeing any of the stuff Cam said he should see. Ren whispers to his Chat that he thinks they muted him. Cleo says they did not, they’re just ignoring him. Cleo reminds him that they are trying to be nice to Scar, which is quite difficult. Ren doesn’t know anything about that, he is trying to make loop tracks.

52:20 “Oh, like this is your Woodstock,” Cleo realizes. Ren agrees. “What about wood?” Scar asks. Cleo sighs and asks why Scar is like this, but Scar has clearly gotten an immediate dose of karma in the form of an innuendo that will not stop looping in his audio feed. He regrets everything. Cleo asks with some disbelief if he actually understands what he just said. Scar says he does because it won’t stop repeating in his ears. If he hears one more thing about wood he’ll go crazy! Cleo has had an epiphany. Could this be Scar’s conscience, a force that simply repeats the exact things he says back to him?

53:00 Cleo tries to help Scar disable desktop audio. This helps, but does not eliminate the problem. Cleo and Cam believe it is desktop audio and Scar is just not finding the correct source. Ren begins chanting the “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck” rhyme, because he is terrible. Scar gives up and leans into it, telling Ren to do the woodchuck thing again. Clearly those two are hearing a lot that Cleo is not hearing right now.

54:50 Scar is silent for a moment, then comes back and says he may have figured it out. “Oh?” Cleo asks. Scar asks if hypothetically, someone were to have three open sources of their own stream in the background on their desktop, could that cause this. Cleo answers “yes” in the carefully controlled voice of someone who wants to say so very, very much more. In the chat, Cameron has been reduced to ellipses. Cleo reminds Scar that the very first thing they asked him was if he had his stream open in the background. Scar admits he had three tabs of his stream open, but they were minimized so he didn’t see them. Apparently he had some trouble linking when he was trying to tweet out his stream start, and that eventually led to… all of this. Chat is melting down. Ren tells Scar “You are easily in my top ten favorite humans.” Scar cannot hear him because, on top of everything else, he is working with a broken pair of headphones old enough to be starting intermediate school in the fall. Ren types it into the game chat.

56:00 Scar adjusts Ren’s audio and tells him he has pumped him up so he can hear better. Cleo says Ren does not need pumping up, that Ren comes fully inflated at all times. Chat wants a clip of that immediately. Scar claims that nothing like this has ever happened to him before. Cleo says at least they know what the problem was now: ineptitude! Ren admits that he gave up on helping immediately and embraced the chaos. Cleo tries to say that they could help a little by passing along Cameron’s advice, but is interrupted by Scar audibly dropping his headset. Chat is just having the best time right now.

57:20 Cleo asks Scar if he’s going to get a new headset. He says “not yet” in the vocal tone of a talking dog who knows he is the one who ate all the ham. She asks why and he explains he hasn’t decided what he wants yet, and also he hates spending money. Exasperated, Cleo reminds him that this is his JOB. Scar snicker laughs and says he was thinking today that he probably does need to have a burial for this headset. He can bury it in the garage. She suggests “burying” it with a ten pound hammer. Scar says he gets sentimental and weird and very specific things: his sunglasses and this headset. He’s had the headset longer than he’s been on Hermitcraft! ((Scar joined Hermitcraft in Season 4, which started in early 2016, meaning that the headset is a minimum of eight years old and probably older.)) Cleo is appalled and insists that this proves the exact point she was trying to make. At some point the headset was good but now it is ancient and diseased and needs to be put out of its misery. Scar insists that it’s not diseased because he has replaced the ear cups several times. A brief discussion of the Headset of Theseus ensues before Cleo rejects the whole premise.

59:30 Cleo points out that if Scar’s headset is over ten years old, he is going to hear _so much_ better when it is replaces. Scar insists that it’s a good headset and gets very nostalgic about how many Hermitcraft meetings have come through that headset, but Cleo would rather not. Ren suggests that Scar needsto take the headset in a field and deal with it Office Space style. ((A famous scene in the movie Office Space involves smashing a printer to bits with a bat.)) This actually seems to appeal to Scar. The three also discuss the merits and risks of a viking funeral for the headphones. Scar likes the idea because it involves a flaming arrow. Apparently Scar did some archery when he was young and even got a couple bullseyes. His archery career was ended when his brother broke the windows on the shed with an arrow and got the bow taken away. Ren says he is scared of bow and arrows because of a time in boarding school where an older boy bullied the new kids by shooting an arrow straight into the air and making them run away from it.

1:02:00 Scar shoots an arrow into the air to illustrate the story. Ren says that brings back painful memories, yes. Scar tells them that this is the first arrow of the new HotGuy bow, because he fell into lava again yesterday and lost everything. Chat is still pretty hung up on Ren’s story. Cleo sighs that at some point they are going to just have to give Scar some kind of frequent flier discount at the bookshop. Scar clears his throat and says it’s nice that Cleo mentioned that because there is a situation where some snails stole all his diamonds… Cleo asks if he stole books from the shop. He insists that it wasn’t stealing because he is going to pay it back! He paid half at the time and the other half is on layaway, which in his mind apparently involves getting to take the items before you have finished paying for them. Cleo insists that they can’t get a new trophy with layaway diamonds!

1:02:40 Scar and Cleo find common ground over the fact that they are both currently the plaintiffs in server lawsuits. Scar is embroiled in a dispute with some snails and a man named Big Ron who may or may not be Mumbo, while Cleo is suing Doc for killing a pig they had a special emotional attachment to. Cleo’s suin’ papers have been delivered and Ren should expect a subpoena at any point. Ren says he’s not going to appear in court for less than a stack of diamonds, suggesting he is not super-familiar with the subpoena power in general and “things a witness should probably not say” in specific. Scar, confused, asks if Ren is Cleo’s lawyer. Cleo clarifies that Ren is a witness. Skizz is Cleo’s lawyer. Scar is sorry to hear that and offers his condolences to Cleo. Cleo says it’s fine because the other lawyer is Joe. She is also not going to say what she did to the judge. She clears her throat and moves on.

1:03:30 Ren reiterates the fact that if Cleo were to see her way clear to making a substantial amount of diamonds appear in Ren’s mailbox, he might just become a very enthusiastic and helpful witness. Cleo insists that all she really wants is for Doc to suffer. Ren says he just wants to make some profit off the situation. Cleo asks points out that Ren is supposed to be married to Doc. Scar agrees and says that it’s not right to get in the middle between family. He asks Cleo if this is about the pig. “Yeah, it’s about the pig,” Cleo admits, sounding a bit embarrassed about it at this point. Cleo is suing for intentional infliction of emotional distress.

1:04:10 Ren informs Scar that there was A MURDER. Scar knows about the murder, it’s tied into his investigation and he has zero leads and he doesn’t know what to do because Doc is expecting results! Cleo is confused until Scar clarifies that as a member of the Poe Poe, he is charged with investigating the diamond ore thefts that were the instigating incident for the pig murder but he has zero leads and he doesn’t know what to do. Ren immediately tells Scar he’s barking up the wrong tree because Ren of course knows absolutely nothing about the diamond snitcher and can be of no help whatsoever. Scar finds that immediate reaction very suspicious. Cleo doesn’t know from suspicions or diamond filchers, all they know is that there’s a diamond thief and it caused their pig to die. Ren admits that it is possible that his quick denial might have sounded a bit suspicious.

1:05:20 Ren admits that he was trying so hard to sound not-suspicious that he accidentally wrapped right back around to suspicious again. Scar laughs and tells him he “pulled an Impulse,” referencing Impulse’s frequent behavior from Friday Night Among Us streams. Scar decides that he has a new prime suspect. Cleo is not sure Doc will believe Ren took the diamonds. Ren says he couldn’t have thought of the prank and even if he had, he wouldn’t have the follow-through to actually do it. Cleo thinks about it and decides yeah, Ren probably doesn’t have the energy. Scar laughs and protests that he already used that as his excuse and nobody believes him!

1:06:20 Cleo says it can’t be her because she has no energy or patience to poke Doc and then have to listen to Doc rant on and on about how terrible the punishment raining down is going to be, only to have him never deliver. Ren wants to plead his case some more, but Scar is too busy laughing at Cleo’s declaration. He agrees that Doc did dole out some punishment last season, but that the threats are mostly bluster. He does a very terrible Doc impression. Cleo does another Doc impression that is also terrible but in a different way. Scar goes to sleep and Cleo points out that this area is mob proofed. Ren points out that Scar literally just died to a zombie. Cleo has to admit that’s true, but it was a water zombie. Scar points out that he died and they both just LET IT HAPPEN. Cleo protests that she was tabbed out. Ren says he was too busy looping.

1:07:40 Cleo offers Ren the opportunity to tell his story and prove his innocence. Ren goes back to the distant days of Season 8 when he and Doc were living in each others’ pockets, basically in voice chat all day long. Cleo offers condolences for that, but thinks it might make Ren more likely to want to commit a crime. Ren insists no, the opposite! He offers as character evidence the fact that False won Demise this year in part because Ren decided not to target her at the end of the game and in fact helped her although he had no reason to do so. Ren is very loyal to his particular people, and Doc is one of them, so therefore QED Ren cannot possibly be the ore snatcher.

1:08:50 “So you’re saying it’s False,” Scar summarizes. Cleo agrees that is what they got from the story as well. Ren insists that False is way too busy to be doing ore snatching with all the river building, etc. Cleo agrees that this is true, except that Ren just told them it was False. “Did I?” he asks, bewildered. Scar and Cleo both heard it. Scar says sometimes you just need to stop talking because you just keep digging, a subject he himself is well-versed in. Cleo says Ren is incapable of stopping talking. Ren suggests pulling footage of several Among Us streams to prove something about his character, but Cleo interrupts, saying that if they’re pulling footage, Cleo can just pull the bit showing Ren killing the pig. Cleo corrects herself a moment later to say Doc killing the pig, but Ren seizes on the slip as the reason innocent folks like himself get sent to jail. Chat is going to clip that and then everyone is going to think he’s the pig murderer. The soundbite where he says “I’m the pig murderer” in a low sinister voice probably will also not help his clip issues.

1:10:30 Scar moves the conversation along by suggesting more Hermits as potential suspects. This turns into an incredibly lengthy and wide-ranging conversation that is much more concisely summed up in the Reddit document devoted to it. Cub eventually joins in as well to defend himself from some accusations against himself and to throw out some of his own. Joe comes along as well a little later but is less interested in levying accusations and more interested in litigating the unfairness of the fact that he had the idea to mess with the diamond ore first but someone else ran with it and has caused a commotion that could have been his. The conversation lasts for nearly an hour.

2:06:00 The argument turns to whether or not a sophisticated redstoner would be required in order to snatch the ores out of Doc’s machine without breaking it. ((There was an early belief that Ore Snatch #2 did break the machine, but careful video analysis reveals that Doc simply did not notice the ore when it was first removed and that the machine remained unbroken until later on when Ren and Scar came over during Ren’s stream and Ren poked at it. That is actually how the armor stand deployed and the inventory shifted.)) Most of the Hermits present claim to have not even seen the redstone circuitry in question, so a field trip is obviously in order. They all fly over to the armor trim shop.

2:07:20 Scar plays the Poe Poe Siren horn as they fly to the shop, which probably makes this an official Poe Poe visit of some sort. They land outside the shop and Ren worries about spoilers, but most of the shop has been around for awhile. Scar gets distracted by a wandering trader while the rest of the group goes into the shop to look around. Ren points out one of the circuits where a replaced ore block is still visible, commenting that looking down into the circuitry is enough to make him feel panicky. Cleo looks at the armor stands instead and mostly feels offended. Joe points out that most of the redstone circuitry is inert while the machine is not active. As long as one doesn’t touch a block that is powered or, like, pseudopowered? He cannot remember the correct word ((possibly something to do with quasiconnectivity?)) but as long as someone wasn’t removing a block that powered something, they should be able to do it with no trouble.

2:08:20 Cleo abandons the redstone discussion to fiddle with the armor stands that are particularly offending her. One statue has the arm buried inside the chest and that is just unacceptable. She fixes the armor stand to give the statue a more natural posture. Joe says that surely it’s fine and Doc definitely will not get upset about people adjusting things in this room, of all places. Cleo scoffs and says Doc won’t know. The others begin discussing whether the shop is actually open for business, with Joe deliberately muddying the waters by pointing out that the shop must be open because it has no door or anything keeping people from walking inside. Cleo continues making small adjustments to the postures of the statues and is busy with a fish-headed model when suddenly the alarm goes off. It is impossible to tell from Cleo’s perspective who broke the block that triggered the alarm, but all the Hermits who entered the building are still on the main sales floor when she turns around to look. ((Ren’s POV on this is also useless as he was freecamming into the redstone, but Scar’s stream POV shows that Cub placed a magma block at the top of the front doorframe of the shop and broke it, which triggered the alarm. It’s not clear what Cub was doing, but “being a smartass about the is-the-shop-open question” is a fairly safe bet.))

2:09:10 Ren warns everyone to stay up top as the alarm system is dangerous. Scar immediately notices that there is now a Warden in the depths of the machine. Cleo laughs and reminds everyone to be quiet. All the Hermits mill around on the glass display floor to try and get a glimpse of the Warden. Scar asks why it’s not attacking them all. Cleo suggests that it might be distracted by the noise of the alarm itself. Ren says it’s just climbing the stairs and they’d better get going. The world turns black. The Hermits flee.

2:10:20 The Hermits regroup on the grassy lawn well outside Doc’s shop. Cleo is still laughing pretty hard. Ren says “So yeah, that’s the scene of the crime.” Cub wonders if the wandering trader will be killed by the warden. Scar is worried; that trader has gilded blackstone miniblocks and Scar wants him alive. The Warden does not appear to be making an appearance now that everyone has left, though. Cub, Joe and Scar head back towards the building to see what’s happening inside, but Cub and Scar turn back well before the door, driven back by the obnoxious noises of the alarm. Joe goes straight into the building. Ren speculates why someone would want to investigate now, if not to find better ways to get in later. Scar points out that with the alarm already tripped, it’s basically free game now until Doc resets it. Joe only stays inside for a few moments before coming back out. Scar shoots an arrow at him but doesn’t connect.

2:11:40 Somewhat belatedly, the group starts to wonder what triggered the alarm. Cleo suggests that surely someone must have gone down into the redstone. Ren suddenly wonders whether freecam possibly could’ve activated it. Cub pooh-poohs that idea but nobody else is sure. Ren says it’s not a very good alarm if it can trigger just from a customer entering the shop. ((Ren is acting like he doesn’t know what triggers the alarm, which is strange since he helped test it and should know full well that it is breaking blocks.)) Chat knows that the alarm trigger is breaking blocks. Cub admits he placed and broke some magma blocks. Cleo demands to know whether they can set off the alarm so easily, by just setting down a block and breaking it. They are going to annoy Doc _so much _ with this knowledge. Scar suddenly realizes that this means there is very little effective way to pay for items in the shop, since pulling a wallet from a shulker box, placing it down and picking it up again would trigger the alarm. It is not, they decide, a very good alarm system.

2:12:40 Cub decides he’s going in. The others stay outside and talk about whether or not they were scared of the warden, a bell curve that seems to have a lot to do with how much they played the lower levels of Decked Out 2. Cub types in chat that it’s fine, then flies back and tells them that he did get blasted. “Nice,” Cleo compliments. Cleo is of two minds whether they should all keep their mouths shut or leave some kind of sign at the door for Doc. Scar is worried about property damage, but the sonic shriek does not break blocks, only players. Cleo does like the idea of Doc thinking his alarm caught the culprit, then getting linked to the stream and realizing it is just a bunch of bumbling Hermits. They also think it is funny that now the Glitcher actually can do anything they want in the next few hours until the alarm is reset. Nobody else knows the name “The Glitcher,” or at least they are pretending not to. Cleo consults with Chat and passes along the knowledge that the name The Glitcher was provided to Doc on a sign after one of the ore thefts. Scar thinks that this new name sounds a lot like the work of one Cubfan and plays his Darth Vader breathing horn in an attempt to intimidate him into a confession. It does not work. In the background, Joe has left the group and gone back towards the shop, but drops out of sight at the base of the sand pile and eventually flies back around to rejoin the group without actually going inside.

2:15:10 Cub pushes the Grian and/or Scar theory again, but that’s been discussed before. Ren decides that after an hour and fifteen minutes, they are not even a tiny bit closer to figuring out whodunnit. But there is a warden in the shop now, so that’s something? Scar thinks that a warden has got to be bad for Doc’s business, right? Cleo doesn’t believe that Doc cares at all about the success of his business, mostly because he’s being paid in sand. Doc is just being dramatic. Cub circles back around to “The Glitcher” and the quotation marks around it are audible. He asks if it’s true there was a sign. He and Scar both want to see a screenshot from Chat. Chat thinks Cub is pretending a little too hard.

02:17:00 Cleo and Ren both suggest putting up signs purporting to be from the Glitcher, solely for the purpose of trolling Doc. Scar insists that they cannot do that, he is the investigator and he is supposed to be _helping._ Ren thinks it would be very funny to have a sign reading “Soz for tripping your alarm, -The Pincer” (Or Pincher, it’s hard to say.)) Cleo gives him a sign and tells him to have at it. Scar protests loudly again and says they can’t do that. Ren clearly considers it, but then says he cannot do it either, he is Doc’s husband. Cleo grabs the sign and runs for the shop.

2:18:40 Cleo braves the terrible noises of the shop to place a sign in the doorway reading “LOL, Failed Again!” Ren is right behind her and protests that she didn’t add the part about The Pincer. She agrees she did not, because that is LAME. Scar gets the screenshot he wanted from his Discord chat and suddenly remembers Doc talking about these signs. Apparently Doc saw that there was a misspelling on one of the signs and (in Scar’s words) decided to blame the dumbest guy in the crew. Cub also believes that a misspelled sign points in Scar’s direction. The new sign is not going to serve well as a piece of evidence, given that there is a lot of stream evidence about who placed it and why and when, but Cleo doesn’t care. Doc deserves to be wound up, he murdered Cleo’s pig.

2:19:50 Ren has to admit that even though Doc is his husband, he does have something to answer for when it comes to Pig Murder. Scar is paying attention to his chat for once, he tells the others to hang on because an investigation is taking place in his Discord. While Scar is so ostentatiously distracted, Cleo begins handing out a few judicious gifts of diamonds, though the stream lag inherent in a bunch of hermits together leaves a lot of room for them to steal from one another. Cleo becomes convinced that Joe has become the recipient of diamonds they intended to go elsewhere and begins beating him like a pinata in the hopes they will disgorge. In the background, Scar announces that his chat believes Big Salmon is behind the whole thing, but he has no idea what that means. Joe flies away. Scar swears he saw Grian walking around near Doc’s shop, but Cleo has no POV angle to confirm or deny that. Cameron informs Cleo that Ren got the diamonds and is lying about it. Cleo congratuates Grian on some excellent trolling. They go up to the shop, but do not find Grian. Cleo thinks that sneaking in under everyone’s noses for trolling is huge Grian energy.

2:22:20 Ren finds a sign on the sand store that was not there earlier. “Sorry about your alarm, Scar, Chief Investigator.” Scar swears he did not put it there, and indeed he would’ve had a very hard time doing so because he has been moving and talking with the group basically the entire time. Ren insists the sign is there, and it was even glow-inked. Cub says that must’ve been Grian, so Grian is a suspect too. Even as he says it, Joe throws a handful of glow inks out of his inventory and onto the ground. Scar notices it right away. Cleo points the finger at Joe. Joe says he said ten minutes ago that he was going to put up a sign on Scar’s behalf apologizing for the alarm, but nobody ever listens to him. Cleo laughs and says they love it when a plan comes together, they just wish it was theirs. The others are skeptical. Scar points out that Cleo is really pumping the ego of whoever did this and that’s a little suspicious. Cleo says that if they were the culprit, they would’ve told everyone. Joe points out that Cleo could’ve told everyone and it might not have changed anything. After all, Joe told everyone he was going to place the sign and nobody listened to that! Cleo points out that people actually listen to them.

2:24:30 Scar has a thought, forgets it immediately, then immediately remembers it again. He wants to know why his Chat is so insistent that it is Beef. ((Scar’s chat is very devoted to the Big Salmon Theory.)) Why would it be Beef? Cleo laughs and says every single one of them knows why it isn’t Beef right now, and that Beef is too busy to be getting up to any kind of shenanigans. The others agree and warn Scar not to say anything or else there will be real trouble. Scar suggests that Beef’s gonna have a beef with him, but he doesn’t offer any further hints. ((Cleo is obliquely referring to an announcement Beef will make the next day; he and his wife are expecting their first child and thus Beef has way bigger salmon to fry than moonlighting as the Ore Snatcher.)) Cub explains that Beef was part of the Big Salmon consortium that feuded with Doc and Big Wood at the start of the season, but that feud is pretty much over now. They all admire the Big Salmon floating in the Hourglass.

2:26:00 Scar reports that his Chat has turned around on the Beef question, they believe Cleo that it cannot be Beef. The group goes back to trying to decide who the Ore Snatcher actually is, aside from Joe who is still mad it isn’t him. They each go around the circle and give Scar a theory, but none of them seem better supported than the others. Scar says this is all useless, but he’s going to go get a search warrant to search everyone’s storage systems. Ren asks if Scar is going to search his own storage system, perchance? Scar says he’ll have Doc do it. Ren is satisfied by that. Cleo says that’ll definitely work, because nobody on this server except the culprit has deepslate diamond ore, surely.

2:29:00 Scar’s favorite theory is that it was Doc himself, causing drama by stealing his own diamonds. The others think that’s a funny theory. Joe says his favorite theory is that the Scicraft guys got in touch with Karin, Doc’s partner, and gave her detailed instructions on how to carry out the thefts in retribution for unspecified petty wrongs. Whenever Doc is out of the house with Doccy, she’s sneaking onto the server with his account and stealing the diamonds based on detailed tutorials. Scar loves this idea. Ren asks if that means Karin has to come to court. Nobody is sure if she even has a Minecraft account. She might have to make one to come to court.

2:30:40 Cleo laughs and suggests that this has all been a big ploy to jump-start Karin’s YouTube career. Joe is taken by this idea and suggests it would be an amazing spinoff series, Karin and Mrs. Tango and Lizzie Shadow-Beans, but they’re all thieves. Ren puts forth a suggestion from his chat that maybe it _is_ Lizzie, pranking Doc when Joel is out of the house. Cleo thinks Karin is a more likely suspect than Lizzie. Scar admits it’s unlikely, but hilarious. Cleo says that now it is imperative that some Hermit’s spouse begins pranking the server. Joe says that now that his fiance Badgerspanner has heard that, she’s going to demand to be able to do it. Cleo laughs and points out that Joe will get blamed for that. Joe cheerfully announces that he knows, and it’s just going to make more work for Cleo because she’s going to have to explain to him why, when everybody thought it was a funny idea during this stream. Scar suddenly chimes in with “Desperate Hermitwives” from his Chat.

2:32:50 Cleo wants to wrap up, but she stays long enough to hear one more Bdubs theory. Ren wants to know what better way there could be to get people into the court for lawsuits than by causing a bunch of trouble? Cub likes that idea, but Cleo and Scar argue about whether the court actually costs money. Cub is still accusing Scar though, saying that nobody has more to gain from crimes on the server than the Poe Poe. Scar protests, saying he and Bdubs are the Judicial system and devoted to stopping crime! Because the police are never corrupt, right? The argument continues for a moment until Scar finally says “I touched Doc’s boring machine, I blew it up, I banged it too hard, and I’m not interested in banging Doc’s redstone anymore.”

2:34:35 There is a moment of silence. Cleo announces she is leaving. It’s been a lovely stream, they should do this again sometime never. She flies away laughing and insisting that nobody should ever ask Scar why, because No. Cleo apologizes to Chat for getting nothing useful done, but Chat clearly does not care. Cleo goes back to full screen to thank subs and donos, then says that even though she didn’t plan a lot, she did technically plan the plan, which was the plan all along. So that’s something. Cleo raids into Rendog and (with a brief interruption from Joe and his train whistle) ends their stream.

[eyra]

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go. 

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

[saerins]

─── 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔

+ reo mikage x f!reader | wc 3.2k | content: fluff, best friends to lovers, one-sided pining, making out, very suggestive, not an smau btw ( i just wanted to show how they are around each other <3 ) , did not proof this

notes: sigh idk besties there’s just something about reo that’s so sexy :(((( and he’s just ray of sunshine :(

summary: heartbroken, you turn to your best friend for an escape. but he gives you much more than that.

reo keeps his word.

the next day, he’s at your door bright and early, 8am. it’s sweet, really, but he doesn’t tell you where you’re going, the country or whether it’s even on the same continent. which really should bother you, but it doesn’t.

because you know reo.

he’s always like this; full of ideas, fun, adventure. he likes to try new things, likes getting challenged, likes everything under the sun except being told what to do, something that he picked up since he was a kid.

that being said, you’d known him since high school, just a bit after he became friends with nagi seishiro, someone you used to have a crush on until that’s all it became—a fleeting crush. reo had called you out on it, being as observant as he is, and you’d become fast friends with him, and somehow you don’t remember when you stopped having that crush on nagi. (you’re still good friends though.)

still, you’d never gone on a trip with reo alone. you’re not quite sure what possessed you to ask. it could be that you’re heartbroken from finding out your now ex cheated on you. or it could be that you just needed a break from real life in general.

you think being with reo can do that for you.

beside you, in the car, he’s on a call with his father, who by the looks of it seems like he’s finally letting reo do whatever he wants as long as he tries to have a hand in the family business.

“so, are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” you ask right after he hangs up the phone.

reo turns to you and smirks, “and ruin the surprise? nah.”

when you land, they redirect you to a helicopter, and you look at reo dubiously.

“trust me, you’ll love it,” he tells you, and who are you to not trust him?

reo insists on covering your eyes even as you step off the helicopter an hour later. you can smell the soap lingering on his palms as he leads you safely down the steps and onto solid ground after the hours of flying.

“reo, come on, i wanna know where we are already,” you mumble, excited and shuffling your feet.

his body is pressed right up against your back, so close that you can feel how fast his heart is beating and you’re wondering why. his arms are around your head, both being used to cover your field of vision.

“okay okay, princess,” he gives in, and somehow that nickname makes you feel giddy. it’s the first time he’s called you anything other than your name.

you turn around right at the moment he pulls his hand away and you’re immediately met with his face right in front of yours, his purple eyes shifting from the view to you, his hair flying over his eyes even though he has it tied.

you wonder what he’s thinking now as he looks at you. it feels different than however he did before. this feels different. seven years of friendship, and this is the first time you’re hit with questions in your head.

“i’m flattered you think i’m the view, but it’s behind you, dummy,” reo recovers, gently tilting your head away and onto the other breathtaking view.

you’re at the top of a cliff, the sunlight hitting the scenery before you at all the right places. there’s a beach at the bottom, with clear blue waters lapping on the shore. you can see some man-made structures there, but you can’t really make out what they are. you think maybe they’re phototaking spots for tourists.

when reo takes his place beside you, taking in the view, you remember to ask, “reo, where are we?” you’re out of breath, and understandably so. you’ve never been here before—it looks right out of a travel magazine.

reo grins at you, “an island off the coast of bali. nice, right?”

“yeah,” you’re short on words really. you expected to go to hokkaido, maybe. somewhere else in japan. yet here you are, somewhere off the coast of a beach, standing on a cliff with an amazing view standing next to your best friend.

but then you remember something and look around. there’s signs, there’s what looks like a restaurant at the bottom, near the edge of the beach, and from what you hear, bali is a hot tourist destination. so why—

“reo, why isn’t there anybody else here?”

he blinks at you like you should already know the answer. “i bought the entire day here, no one else but us.”

the way he says this so casually makes you realise you’re worlds apart, but somehow, reo makes you feel like you’re not.

sure, your ex broke your heart two months ago and you still can’t get over it. you’d tried to ignore everything, get over it quietly, but it didn’t work. instead you mope everyday in silence and act like you’re okay in front of everyone. well, everyone who buys it.

everyone except reo.

you remember the way he cancelled international meetings and rushed to your house the moment you called him, crying. you remember how he came armed with your favourite snacks and made sure you ate so he cooked for you. you remember how he put you first, no matter how busy he was.

maybe it was the long-standing friendship. maybe it was the fact that you always had your eye on someone else. maybe it was because of those that you never really thought to see that maybe all you needed to do was open your eyes.

because it sends a shiver through your spine right now, with how reo effortlessly takes your hand in his, leads you down the path, says he’s going to take you on the best hike of your life.

“what if i get tired halfway?”

reo doesn’t miss a beat, “then i’ll carry you, princess.” he says that in a teasing way, but you still like it.

the same way you like when he makes sure to hold your hand at the particularly rocky areas, makes sure you don’t fall—or that he’d catch you even if you did.

his white shirt is unbuttoned down to his chest, and his round black sunglasses frame his face nicely. he’s handsome—you’ve always known that, so why does your heart skip a beat when you feel his body heat against you, pulling you close so you don’t trip?

“what are we ordering?” you ask, after climbing down the entire cliff (which took two whole hours—you’re parched).

reo stretches and cracks his knuckles, “i’ll order, i know what you like anyway.”

it’s only been the first day and you’re already overwhelmed, in a good way.

reo takes you around the beach, insists on helping you take pictures, makes sure he gets the best angles, makes sure you get perfect lighting. it’s a first for you, seeing first hand how easy it is to be around someone who really knows you.

there’s things reo knows about you that you never realised he noticed.

like how you often forget your hair ties, so he carries extras on himself. or how you like prawns but you don’t eat them because you’re too lazy to peel the skin off, but that’s exactly why he peels them for you without you having to ask.

there’s many more things he noticed, but you suppose it’s the same case for nagi, so you guess you shouldn’t get your hopes up.

but it’s tough.

it’s tough when he’s not like how he usually is. it’s tough when he suddenly likes to stick close to you, likes to let you feel how built he is and how strong he’s become since the guy you met at seventeen. it’s tough when he gets bold enough to tease you for staring, it’s tough when he purposely posts pics for people following you to see—one of which being the guy who broke your heart.

“come on, another one- one more,” reo insists, stealing your phone from your hand and trying to snap a picture of you against the scenery, the oceans below you split into two by the hills. “don’t you want him to suffer for what he did to you?”

reo phrases it like he’s joking, but you can sense his honest question behind it. he’s never really talked to you about it, seeing how you immediately broke down whenever he had tried, but he’s trying again now, and you don’t really want to reject his efforts.

a part of you wanted to just forget your stupid ex, to just be able to live as though he’d never hurt you. but did you want him to regret not choosing you? want him to keel over from jealousy?

yeah, kinda.

“i doubt he’ll even care, though.”

reo gets a shit-eating smirk on his face, and you hear the gears turning in his head. “wanna see him care?”

before you know it, reo’s walking over to stand next to you, and when you think he’s just going to take a regular photo with you, his hands around your shoulders, he moves his fingers to your neck and kisses the side of your face, right next to your ear, and you hear the shutter going off.

he pulls away like nothing unusual has happened, turning his attention straight to your phone and posting the story. meanwhile, you’re frozen in shock—not sure what you should even feel in this situation.

but maybe you should’ve opened your eyes a little bit wider, then maybe you would’ve noticed reo’s ears going beet red, maybe you would’ve been able to tell that he’s just as flustered as you are, the sensation lingering against his lips.

reo takes a peek at you out of the corner of his eyes and wonders: will you ever realise how he feels for you all this time?

it’s actually quite a wonder how after seven years of being just friends that this is the first window of opportunity he gets to chase you, to show you that you can do better than those wackos you dated.

it’s also quite miraculous how you almost exclusively date guys who would just hurt you.

maybe now’s the right time for him to make his move. it could be the only chance he gets to properly spend with you, just the both of you, considering how the both of you are so busy otherwise—you studying with a part time job while he’s busy with the same thing except with mikage corp.

if he misses his shot, reo has a feeling that this would be it; this would be all you and him would ever be. friends who are just as familiar no matter how long they spent apart. friends who love each other and ask to go on platonic trips. friends who keep their feelings hidden because reo knows you feel something too, don’t you?

his gut feelings are mostly accurate, he hopes it is now too.

because fuck if he doesn’t realise the way your eyes glimmer when you’re looking at the sea, or the way you reach out to him (with that slightly shy smile you try to hide) when you’re excitedly hopping from place to place, or even how whenever you lock gazes with him, there’s that split second of confusion lingering.

yeah, reo would either fuck this up badly or it would work wonderfully.

out of everything he’s been given—material, money, status, power—he’s never wanted any. it’s a huge bonus, sure, but it’s not like he can’t live without an unlimited supply of money. there’s a certain thrill in trying to attain something that can’t be bought over. but there’s also a certain thrill in knowing that you never expected anything from him; you didn’t befriend him for anything except than the fact that you were a shy teenage girl who got seated next to him in class.

as he looks at you happily traipsing across the sand, wind in your hair and feet sinking under the water, reo finds that maybe in this world, you’re all he wants.

“did you book out an entire resort too?”

reo laughs at your skepticism. “nah, that would be creepy, a whole resort to ourselves? it’s like a serial killer movie waiting to happen.” because he knows you’re so into those kind of movies but in real life you’re basically a pussy. he remembers you clinging onto him and nagi that one time you went to a haunted house for halloween.

he did get you adjoining rooms though. he was heavily considering just getting a single room with twin beds but reo didn’t want to completely blow his chances by scaring you away.

and reo leaves you alone in your room that night, because you’re both tired out from the long day earlier, and because he has a lot planned tomorrow—you’re a huge foodie so he already found tons of places you could go together, and maybe a massage, maybe you’d like that.

reo’s looking at the itinerary in his phone when he hears you sobbing through the walls. it takes him five seconds to rush over, barely knocking on the adjoining door before he opens it, finding you curled up on the bed, crying.

“hey, what happened?”

worry fills his chest quicker than he’s ever known he could feel, and he hates seeing you like this—puffy eyes and hair matted from tears. what the fuck could even happen in the time span of a few hours?

you’re cozy under the blanket, but you take your hands out and pass him your phone—a myriad of texts from your ex, accusing you of cheating with reo and blaming the breakup on you.

which is ridiculous, because if anyone at all cheated, it was this bastard. after all, reo was the one who ran into him with his side piece and sent you the evidence. this fucker is even more fucked up than he thought.

“you should just block him already,” reo sighs, handing it back to you.

“yeah, maybe,” you mumble, tossing your phone to the side.

usually, you just wanted to be alone, especially in this state. so that’s what reo figures he should do, so he tells you he’ll leave you alone first while he gets some dinner, but then you grab his wrist before he can go, and you’re averting your gaze.

“don’t go?”

are you asking? you sound scared. why would you be scared though? reo’s always been there for you, even when he shouldn’t be. he’s always ditched meetings for you, told people off for you, done anything he could just so you’d be happy.

when reo doesn’t move, you scoot over and reo feels a certain yearning bubbling in his chest. fuck, you’re really getting his hopes up but reo’s already established you as the person he wouldn’t mind getting screwed over by so he gets in your bed, letting you lay your head in the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you.

he hopes you don’t hear his heart banging love songs into his chest.

“thanks, reo,” you mumble. at least you aren’t bawling anymore.

he sighs, “stupid, i’m your friend, that’s what friends are for.”

you chuckle, sniffling a little, “yeah, you treat me way better than those shitty boyfriends of mine.”

your hair’s tickling his face, your body’s pressed up against his side, you smell so fucking good. why are you so perfect? reo’s about to lose it.

“then what’s wrong with me?”

it slips out. just slides off his tongue because he’s tired of seeing you with other people. he’s tired of not being able to call you his. he’s tired of having to pretend like he doesn’t have the hugest fucking crush on his best friend.

he can feel you stiffen up beside him. fuck, he’s just made this so awkward, hasn’t he?

but you answer anyway, “nothing, you’re perfect.”

reo pulls the hair away from your face, his hand resting on your cheeks, and how is it possible for you to still look this pretty after crying? he feels a certain protectiveness building inside of him, that your answer means something and he needs to do something about it or forever hold his peace.

“then choose me,” reo tells you, and the both of you are lying on the bed, staring at each other in disbelief. reo can’t believe that now he’s the closest he’s been to all he ever wanted. (you can’t believe that someone like reo would ever want someone like you.)

maybe it’s the way he’s trembling at the notion that you might reject him, or maybe it’s the way that he feels your lips are begging for attention, but he kisses you, hands gentle on your face, tongue gentle against yours. and you’re kissing back, you’re testing his patience and reo doesn’t know how long he can hold out.

“i’ve been- so- in love with you- for so fucking long,” he says in between kisses, making your heart flutter. “you have no idea.”

(he’s saying all this to you, and making you giddy and you feel like you’ve been so stupid all this time, constantly looking in all the wrong places when love has been by your side for seven whole years. seven years that you failed to see. seven years’ worth of time that you want to take back. starting now.)

reo’s kissing you and he doesn’t want to stop. you’re addictive, and god he hates that he has common sense in his head. he hates that he has to stop at one point because he’s not about to go too quick too soon.

he’s hovering over you, now, your bodies pressed together and you’re inviting him, your hands wrapped around his neck. he wants to live in your arms forever. fuck everything else, you come first. and shit he feels how much he wants you so he has to pull away, forces himself off and lays down beside you instead, the both of you lying with kiss-swollen lips.

seven years he’s waited; ever since you first had that crush on his best friend, ever since the first guy that broke your heart, ever since the day he met you and knew that there’s a chance something was there.

“starting tomorrow, i’m gonna make you love me,” he declares, still a little out of breath.

the both of you stare into each other’s eyes again, and you believe the conviction in his eyes. he’s not going to quit until he makes you his.

which is fine.

because you think you already are.

out of all the choices you’ve made regarding boys, you think you’re finally making the right one.

so you smile and give him one more kiss, slow and languid and everything he wants, “i think i already do, mikage reo.”

that’s the moment when reo realises he’s fucked, screwed in the best way possible because you’re about to take over his life—and somehow, he’d take you over anything else any day. he’ll give you everything of his, everything he has, everything he is.

he grins at you, “stupid, making me wait for so long. you’re fucking mine.”

and you nod. like you always have. like you always will be.