#oh the struggles of growing up in a poor household

[lowstakesvampires]

in which morten played club penguin as a ten year old

[hulloitsdani]

*slowly rises from my coffin*

So Alfonse and Kiran right?

I was talking about this game the other day to the poor yet willing ears of friends (a very common occurrence bless them) and I finally managed to articulate what I found compelling about their dynamic. And I want to share these ideas with you all, because if I don’t I will explode. You understand.

As a refresher to previous ramblings about this game, Fire Emblem Heroes’ consistent theme across its characters seems to be loneliness. Everyone is haunted by what a lack or loss of companionship threatens to do them. On top of this, based on the characterization we receive from side materials and the tiny glimpses we get in-game, I believe Kiran has the capacity to be the core of a lot of these themes. An isekai protagonist suffering from being isekaied would be a gold mine for this idea. I deeply enjoy further extrapolating their character and giving my pitch for what this goofy tactician could be like if they were allowed to be an actual character outside of a self insert.

With all that in mind— oh no Alfonse and Kiran’s loneliness latch onto each other like glue.

Alfonse’s loneliness is a culmination of how he was raised, but funnily enough, it’s not immediately clear that this is the case. It’s both a little baffling and borderline amusing to see how much the abandonment of Zacharias affected him in book 1. It reads as a bit romantically coded for a reason. Not hard to assume that Alfonse took it so hard because of some unresolved pinning. Which I’m not going to even remotely deny isn’t the case, but it is intriguingly not the full answer.

In book 3 we meet Alfonse and Sharena’s parents and come to the understanding that oh! Oh no! Their childhood was not good! Having two stable parents did not alleviate them from the themes of loneliness. Their childhood was a very isolating experience and smothered by the extreme expectations that defined that household. An idea which is only reinforced by book 4, where as child, Sharena was lonely enough to want to leave reality entirely and escape to the realm of dreams. And depending on your read of it, she did. Needless to say that these two grew up lonely with a capital L. This means that Zacharias was potentially one of their first and only friends. Period. That recontextualizes how hurt they were when one day he just vanished for no attainable reason. As one of their only sources of connection, that would be traumatizing.

Now Alfonse in particular is someone who, once he is attached, cares so so deeply and is completely ride or die. It’s as if all the love that had nowhere to go for years finally comes out all at once. And, surprisingly, he knows that. He knows because he tries really hard NOT to be. Being that emotionally driven and vulnerable is something he is expected to grow out of if he wants to succeed as a ruler. So he tries to temper it with extreme practicality. Big emphasis on tries. After the loss of Zacharias, he logics out that if he can’t stop these strong feelings for those he cares for and ending up profoundly hurt at the inevitable loss, then he’s going to remove the problem from board. Entirely. No more bonds of friendship. Shoo. Go away. The isolation from before was better than this. He could control that, at least.

Enter Kiran, who sees that and says, “aight bet.”

Despite Alfonse’s best efforts, they end up hitting it off and becoming friends. Just instantly click. Two halves of the same braincell. Commander Anna was initially worried about how standoffish they were, but her worries were clearly misplaced. Now she is left trying to figure out what the hell her tactician and right hand man are even talking about as she struggles to pinpoint when exactly she lost control of this meeting. And this becomes a delightfully common occurrence. Alfonse has fully failed his attempts to keep them at arms length and Kiran has succeeded in kicking his walls down. They are now both deeply attached.

But this means Alfonse has a new problem. He’s gotta navigate two conflicting and volatile emotions— feeling increasingly awful for incidentally forcing Kiran into their given circumstances but DESPERATELY wanting them to stay. And I could theoretically come up with a more eloquent way of putting this, but I described the situation to my friends as having the same energy of the “hey can I try rizzing you up?” bit. But instead it’s “hey can I convince you stay in Askr as the Order’s tactician?”

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE—”

I find that this wonderfully communicates how much he genuinely really likes them. It’s honestly very sweet and very clearly mutual.

This then brings me to the fan favorite voice line, in which Alfonse says, “Promise that you’ll never leave us… without warning me first.” The line delivery emphasizes the duality of the previously stated feelings he’s working from. Alfonse wants to be clingy so so bad, but he respects Kiran’s autonomy and is willing to cast his fears to the side for their well being. Just… warn him, please? If that’s going to be the case? (Which he’s desperately hoping it isn’t.)

There is a deep irony to this situation. He’s not too aware of it yet, but lucky for him, Kiran isn’t going anywhere! But unfortunately that isn’t as great as it sounds.

See, Kiran’s loneliness is a different demon. As briefly touched on before, Kiran is facing the natural mental and emotional consequences of being isekaied to a new alien world. Their life just got entirely reset and that’s not the purely fun escapism that you desperately want it to be for them. It turns out culture shock has some serious hands! Hell, it’s almost funny. There’s this twinge of dread whenever they mention the world they left behind. They’re from our modern day, sure, but… maybe it was bad for them? It’s odd to wish for a tragic backstory on a character, but it would mean coming to Askr was better for them. That no one would miss them and they don’t have anyone to miss.

But that is not the case.

Kiran had family. Kiran had a life. Kiran had goals and dreams they wanted to accomplish that are truly no longer possible. They cannot go home and they’ve been dropped into an active war zone. And the only way to survive is to partake.

That’s all pretty bad, right? Absolutely awful? But… somehow it hasn’t been. Sort of. Not fully. Of course some of it is, however, our other protagonists put massive effort to ensure that Kiran is as happy and comfortable as they can possibly manage. And then some! Commander Anna, even upon realizing that this supposed savior was just a scared civilian with no combat experience, gave them shelter, food, and a job. Instantly. Without question. She didn’t even know them! That’s not something they take for granted. Hell, if they think too hard about it, they might start crying. Because that’s genuinely so fucking nice! She took what should have been the worst day of their life and turned it into the start of something new.

And that’s just Anna. All of them did this! Even Alfonse, who despite his clear issues, made an active effort to ensure they were alright. It was not as almost aggressively friendly as Sharena or as surprisingly giving as Anna. No, it was a bit more subtle. He would observe, inadvertently find them struggling with something, and then offer his services. Even if it was for something Kiran might not have been bold enough to ask about. Because Kiran is not going to pull Anna away from her work to help them find a modern map in a library. That feels rude! Or at least intrusive! Instead they’re going to struggle in the corner until they figure out how Askr dates things. Or not apparently, because Alfonse spends a lot of time in the library and has noticed their visible distress. He comes in for the rescue and fails to suppress a smile at Kiran’s dumb “aw my hero!” pun.

You can begin to see why Kiran called bullshit on Alfonse’s no friends deal.

All of this has had a funny little consequence on our silly little summoner. Kiran deeply mourns the loss of their home. They might not show it, but they do. However, thanks to the massive support of their friends, they start making a life for themself here. A new home, with some of the nicest people they’ve ever met, in the most beautiful place they’ve ever been, and in a way that means the world to them.

A home that they are going to defend fiercely, because they know damn well that they don’t have it in them to start from scratch again.

No one embodies this desire more for them than Prince Alfonse. He becomes the emotional center of it. A home in Askr doesn’t exist without him in their life. So no, Kiran is not leaving. Kiran is dying in Askr— dying for HIM more often than not. When we look upon the breidablik Líf carries, we stare in quiet horrified knowing. Alfonse did not active the blood rite. It was not his blood spilled on the altar. It was not his heart beating until no one was left. It was theirs. They couldn’t do it again. Kiran took the only out. And when Líf stares at the summoner with mourning and vitriol, we know why.

Clearly, the way their loneliness comes together can and has been played for emotionally devastating consequences. This intimate relationship is born from this deeply personal and less than perfect part of themselves. Yet, somehow, we get to see the version of this relationship that prevails against all odds. Where they inspire each other to be better and lessen the burden of the loneliness that threatens to undo them. And damnit that gets me.

TLDR; they should explore each other’s bodies sometime and be locked in the world’s slowest slow burn. Thank you and good night!

[changingplumbob]

Foster Household: Chapter 9, Part 5

CW: Mental Health Struggles - Guide to content warnings

Carson got home late from prom so treated himself to a sleep in. Before he got in to the swing of the day he decided to give downstairs an extra vacuum. There was no guarantee that Ariadne would come visit, or that she would come inside the house if she came over, but it was the safest thing to do. If he didn’t she might make a social bunny post about how he lived in a tip that he’d never live down. No, surely she wouldn’t? Best be safe though.

After polishing off breakfast he decided to give Onyx a call, they were normally up by now practicing cheer or playing with their horse.

Onyx: Sup mate

Carson: Hey! Remind me, did we have homework for science?

Onyx: A bit, stuff from the textbook. Shouldn’t take you long though, it’s multi choice with like one proper written question

Carson: Okay so I should be able to do that tonight

Onyx: Why? You got plans for the day

Carson: I might... I’ll call you later

Onyx: No problem, I'm homebound all day

Hanging up he knew there was no more avoiding. He sent Ariadne a message. She had accepted his social bunny request, he wouldn't have sent it if she hadn't suggested it herself though. He didn't want to come on too strong.

Her texts indicated she’d love to come check out the beaches and Carson excitedly got in his swimwear. He looked in his mirror before heading downstairs and decided to throw a tank shirt on as well. He had some confidence but not enough to quite go shirtless with the girl he was crushing on. Ariadne arrived just before lunch ready to hit the beaches.

Ariadne: You okay?

Carson: Yeah, just wondering which direction to head

Harvey: Ariadne would you like to see some of our family photos while you’re here

Carson: No dad, we’re leaving!

Ariadne giggled as Carson made a beeline for the backdoor.

Outside they had good weather, Carson was happy the rain had stayed away for the day.

Ariadne: So...

Carson: So...

Ariadne: Uh... is there like a spot you like most

Carson: It’s all pretty nice but if we head down this hill there’s a pretty good clean bit

Ariadne: *nervously* After you

As they walked Carson tried to think of something to say but all he could think was that Ariadne looked really cute.

Ariadne: Have you always lived here then

Carson: Oh no. I was born in Willow Creek actually. After my mum had me she decided to get a full time artist job and that gave us enough to move here. My dad... well he earns good money but it’s just a fishing gig

Ariadne: You forget, my dads may be loaded but I didn’t grow up with much. At least your dad has a job, you can be proud of that

Carson: You are too sweet

Ariadne: *blushes* Shut up

Carson: Shall we go swimming then

Ariadne: I don’t know. Are there sharks?

Carson: Sometimes but not usually close to the shore. If any come up we can just punch them on the nose

Ariadne: *giggling* That is not a thing. The poor sharks might just want friends

Carson: Fine, any come up and I’ll hug them while you swim away. Come on

Carson grabbed her hands to lead her to the water, hoping they weren’t as sweaty as they seemed. She smiled and he hoped he’d done the right thing. Once they were in the water he let go so they could swim, happy he’d pushed himself to try that.

In the water they mucked around, splashing each other and swimming in circles. They shared tales of their school teachers and the various gossip around sims they both knew. Time carried on and Carson knew he should end it, he had scouts, but surely the troop could manage without him for an afternoon. Unless of course they were hit by a meteor. But if that was going to happen then it was good he wasn’t there or he’d die to.

Ariadne: Are you sure those glasses are fine for in the water

Carson: Yeah they’ve got this coating that bounces the water right off. I can see how good you look, don’t worry *blows kiss*

Ariadne laughed and Carson hoped it was with happiness rather than her thinking he was embarrassing himself. She sighed wistfully and turned to float on her back for a while.

Ariadne: I suppose I won’t see much of you at school this week

Carson: I mean... I know we’re in different years but I’ll still be around. If you want to see me that is. Can we go to the shore for a minute, I want to give you something before you have to go home

Ariadne: Can I have a hint

Carson: Just open it and see

Ariadne: It’s a shark isn’t it

Carson: *laughs* Just open the box

Inside the box was a Tulip Shell that Carson had found the past week and he was happy to see Ariadne smile at the sight of it.

Carson: It’s the most flawless one I’ve found. Normally they get chipped on like diving gear and stuff

Ariadne: It’s lovely. Are you sure you want to give it to me?

Carson: It should be with someone just as pretty

Ariadne: *blushing* Thanks. Oh shoot the time, I better get back home

Carson: Wait, um... selfie first?

Ariadne: *laughing* Twist my arm

Carson lifted up his phone for the shot, unable to ignore the tightening in his chest when Ariadne snaked her arm around him to get in the picture properly. After she left he sat on the beach for a while, closing his eyes and playing the time back in his mind.

Previous ... Next

[pandanscafanfiction]

A few of my own personal Garreth headcanons that no one asked for 😌❤️🦁

Did I factcheck anything related to Garreth before posting this? Hell no. All these live in my head illegally and rent-free regardless of canon.

He's a middle child! Of a household containing at least four other children, but my personal thought is five to six.

It's easy to get lost in the crowd at his house while growing up. Or at least that's how he felt. His love for potions actually started out as a begrudging last-ditch effort to garner his parents' attention. When the first miscreation worked, he ran with it. It was hard to ignore a kid who seemed to always create an explosion by dashing whatever he could into a cauldron.

This also bleeds into his school life. At school he struggled to find "individuality" in his fellow students'/teachers' eyes because "Oh look! Another weasley. Same shit, different face".

But the one time he actually (miraculously) made something successful, it was the first time he'd ever felt like he was something. That's when he really began actively trying to be good at it.

He's actually colorblind. It's hard for him to discern if his mixtures have turned into the appropriate colors or not, which is the leading cause of over 80% of brew failures and subsequential explosions.

But he doesn't tell anyone because he already gets enough kids making fun of him for his red hair, freckles, and hand-me-downs. He doesn't need another reason for them to whisper and giggle.

He writes all of his trials, errors, and experimentation ideas inside of a leatherbound notebook that his Aunt Matilda gave to him on Christmas one year

During his free periods he's always outside in the woods, gathering ingredients. Or reading potion books.

He loves Herbology (because it goes hand in hand with potion-making, after all), but Herbology does not love him. The boy can't keep a plant alive to save his life- hence the gathering.

Doesn't bend pages and sees no point in purchasing bookmarks. Marks all his places in books with whatever wildflower or pretty leaf is growing bearby. Forgets to take them out after he's done, too. If you happen to borrow a book from him and flip through the pages they'll fall out like confetti.

A master of the sneak. He'd actually be in detention far more than Sebastian of he wasn't. Owes everything he knows in that regard to his oldest brother (he taught him how to get the cookies off the top of the fridge without so much as creaking a floorboard- and he even has to walk past his parents' bedroom to get there)

He's a morning person. First to rise, and he's up before even the sun is. But he's awful at staying up late. He always tries his best but the poor thing is yawning and dozing off in the Common Room by seven.

Heavy sleeper. Have to be, in such a noisy house.

He doesn't snore, but he does hog all the blankets. Poor baby gets cold easy.

And if he's sleeping next to someone he's the biggest cuddle monster to ever live. Beware!!!! Not nessassarily intentionally, but it always ends up with him hugging you like an octopus all the same.

Left handed

A flirt. Hella flirt. He isn't overtly loud about it like Sebastian is, but that doesn't mean he isn't always doing it. He's cheesy af. Aaaallllll the terrible pickup lines and will not hesitate to make himself look silly in front of others just to make you laugh or put a smile on your face

That's all for now but I'll add more whenever they pop into my head 😌

[micharedmc]

Molly Jericho Headcanons/Lore bits

(Feel free to ask about anything about her outside of this) -Molly is a medic more than she is an officer. She'd much rather be helping heal someone than in direct action, like alongside Chris or Jill, or even Leon. -Became a Medic at 19 alongside Rebecca Chambers (19 years old in RE1-RE2), who she is very close to throughout the Resident Evil franchise -Was in Raccoon City in RE2 (just found out happens 2 months later from RE0-1) trying to find the nest. She first meets Leon here but never came across Claire. Escaped the city before Leon, Claire and Sherry did with a bunch of documents she went to the Nest for (I'll develop this point at a later date, could be for research on Umbrella's T-Virus, idk)

-Molly had very absent parents. Grew up in a large, poor family and just faded into the background as a Middle child. Took care of her little siblings when her parents and older siblings started disappearing one by one. -Despite growing up without much, struggling with multiple jobs to care for her family when their parents and older siblings were gone, she managed to get her degrees to become a Medic on a Scholarship due to her high grades. It was hard for her to study in the conditions of her household but she got what she needed and was excited to be able to go through with her dream of having a job in healthcare without having to worry much about finances. -Molly's shy, scaredy-cat (I won't say coward, she's a precious baby) demeanour is most likely a result of her parents and some of her older siblings treatment of her (only one older sibling who left the household entirely was good). If they didn't ignore her entirely, they saw her as an annoying inconvenience when she looked for affection or help caring for her little siblings. Everyone but the youngest children in her family were abused in multiple ways, so she came out not mentally well. -Uses a majority of her salary on clothes and toys for her little siblings who, when she left, ended up in her good older brother's care. Doesn't talk to her other family members, most of them disappeared anyway which did worry her somewhat, but those who are still around call and are horrible and she gets too nervous and scared to hang up on them, even when they're yelling. She just freezes. -Was glad to get combat and gun training in the S.T.A.R.S team but honestly would prefer to leave combat to members like Chris and Jill. She admires how brave they are and gets along well with them too, though Chris believes she could try to be braver considering when she's working with them, she has to be an officer, not just the sweetheart medic. -Considering RE5 is 10 years later from RE1, Molly is 29 in the events of all that happens in 5. Is actually a bit braver with how much time passes, but the PTSD never does really fade. -Absolutely despises Wesker and Ivory. Ivory is to Molly what Wesker is to Chris, and vice versa.

-It is absolutely canon that Ivory makes fun of Molly by calling her Molly-Dolly. It started from a joke phrase, much like Wesker saying "Oh little fishy, come see my hook" for Chris, but Ivory stuck with it because she finds Molly too fun to mess with. -She looks like she wouldn't, but she actually does like drinking. Only likes drinking cider though, other alcoholic drinks taste, in her drunken words, 'like piss mixed with rubbing alcohol'. (Honestly, this is what I thought the first time I tasted Single Malt Whiskey). Her drinking habit is probably one of the things she and Leon bond over. These two will probably end up doing karaoke at the end of the night drunk off of their asses.

-Favourite song is 'I Will Survive' by Gloria Gaynor (Ironic huh) -Would probably try to befriend Mr.X if she could. Kinda looks like her big brother, if you take away the wrinkled, gray skin. Also she fumbled with her gun so bad seeing X that she accidentally shot off his fedora and despite nearly peeing her pants when he charged faster because of it, she later has a laugh with Leon when she thinks about how silly it is that he only charged when she messed with his hat. Like seriously, bro gets so mad if you shoot his fedora off.

-Likes collecting beanie babies. She has a rainbow one she loves. Uhhhh can't think of anymore rn but like I said, feel free to ask some stuff? If you want? Realised I don't think I did one of these for Ivory so i'll have to do so later.

[taintedbloom]

Archibald Devereaux prided himself on his career choice, plain and simple. It took insurmountable stamina and concealed emotions to accomplish stealing lives for a hefty paycheck, not that he ever struggled with placing his feelings aside while pulling the trigger. Archie knew nothing of normal, spending such a privileged childhood with that golden spoon stuck between his lips, however nothing provided the evidence more clearly than the nightmare he called his mother. Amelia, conniving Amelia, manipulative matriarch causing terror in the Devereaux household. If pitting her two sons against each other weren't enough, Archie was accustomed to the daily verbal belittling insults she threw in his direction that he noticed at an early age wasn't pointed at the golden child Grayson.

Therefore, Archie more or less parted ways from the family to concentrate on perfecting his skillset and making a name for himself that he craved would be whispered through the crime world. First, it was the odd job, running errands and worthless interrogations with the infancy of his training, but nothing contained his growing bloodlust. Notoriety came the hired contracts which led to a steady cash flow and a taste of brutality. Archie's kills ranged from clean and precise to complete massacre. The line of work itself entailed no mercy, no hesitation, no mistakes, and he couldn't recall making a single one in the span of his years.

Until the Morris family, that is. That job began easy enough, researching and scoping the house, surveying the target's movements as he traveled unaware from his work back to the sanctuary he was supposed to feel safest in, never realizing his mistakes were about to catch up with him. Archibald's carelessness caused the assassin to enter the home without double checking the status of other occupants. He eliminated the intended target, yes, but the wife saw his face and she...well, she had to go. And then Cora happened. He found her hidden away in a closet, terrified, confused, something within him sparked that night. Fatherhood, Archie knew he had to have it and her. Yet, this was not the end of the story.

Adopting his daughter sent Archie on a vicious spiral known only as obsession. The research into Cora's birth parents cultivated his discovery of Kaia Morris. Resilient Kaia, beautiful Kaia, unrelenting in a search for her missing niece, which made any unhealthy stalking on his part that much simpler when he finally made the move to abduct the woman he hand-picked to become Cora's mother. How heartless, truly, dangling his little girl in front of her poor auntie's face as motivation. The first few days of her captivity aren't what is considered smooth sailing, oh no, he could feel the hatred emanating from Kaia. Understandable, maybe, if not for the fact she wasn't showing her gratitude being gifted a reunion with her sister's child.

Archie awoke with the sunrise, mostly pulled from his bed by an energetic five year old Cora clamoring for her breakfast and abiding the request as he sleepily made his way down the stairs after making note of the silence from Kaia's bedroom door as he passed it. He whipped up the girl's favorite breakfast food, waffles with extra sprinkles before setting her in front of the tv for cartoons and working on what the adults of the house would be eating. About an hour passed until he heard footsteps from upstairs just as he was setting Kaia's plate at the ornate dining room table reserved for formal dinner parties. Archie slid into his seat as he spotted Kaia herself, his piercing gaze shamelessly roaming her form before landing on the woman's face. "Morning, sleepy head." Lifting the glass of orange juice to his lips and politely sipping, he grinned. "I do hope you're hungry, baby, I slaved over the stove and everything." The man proceeded to point his fork at the chair opposite him, "Sit. I must insist."

@kaiawrvtes

[acosmicdisappointment]

— mallory jade.

is that RENEÉ RAPP? oh, no, that’s MALLORY JADE WATSON, a TWENTY-FIVE year old SINGER/FORMER CHILD ACTRESS (GONE WILD) who uses SHE/HER pronouns. they currently live in VALPARAÍSO, and the character they identify with most is SANTANA LOPEZ FROM GLEE. hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas!

BASICS.

FULL NAME. mallory jade watson NICKNAME(S). mallory jade (NEVER JUST JADE), mallory, mally, mal AGE/BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC. 25 / june 10th / gemini SEXUALITY. chaotic lesbian BIRTHPLACE. los angeles, california HEIGHT. 5'7" EYE COLOR. blue ILLNESSES/CONDITIONS. a chaotic and mean lesbian TATTOOS/PIERCINGS/SCARS. standard lobe and upper lobe piercings, double helix, has a little tramp stamp, a cheeky tattoo, a scar on both knees, right shin, and left elbow FC. reneé rapp

PERSONALITY.

blunt headstrong fiercly loyal and supportive overconfident judgmental bitchy

HER-STORY.

— Born into a family with a deep-rooted history in the industry (ehem nepo baby), Mallory was destined for stardom. With her cherubic face and natural talent, she quickly became a household name, starring in hit TV shows and movies. She was known as ‘Jade Watson’ back then (Lindsay Lohan, Miley Cyrus and Amanda Bynes filmography claim). — However, as Mallory transitioned into her teenage years, the pressures of fame began to take their toll. Growing up in the spotlight, Mallory struggled to navigate the complexities of adolescence under the watchful eyes of the public. — She felt like she couldn’t breathe with all the pressure of being a celebrity. Mallory couldn’t fully express her true self, as she was boxed in a stereotype of being the 'good girl’. — At 18, Mallory started to rebel against the image that had been carefully crafted for her, yearning for the freedom to explore her own identity. Inspired by the rebellious characters she portrayed on screen, Mallory began to embrace a more daring persona thus choosing to go by Mallory instead of Jade.* (Jade is a good luck stone while the name Mallory meant 'unlucky’; the irony really) — Somewhere in the middle of all that, she fell in love with her female co-star and best friend. It was sort of a chemistry off the charts kind of thing. I’m talking about them going out together, posting cutesy things and then people shipping them. Mal kinda misread all that and fell in love.  — I’m talking down bad, like she wrote a song about them. Finally, she gathered the courage to confess, hoping her love would be reciprocated and then this girl was like ‘whaaaat?’ and maybe laughed at her face. So yeah, poor baby girl was heartbroken has never been the same. — This was when Mallory decided to leave behind acting and just focus on making music (Reneé Rapp, Chappell Roan, and Miley Cyrus discography). She became a little reckless from the heartbreak and thus began the string of multiple scandals. — She had a string of short-lived, intense relationships. Mallory was a serial ghoster, always running away from any hint of commitment in fear of what happened before. She would ignore her own feelings, burying them beneath layers of bravado and sass. — She thrived on drama and excitement, always seeking out the next big thrill. Mallory was fiercely independent and unapologetically herself. She refused to be boxed in by society’s expectations, instead forging her own path, consequences be damned. — Her parents decided that it was best if she stayed away from the spotlight and lay low, making her move to Valparaíso while they try and clean up her mess. And there she was living her most unapologetic life in the region.

EXTRAS.

to read to see to listen

HEADCANONS.

— certified girl kisser™ — would be the type to randomly ask "do you wanna make out?" or "are we about to kiss right now?" (will keep you guessing if she's serious or not) — had her first (and last) boyfriend at the age of 13, immediately knew boys didn't do it for her — a MASSIVE flirt and would call everyone a pet name (she has a hard time remembering names so this is easier) — is a serial GHOSTER and absolutely doesn't want to commit — can't cook for shit (will always eat you out) — always gets hurt on her birthday (it's a reneé rapp canon as well) — her facial expressions are enough to tell you how she's feeling

WANTED CONNECTIONS/PLOTS.

going ghost! — what's more awkward than seeing someone you pulled a vanishing act on fun silly little girl time — friends she can just let loose with i'm your biggest fan — someone who remembers her as a child actress and is a fan of her work (both now and then) more tbd! my dm's open if you wanna plot!

[j9-learns]

specialness is not earned from having something ("If only I had"), being born with something ("If only I was born with" or " I wasn't born with") or from having someone tell you that you're special. If in one day someone gave you everything in the world, people treat you well, but we are still the same person who kept making mistakes, romanticizing this fault, thinking we're hopeless, and running away. I think we will have a hard time believing we deserve it. Hence, you need to prove it to yourself that you derserve it. How? by getting out of your head and actually doing it. You earn it from proving yourself that you can, not from people. After overcoming whatever personal struggles that you have, and believing that you can overcome it all over again (" I did this before, I can do it again"). the experiences make you mature and confident. It's easier to pat yourself when you done it. You have proved to yourself what your old self disagrees with. That's a breakthrough. We think that specialness had something to do with status/rankings/favor, but that's just a by product of it. Something we think we need to get in order to have a place to belong or accepted, but It's not the very thing that makes them special. Rather, what makes people special is that they all have something that only their unique background, choices and circumstances can bring into this world, and they had the potential to grow and overcome their trials to be something greater than what they inially thought they would be. We will never ran out of people to help and be of service to, of people who need to be loved/inspired so we will always need each other and their natural gifts. What they had to do is to realize this and take action.

Other people might have better direction from their parents as to why they should do something. It's possible that we have one too, but it comes from being COMPARED to others. "The other kids are doing this, you should do it to", which is actually a poor reason as to why kids should be convinced to do it. It's possible that whatever action that is, was already practiced in other people's household/culture, but not ours. So to be compared by our own parents and it spreading through friends or relatives ("oh don't mind my child, my child is just like that or, insert few adjectives here")", we grow to be more aware/ashamed of our own differences. Repeat it enough, and we might think ("Are we faulty? hopeless? Why don't I get it? How do they do it? What am I missing?"). Every stage and standards out there has unseen routine that other kids are used to that makes them natural at what they do but not for us. We might have been told to do something or be like something, but we were never told how/guided. And since we were misunderstood, with no right words to convey perhaps we don't know what word or we are afraid of judgement. We keep to ourselves with no way of expressing, Until we grew with our self-confirmation bias that there's something wrong with us, there's no other way to deal than to embrace it ("So what if I am?, I don't care what you think since I already know"). With that clouded thinking, it's easy to victimized ourself and use these "faults" as excuses. Maybe we got more sensitive to shame because we never get to clear up our assumptions too. We start to think our feelings as our truth. Like if as kids, if we were embarrassed because of other people's laughter, we assume that people are laughing at us and our "mistake", when in reality, people are laughing because we were just cute as kids. This brings me to:

get rid of assumptions. I used to think that my parents don't love me until I opened it to them on why I feel that way. By challenging my assumptions and being open to people about it, I was able to know the perspective of others people more. Truth is we don't know everything, if we tried to live like we know the why other people do the thing they do, we just risk getting stuck on a loop of thoughts that is possibly false in the first place, like a lie that we tell ourselves over and over. That can become a sabotage to us. There's a thing called self-confirmation bias. If we think people don't love us, we find ways/proof to confirm that they don't love us. With that thinking, we might think that nobody will ever love us. These thoughts we have will eventually affect our actions and shows in public. Personally, I think that's why people see fours as dramatic, we mope over something that others don't agree with. Like if these said people love you for real, but you convinced yourself that they don't (stubborness). However, you can turn this self-confirmation bias into your favor. I will use my experience as an example. I have hearing loss, I can't hear well at times so it gets tiring to catch up with what people say. It's also hard to follow their jokes and I had to pretend that I understand them. It's easy for me to withdraw and say: "Why should I bother trying to listen, I'm just being annoying to other people by asking them to repeat themselves a lot of times". I used to think this way, until I learned that I can think it this way: "I know that there are people out there who's willing to help me instead of getting annoyed at me. I will do my best to listen with the captioning tools I have and trust on other people's goodwill". By doing this, I was able to become more confident in approaching people for help, instead of being scared. I was able to find proof that people do want to help me. This is why thankfulness and gratitude is powerful, we find the good things easier. It doesn't have new things, it can be things that we have now/are used to everyday. With that said, assumptions or attempts to know what people think should be caught (I'm doubting, "I think he hates me"), challenged (is this real), cleared (I should go ask/seek for answers). Assumptions are not instantly true. When we badly assume others, we also make them feel misunderstood.

develop self-love. If people hate themselves, they will always be at war with themselves. Love allows you to be humble with yourself, to know that you deserve a second chance to make things right, to move on from things you can't control. I used to do something bad to myself, but I learned to talk to myself that I should not do it and I deserve love. It may feel cringey or unnatural, but you don't have to say it to yourself all the time. You just have to catch yourself from your bad habit of self-sabotage. Speaking of catching ourselves and our thoughts,

turn your envy into admiration. "I admire", not " I envy/ I wish". When we envy others, we see them as rivals/someone who need to overcome. On the other side, when we admire someone, we see them as inspirations and friends who we can seek for advice. I think it's amazing to have a social circle of amazing people. It does feel scary to get closer and ask for tips, but both of you may appreciate it. I remember someone getting envious of their friends making a lot of riches, but looking on the good side, he had connection to these people to seek advice from which others don't. If we envy, and take pride, we miss genuine opportunities.

develop routine. I used to think that routine is strict and limits freedom. I was wrong. Routine is not fixed schedule. It's continuously evolves with you. It's a mix of exploring, tweaking and personalizing until it fits your needs and goals. On top of that, habits are amazing in a sense that you don't have to think about it because it became our second nature. When you get your habits right, time becomes your ally.

[the-tickly-faerie]

Tickle crabs!

This story is based off of an episode of bluey this was in my docs and I forgot about it so hopefully its good!! (I think this is one of my only ler!tommy fics)

It was a normal day in the sbi household. Until a young Wilbur and Tommy ran to Phil with a mischievous grin. "DAD," Wilbur yelled. "What do you two gremlins want?" Phil replied with an exacerbated sigh. 'These kids are too fucking hyper. How do they have the energy, did I give them candy or something? ' Phil thought.

"Can we play tickle crabs!" Tommy excitedlyask, with very good puppy eyes. The older blonde's eye widened. Nop, nuh uh tickle crabs was not on his list of things to play today. The game was so embarrassing and long. The boys just chased him trying to tickle him, all day, it sucked.

"Nah mate, not happening." Phil said. "Whyyyyy" Wilbur dramatically sighed, while stomping his foot and throwing his head in the air. "Because you too just tickle me!" Phil argued back.The boy giggled and replied at the same time surprisingly,'that's the game dad, please?" They knew they weren't gonna play like this so they brought out the big guns(ya call it manipulation but hey they're kids)start to fake cry. Saying stuff like "you don't love us" and "I thought you loved us".

It was actually impressive and Phil was surprised and a little concerned. Reluctantly, Phil decided to indulge the boys. "Fineeee, but only for a little bit!" The boys cheered, and Phil just smiled. He loved their giggles and smiles. So they started to play.

"Ah what a lovely day to be at the beach. I can't wait to lie down under the sand," Phil said dramatically, while putting a bath towel on the ground. "Oh wait! I leave something in the car. Better go get it" phil then leaves the room. 

The boys hearing this start to move under the blanket,Phil laid down. They were giggling as Phil returned. "Ah no, it looks like it's going to rain. Whelp better go home" he grabbed a blanket with the boys under it. Phil is surprisingly strong but he was struggling to carry the boys.

Phil walked to the living room floor and dropped(gently) the blanket, with the boys. "Might as well rest on the couch a bit," Phil says and falls on the couch and closes his eyes. 

The boys,giggle, get out from underneath the blanket and make their way to their dad. When they reach him,of course, they start tickling his belly. "Tickle tickle tickle," both boys say. Phil starts laughing and bolts up and runs from the demon children. That's how it was for the next 30 minutes. The two kids chasing their poor father around and tickling him, and their dad trying to hide from them. 

Then out of the blue, the boy disappeared. Now knowing his children, Phil was immediately on guard. His boys could be sneaky. But now he has to focus on making lunch cause his growing boys need food. So unfortunately, his boys have the upper hand. 

He starts making some mac and cheese. As he continued he didn't hear anything then as he's mixing in the butter and milk, he hears it. The sound of little giggles and the sound of feet sneaking closer. 

"Hey I know you guys are near," Phil says over his shoulder while stirring the mac and cheese. The young boys just giggle.  

"Tickle tickle tickle," both boys giggle while getting close and wiggling their fingers. 

"WAIT WAIT WAIT," Phil yells in a very clear dad voice. This causes the boys to stop right in their tracks. 

"What dad," Wilbur asks. Titling his head.

"Yeah what dad? We want to continue to play?" Tommy asks with a little bit of an attitude. 

"Because I'm near a hot oven and lunch is going to be ready soon," Phil said looking at both boys. 

"Oh yeah that could have been dangerous," Wilbur replied a bit embarrassed. 

"I'm hungry dad!" Tommy just yelled. Both Wilbur and Phil both winced at the volume. Wilbur just shushed and giggled at tommy.

After a couple minutes of talking between the 3 the mac and cheese was done. They all ate, Phil had to stop a food fight, a usual at mealtime. Phil knowing his boys, they would probably forget about tickle crabs, or at least he hoped they would. 

Wilbur jumped up after eating and said, "Tommy, let's go play neighbors!" 

"Yeah come on wilby!" Tommy yelled again and jumped off his chair, and raced to the play room, wilbur on his trail.

Phil just smiles picking up their dishes. He was just happy to not play tickle crabs and to hear his boys playing in the other room. 

[pianocat939]

Here’s one. Maybe Yandere Pumpkin cookie following MC around the bile trick or treating before grabbing them and taking them away before they can get home

HELL YEAH FINALLY A REQUEST FOR BEST GIRL HAS COME (sorry I just love Pumpkin Pie so much)

Credits to Andrew Gold for the song “Spooky Scary Skeletons”. It is forever a Halloween classic.

Tw: Fear from Paranoia, Kidnapping, Implied stalking, MC gets bounded by tape at some point.

Shivers Down Your Spine

The night is young, and the children and parents are still outside participating in the festivities. They run around in their costumes, screaming, "Trick or treat" every chance they get.

A group of friends walks among the streets, holding bags with some candy filled in them. They chat excitedly, conversing in matters they would only understand.

The wind howls, flipping over some hats. A feminine voice giggles, seemingly close but so far away from the group. Perhaps it's from one of the children.

"Did you guys hear that voice? Or am I hearing things?" One of the members of the group calls out, gripping the ends of their costume.

"Nope. Maybe it's from one of the residents around here. You shouldn't worry about it Y/n Cookie, I'm sure it's nothing." Another answers, looking through their sweets bag. They snatch one, unwrapping the plastic and chewing the sweet.

Y/n Cookie doesn't continue the conversation. Instead, they focus on trick or treating, trying not to pay attention to their growing fear.

As they continue on, the giggles repeat, and occassionally singing, "Spooky scary skeletos send shivers down our spine." Terror pounds in Y/n Cookie's heart, their breathing unsteady.

The same response is given no matter how many times they ask the others whether they can hear anything. It makes the fear grow, clouding their mind.

Finally, the group finishes their route, and the friends say goodbye, all going their separate ways. Y/n Cookie decides to walk home, since their house not too far.

As they travel, they hear the sound of pebbles scraping against the path. They look behind them, only to see that no one is there. Paranoid, they tread swiftly, hoping they arrive home soon.

After a few blocks their front door greets them, comforting their ever growing fear.

While they unlock the door a beast looms over them, creating a monstrous shadow. In a effortless swing it knocks the poor cookie out. Their body is dragged away and thrown into the beast's gigantic arms, carried away.

————————————————

On a vintage record player "Spooky Scary Skeletons" plays, the music disrupting the quiet household. In a room deep inside the gothic mansion, is an orange and black-themed cookie, drinking tea in a well manner. She hums, her tired eyes glancing lovingly at the cookie across from her.

"Sweetie, wake up~ You're going to miss tea time." They don't answer, still knocked out from the swing earlier.

She nudges them impatiently, eager to speak to them. "Come on, open your lovely eyes for me."

Slowly they lift their heavy eyelids, the harsh light invading their fragile eyes. They notice they aren't in their house, or anywhere familiar. Frightened, they start to thrash in their chair, attempting to break the binds that cover their body and mouth.

"Oh Y/n Cookie, don't struggle! You might fall over and get a concussion!" Pumpkin Pie stands up and rushes over to them worriedly, holding down their shoulders.

Pompon squeaks, its small body wiggling on the tabletop. "Hey, hey, you're ok. It's just me and Pompon." Pumpkin Pie wraps her arms around their waist, nuzzling into them.

Once they've calmed down enough she sits back down, returning to her now lukewarm tea. She unexpectedly laughs, hand covering her mouth. "Oh I'm so excited for what's going to come next! I've been watching you for so long, I was getting tired."

Pompon sits on Y/n Cookie's lap, chirping as it munches on the biscuits (Americans not the bread, I mean crackers). It chuckles at their horrified expression.

"You know, Pompon loves your scared expressions, almost as much as I do! I love them so much, you're like a scared little cat~" She takes a sip of her tea, staring into the deep brown liquid. "I've watched you for a year now, and today is the anniversary."

She takes the teapot, pouring a drink into another teacup. She slides it over to Y/n Cookie, smiling with madness. "Here have some tea, I brewed it to a flavour you love."

They awkwardly stare at the cup, confused on what they should do.

"Oh silly me! Your mouth is taped! Oh well, you can drink this after you adjust to your new home...Our home."

The record continues to play, the lyrics bouncing off the walls; "We're sorry skeletons, you're so misunderstood."

————————————————

I love my best girl, her aestheic is just perfect. I’m planning to get another request done today so hope this keeps you entertained while I do so.

- Celina

[daughters-of-liberty]

I see where you're coming from, but let me lay out my problems with people in my family, using your tags as a good layout, lest I go into a tirade...again.

First off, what makes you think I hold myself to a lower standard than those around me? On the contrary, I hold myself to the highest standard, while everyone around me routinely let's me down and gets away with it scott-free. But sometimes the standards are totally achievable and they still wildly disappoint me. For example, I would never, say, ruin my granddaughter's birthday consistently, year after year and make it about me, where I wanted to eat, what I thought would be the best gifts to get her, not about what she wants. I would never do that. My grandmother always did, though. And damn you if you brought this up to her! She'd make an even bigger scene! So, no, I am not harder on my elders than I am on myself...and they're still disappointing.

See, in my family, if I try to communicate my hurt feelings, they'll tell me "you're being overly emotional" or "you need to grow a sense of humor!" But when you hurt their feelings? Oh, boy...you might as well have just violated the Geneva Conventions. Yes, even if it was unintentional.

I'll give another example here, my mother is otherwise pretty great, but she had this nasty habit of calling me a twig, because I was the skinniest in my family for a loooong time, whereas she had gained weight after having me and constantly struggled with losing that weight and had poor self image issues ever afterwards because of it; she routinely referred to herself as a beached whale.

One night, we were making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and she asked to grab the peanut butter from the pantry for her. I asked if she wanted smooth or chunky, "chunky" she said. Now, we always bought Skippy brand peanut butter and their chunky PB is called "Superchunk". Instantly, I started singing "superchunk" to the tune of "Superfreak", which is a song about a girl. "She's a super chunk, super chunk, she's super chunky." And my mom started inexplicably crying and locked herself in the bedroom for the rest of the night. I was at a loss, my dad (who was also overweight) was totally confused, and I didn't know what I did wrong. I should mention I was 12 at the time and just singing a silly song, something that was a normal form of humor in my household growing up.

Later my dad told me it the reason why mom wigged out over my impromptu song. I felt bad. But also felt like...idk, she kinda overreacted? And every person I've told this story to has agreed with me, including my therapist, who is very good at seeing things from other people's points of view.

So there's one story of how I hurt someone's feelings in my family, completely accidentally. I won't begin to list all the times I've had my feelings hurt, sometimes intentionally, with the aim of giving me "a thicker skin". God, I would LOVE to communicate my feelings without being told I'm too emotional or a crazy bitch. I would kill for that.

See, that's the problem, here. This is how I go through life. This how I've gone through life since my earliest memories. I've constantly walked on eggshells to make others happy. And the few times I thoughtlessly attempt to make jokes or be silly, like the above situation, I end up hurting someone. I'm so sick and tired of people telling me to think about others. Again, what makes people think I don't do that?

I give myself literal migraines and stomach cramps trying to calculate what I say and how I say it are going to affect the people around me. And then, the people around me wonder why I'm so quiet all the time. 🤦‍♀️

And this isn't your fault; you're a random person on the internet. You don't know me. You might even be a bot! I don't know!

But the fact that my family, the people who "know me best", assume I'm careless in my interactions with them when, at every conversation growing up, I felt like like I was in a scene of Game of Thrones, particularly, any scenes between Sansa and Cersei. I didn't even know what Game of Thrones was at the time! But that's how it felt; one misstep and I was done for. But they could blatantly insult me to my face and I'd have to say "thank you for your generosity".

That's the saddest part: they don't know that they're abusive. Because, again, I try to communicate my feelings and I'm the bad guy. But also because the one trait that my mother, my father, my grandparents on both sides, and my MIL all have in common is: "I'm. Always. Right."

There is no reasoning with them. There is no telling them what you need to change.

Indeed, the few family members I've gone no contact with always tried to tell me "I can't guess what's wrong, you need to tell me". I did. They just weren't listening. "I can't fix it if I don't know it's broken."

Well, you should've known it was broken from the last, I don't know, DOZEN times we've had a fight about something and I say "you'll never change," because you never do? I know it's ignorance, but I just can't tell if it's willful or not.

I'll finish this with a question for you:

Is that good enough for you? Is that actually okay?

Because, let me tell you, as the ONLY person in my life who is a) going to therapy actively, b) managing without medication, and c) managing without illicit drugs or alcohol, I gotta say, it gets old when people tell me I'm not working hard enough on my mental health issues when they're not even working on theirs, period. Add being pregnant on top of that, and yeah... I'm bout damn ready to block all of them.

Again, I'm the bad guy for not changing fast enough when they're not even changing. I'm the bad guy for setting up healthy boundaries. I'm the bad guy for being firm in protecting my feelings. I'm the bad guy for taking breaks from certain people in my life who are exhausting for me to be around when I'm not pregnant. I'm the bad guy for taking my health into my own hands. I'm the bad guy for debating family in regards to MY birth plan.

My family can use and abuse me until the cows come home, but I'll be damned if they treat my children the way I was treated.

So you gotta ask yourself, too: even if you can contend with your mother not going to therapy and not changing her behaviors, can your children? I genuinely hope you never have to cut her out of your life one day due to these behaviors. I genuinely hope your children never cut her out of their lives due to these behaviors. I genuinely hope your kids never confide in you about something really hurtful your mother said them.

But, God forbid, if they ever do, I hope you do better than my own mother did and tell her "hey, you gotta go to therapy or you can't see the kids anymore." You gotta stand up to people who are being hurtful, if not for yourself, then for your kids.

So, going back to your original statement, no. I will continue to hold my elders to the same stages I hold myself. Only now that I'm not only fighting for myself but also my baby, when they disappoint me, because they always do, there will be consequences.

I'm gonna say it: I actually hate being pregnant.

I'm tired all the time. I'm hungry all the time. Everyone is so excited and I'm not. Everyone is offering me advice I didn't fucking ask for. Everyone is telling me what to eat and what prenatals to take. We've already picked out names either way, but my MIL wants the middle name to be her name if it's a girl. I just feel like everyone is making MY pregnancy and MY baby about them, and I'm sick of it!!

And I swear to God, if I read one more pregnancy article, trying to find an answer to a question I have, and I read the words "you got this mama!" one. more. FUCKING. time... blood will be shed, I don't give a fuck.

[userlando]

I dunno if you do requests, but if you did a possessive/jealous Tom Hardy (or Eddie, or Alfie.... I dunno, they all give off the vibe) I would I've you like my soul or something......,........

oh god, inspiration strikes again..

Alfie wasn’t a soft man, both physically and mentally. He didn’t grow up in the warmest household and his mother, bless her heart, did everything to raise her boys to be great men when their father failed in that department.

Not to say that she’d failed, considering where Alfie had ended up, but it provided him with enough resources and money to take care of her the way she’d struggled to put food on the table and provide for him and his siblings during his childhood.

Alfie wasn’t soft when he’d done unspeakable things during the war, and he certainly wasn’t soft when he’d taken his place as the king of London. His hard exterior and the amount of blood on his hands was enough for people to fear him. And that’s all he would ever ask for. Because fear was respect, and Alfie would pry out anyone’s teeth with pliers if anyone dared to show him anything else.

Alfie wasn’t soft, but that’s the word he’d describe himself feeling when he heard you laugh for the first time. It had been five years but he remembered it so vividly that it still - to this day - made his hands shake in a way he’d never admit out loud. God forbid someone would hear him spew soppy shit that only you found endearing and romantic.

It was a rainy afternoon and Alfie was craving an evening at the pub after a long day at the distillery. A drink was all he’d come for, but then he’d heard you laugh and his ears had immediately perked at the sound.

It wasn’t difficult for him to locate where that sound came from. Because as he suspected, your face was just as radiating as your laugh and it sounded silly, but he knew from the moment he laid eyes on you, that he had to have you.

You were tough at first, your boundaries and lack of interest unlike any other woman’s he’d usually pick up. The way you seemed so unattainable only seemed to pull unwanted male attention, but the more he tried to pursue you, the more word got around. You were his woman, and only his. It infuriated you at first because you were no one else’s but yours, though Alfie knew you’d secretly loved it. Even though you refused to admit it even years later when the topic arose in conversation.

So, Alfie wasn’t soft. But he was soft for you, and he was soft for your laugh. Which was why his ears - much like that day at the pub - perked when he heard your giggle echo in the distillery. A frown immediately cast over his face as he placed his pen down on the surface of his desk.

He glanced around in confusion at first, wondering who the fuck you were speaking to that made you giggle like that. And his stomach churned when he thought of all the greasy men who were working under the roof of his distillery, who’d been instructed to not speak to you if not absolutely necessary. Everybody knew this. No one was foolish enough to risk losing their ball sack to a rusty shank.

Or so, that’s what Alfie thought.

The chair squeaked in protest as he rose from it, rough hands flat on the table to heave himself up as he grunted in annoyance. Annoyance because someone was clearly not doing their job, and annoyance because you knew better than to prance around at the distillery when there was work to be done. And chances are, you looked absolutely gorgeous doing it.

Alfie’s suspicions were correct, he realised, as he walked down the creaky stairs to the base floor. He found you a few yards away, legs that he loved so much clad in stockings he knew he’d be ripping off later. You had the same green dress on he’d seen you dress in before he left for work that morning.

He would’ve stood there and appreciated the way your dress flared where your back met your bottom, or the way you’d prettily pinned your hair back just far enough to reveal your neck. The very same neck he’d buried his face into the night before and just this morning.

Alfie couldn’t appreciate it though, mostly because of the two dimwits standing in front of you, greased up faces smiling as they spoke to you. As if Alfie paid them to slack off. Fucking idiots.

As Alfie moved closer, he could hear your soft voice ask ‘How’s Claire doing? What a strong woman she is for birthing your lovely twins!’ It admittedly made Alfie soften for a second, because of course you’d take interest in everyone’s life and show genuine concern. That was the major difference between you two. Where Alfie lacked, you made up for.

“Right, last time I checked, I paid you fucking idiots to do your jobs,” Alfie startled the two men as he approached, voice booming as usual. “So, tell me what you’re bloody standing around here for.”

You turned around with ease, having been with him long enough to not bat an eyelash at his vulgar words and flaring anger. His face was scrunched up in an expression that would make any sensible man and woman in London cower in fear, and you placed a hand on his meaty arm in a poor effort to calm him down. And to silently tell him to shut up and behave.

“Alfie.” You greeted him like he wasn’t shooting daggers at the two men who now looked like they wanted nothing more than to bolt. You couldn’t blame them. “Hi sweetheart. I was just talking to Christopher and William here about their families. Did you know Will had twins?”

Alfie only managed a grunt because why did you know their names? And Will?

He didn’t know if he wanted to drag the bastard into his office by his cock and beat his face into three different shades or to toss them out on their sorry arses. He knew the first option would send him into the doghouse for God knows how long, and the other option would cause more problems between the two of you than he dared to think about.

“Two girls.” The one he assumed was named William said, albeit a little shakily. The man next to him elbowed him and they both went quiet.

“Right, I must’ve missed the part where I fucking asked.” Alfie was livid, and there were so many factors playing into that reason.

These animals who worked under him knew to never lay their eyes on you, nevertheless talk to you. And he wanted to be angry at how good you looked, at the audacity to walk into the distillery when he knew he disliked you hanging around here during office hours.

Mostly, he wanted to spank your stubborn arse black and blue.

“Alfie, why don’t we go to your office, hm?” You asked softly, feeling the way he was shaking as you squeezed his bicep gently.

He knew what it was though. Your way of telling him to simmer down and behave.

You didn’t wait for him to answer, turning on your pretty polished heels to walk around and past him toward his office. He didn’t miss the way your legs wobbled, and he knew you were well aware of what you were to expect once the fragile door of the office closed behind the two of you. Alfie knew that the wobble of your legs derived from excitement and not from fear. You could scowl and reprimand him all you wanted, but you both knew that you loved his possessiveness at the end of the day.

He watched you walk away, his anger simmering down just a wee bit before he turned his head to the two men standing in front of him. He sucked his teeth, smacked his lips and contemplated beating them with his cane before thinking twice of it.

“What the fuck are you two still doing ‘ere?” His roar was enough to have them scatter like mice.

Alfie huffed and turned around, following in your footsteps to his office where you were waiting.

“How many times have I told you, right, to not fuckin’ walk in here when I’m working, woman?” He walked in and closed the door behind him.

He struggled to contain his anger when he saw you sitting on his desk, legs crossed over each other and his eyes immediately went to the sliver of skin where the hem of your dress had ridden up on your thigh. Alfie’s first instinct was to march up and grab the delicate skin until you squirmed, but he stopped himself.

He gripped his cane tighter in his right hand and rubbed his forehead with the other one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible.”

You frowned. “I can’t help it if you’re possessive, Alf. That’s your problem, not mine.”

“You know how these men are.” He gritted out, gesturing behind him to the distillery. “You cannot be this dim.”

“Alfie Solomons, I know you didn’t just call me dim.” You said and Alfie paused at the tone of your voice.

You sounded annoyed but he could detect the hurt in your voice and it was enough for him to let out a grumbling sigh, stepping up to the desk where you sat. He silently admired the frown lines on your pretty face and prayed that he hadn’t shoved his foot in his mouth.

Alfie got his answer when you parted your legs enough for him to step between them, and he struggled to breathe properly when you circled them around his behind to pull him closer.

“You’re my girl, yeah?” He muttered, bringing a hand up to cradle your cheek.

“Woman.” You protested softly, welcoming the touch as his silent apology.

You watched as his eyes appraised you and held back from preening when he grunted in appreciation and what you knew were hunger as his eyes trailed your body before landing on your face.

“And what a fucking woman you are.” He said lowly, using his hand on your cheek to pull you in for a kiss.

The clatter of the cane falling to the floor didn’t deter you as he let go of it in order to grab you by the waist, pulling you in closer as he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, not caring if anyone heard you. Alfie pinched the top of your arse in retaliation and you squealed.

“Alfie!” You sounded scandalised but the enormous smile on your lipstick smeared lips said otherwise.

Alfie admired his artwork with a smug smile, knowing that his mouth probably looked a mess too.

“Don’t Alfie me, woman.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss to your lips that tasted a lot like a promise. “This is just a preview of what I’ll be doing to you tonight.”

* * * * *

Welp, that turned sexual. But hello! Hi! Surprise, here’s me answering to an ask five hundred years later. I was in a writing mood so.. hope you enjoy x

[deniigi]

Lando The Nosy Neighbor AU

Title: good fences make good neighbors

Summary: Modern AU based off the premise presented to me as ‘Han and Leia move into the same neighborhood and start a feud, only to eventually overthrow the local Homeowner’s Association.’

Relationships: Pot-farmer!Han/Lawyer!Leia; Farmboy!Luke/Survivalist!Din; Lando & Breha Organa & Chewbacca

This is based off a rural community in Washington which has local cults.

Lando POV

---------------

A hippy has moved in next to the Organas.

It’s a good one, too. This one hasn’t even rented a moving truck, they’ve just come on over with all their furniture tetris-ed in on top of itself and wrapped tight with rope, blankets, and prayer.

Lando’s petunias screech for watering as the hippy throws open the truck’s door and comes staggering out, cracking his lanky back. Out of the other side comes an even hairier, even lankier person. He closes the truck door and looks right at Lando.

He stares.

It is a challenge. But of course, not one that Lando is not prepared to handle.

He points at his watering can.

Hippy Two seems to scoff.

Lando waits until he’s distracted by the first hippie struggling with the blue house’s doorknob to dump the remaining water into the pebbles under his ornamental bridge.

He returns inside and goes about his busy business, tying back the curtains.

It is always good to have someone new in the neighborhood.

--

 It takes the hippy couple a few weeks to get settled into their new home, and in that time neither has ingratiated themselves to Lando.

The stupid one with the floppy hair caught onto Lando’s tricks at the weekly poker match held in the local bar. Lando may have lost his irrigation system, but he has not lost his dignity. It was old anyways. He’s been planning to replace it for nearly a year now. There is never a better time than the present to start making your dreams into reality.

And anyways, the floppy haired out-of-towner will get what is coming to him. Lando has already sown the seed of his demise.

Leia Organa returned home to look after her poor, sick, stubborn mother just two months ago. Breha is fine, of course, not even cancer could snuff out her fires, although she is bored of her husband and daughter trying to trap her indoors. Her immunocompromised escapades have been delightful to watch.

The Organas are always a lively group. There is never a dull moment or lack of machinations among them—especially the lady of the household. She, like Lando, appreciates a good tussle. Which is why he has pointed out to Leia that her new neighbors’ greenhouse is mighty interesting, is it not?

Lawyer Leia’s ears pricked up like a horse’s, and Breha’s sharp eyes took on new sheen.  

Lando watches Leia in the mornings now, struggling to find upper-body strength and purchase on the wood of her backyard fence, among the roses and bougainvillea. She’s so tiny, Leia. Breha is not an overly large person either, and thus is no help in this endeavor to collect data on the greenhouse of questionable origins and purposes on the other side of the fence. Leia doesn’t need her, though. She needs no one. She’s seen what she needs to.

Lando pours tea from a glass pot given to him by someone in his company who wishes for their secrets to remain so and beautiful, clear amber liquid fills his cup.

He looks up to see Leia holding her phone out as far as she can without relinquishing her grip on the fence. She fumbles, trying one-handedly to document the crime before her, but alas. Even the mighty sometimes trip on the red carpet.

The phone slips. She grabs after it in slow-motion, horror filling every pore of her face.

It is gone now, that phone.

The Public Nuisances will know what she has been up to.

Lando sighs and leans back in his seat.

--

 It is no time at all before the dropped phone is returned graciously over the white, waist-height fence that separates the Public Nuisance’s yard from the Organas’. Leia snatches her phone back and wipes it off with her hand and sleeve. The shorter public enemy, Han, he calls himself, smiles at her cheekily. He retracts his hand and gestures to the taller fence, barely visible for the fruit trees and vines, between their backyards and says something that makes Leia go very, very still.

It is, undoubtedly, a challenge. Not unlike the one that that the more polite public nuisance, Chewie, opened his and Lando’s relationship with.

Chewie has explained without mincing his words, that he and Han have come here because their last venture was lost in a snowstorm. Chewie will be damned if his precious seedlings are so callously frosted over again. The Pacific Northwest has no chance of freezing over, he says. It provides a better setting to grow stock.

Weed, he means. Marijuana. Chewie is again, not shy. He and Han make good money supplying dispensaries with their organic, hand dried leaves. It is apparently ‘artisan’ like in quality.

Lando isn’t sure he’d go that far, but yes, it is nice stuff. And yes, Leia, bastion of justice, does need to see the men’s permits.

Lando opens the window for a breeze and catches Han telling Leia that he’ll produce them if she arm wrestles him for the right to witness their authenticity. Leia agrees. Han fetches a small worktable from the house’s garage and sets it between them.

The match is over within seconds. Leia has never been so insulted in her life. She demands a rematch and, out of sheer indulgence, Han gives it to her.

He is nearly a foot taller than her. He could lift her up and over her own fence with ease if he so desired. He wins the next round. And the next one. He loses the last one by reason of having his leg deadened under the table but stands abruptly to renegade on his earlier promise.

“You watch yourself, princess,” he calls over his shoulder with his hand on his front door’s knob.

“Oh, I’ll be watching,” Leia snarls back.

Han slams the door. Chewie looks from him to Leia standing fuming in the shade of her family’s pine trees.

“Unbelievable,” she snaps at him before stomping off herself. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

Lando flicks his eyes up to see Breha’s dining room window wide open. She too, has a cup of tea. She lifts it his way and he lifts his back.

Finally, some quality entertainment once more.

--

 Han and Leia’s hatred has become neighborhood gossip. They have begun going to extraordinary lengths to gain the others’ attention. For example, Han, in weeding his sparce flowerbeds, was careful to shove the fruits of his labor between the fence slats into Bail’s well-tended herb garden. Bail, ever the gentleman, does not mind, but of course Leia feels that her family honor has been spat upon. She collects the weeds and returns them to her owner, via mailbox. It is kind of her to put the flag down, so Han knows that he’s received a message.

The retaliation is a mural in rainbow colors commissioned by Han and painted by one of the budding young teenagers from a school about a thirty minute drive downtown. It is...psychedelic. And facing Leia’s bedroom window.

Han asked the youth who painted it to add in a figure in the center of the composition; it is a brown-haired woman dressed all in white, surrounded by thorny vines, and attempting to climb a fence. The young artist must have felt like Michelangelo in the application of those delicate strokes of artistry. They knew they were creating something holy.

Han helps that along by bracketing the figure with solar lanterns that light up at night and keep the image fully illuminated.

When Lando arrives to Breha’s side to go on a walk, arm in arm, with her and her beast of a terrier, she giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand.

“Han is very handsome,” she tells Lando.

“He’s alright,” Lando says.

“I think he and Leia are a perfect match. Will for will. No one’s ever dared to cross her like this.”

Now that is a fact.

“I wonder if this is the start of something more,” Breha says.

“What does your husband think?” Lando asks.

Breha waves him off dismissively.

“Oh, you know. He’s convinced that Leia will kill Han in his sleep, and we will be forced to post bail, but I told him—as I’ve told you, Lando—Leia’s too smart to get caught committing axe murder. Now poisoning, that’s a different story.”

--

 Lando wakes up and makes coffee. He turns on his computer and opens his curtains to let the light pour in and warm his hardwood floors. He stands at the window, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Leia has had enough. She has called the Home Owner’s Association and they are standing at Han’s front doorstep.

--

 It is about three weeks before Han and Leia have overthrown the Home Owner’s Association for interfering in their escalating romance—ahem—bloodfeud. By then, Lando’s work-from-home situation is suffering. It is impossible to focus with those two cluttering up his view with distractions left and right. He determines that, for the sake of his finances, he must direct his attention to something a little further afield.

The Lars’s vegetable stand is becoming something of an institution.

It’s about a mile or so out of Lando’s way, tucked smack in the middle of the battlefield that is the stretch of land between the survivalist cult that lives in the forest and the pseudo-Buddhists that live in their compound. The farm itself is a few acres and the Lars’s son can be seen walking around, herding livestock out of the road and into pastures.

Lando has heard whispers that this son is none other than Leia’s twin brother, but no one has the nerve to directly ask the Organas about the truth of such a scandalous idea. The most that can be said about Luke Lars-Skywalker is that he is a master of social media.

He has created a Youtube channel and an Instagram to document the practices of his family’s farm and the products they produce. He is in a twitter-war with many communities online for his videos on small-scale bee-keeping, and his family’s stand is proudly boycotted by the vegan association in the city on farmer’s market days.

It has become well-known among the farm-to-table restaurants in the city, though, and that is why Luke keeps on keeping on with his cows and his fowls and his silly camera holder.

But all that means little because Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

He is in love with an ancestral enemy.

See, in this area there are not one, but two cults and naturally, they abhor and reject the others’ teachings. To the south are the pseudo-buddhist, clairvoyants who have fashioned themselves more or less as monks preoccupied with meditation, self-development, and a few fairly mystical beliefs among the rather terrifying devotion to martial arts. To the north are the survivalist whack-jobs who don’t believe in electricity or running water, but who are also, somehow, preoccupied with self development and a terrifying devotion to martial arts.

Both groups have publicly denounced the other as misguided extremists.

The rumors say that Luke and Leia’s biological father is one of the clairvoyants, and this is where the heart of the current delightful irony lays.

Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love with one of those survivalists.

Lando knows this because he has seen it with his very own eyes.

He took a trip a while back to purchase some greens from the vegetable stand and he was there for a little while, picking through the selection, when he looked up and saw Luke’s posture explode out of its lax boredom. Lando looked over his shoulder to see what Luke’s tan, freckled attention had latched onto and lo and behold.

It was a man. And not only a man, a man with a baby.

Luke stuffed knuckles into his mouth to keep from cooing as the father of the child nodded at him and meandered over to have a poke through the produce piled up on the stand. The baby, dressed carefully in layers of warm, water-resistant clothing, watched Luke right back. He smiled and grunted, waving his dark, stubby arms and Luke melted—literally collapsed into a fraction of his size behind the paystation.

The father, a white rugged guy with dark curly hair and a great deal of stubble, shifted the baby to his other arm. His worn, heavy clothing and the military-style canvas sack on his back marked him as one of the Cabin-In-the-Woods people.

Lando felt like he was watching a country romance flick in real life.

Luke gathered his courage and approached the dad and baby to ask if they were looking for anything in particular. The baby immediately held hands out to him. Luke asked the father if he could hold the little one. The father said ‘no.’

Lando nearly choked on his own spit.

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Luke said to the baby. “Daddy thinks I’m gonna eat you up.”

“He just got a bath.”

Luke gooey expression hardened in an instant.

“Excuse you. You sayin’ I’m dirty?” he asked. “You sayin’ I smell like horseshit?”

The father stared at Luke wordlessly.

“Pigshit,” he corrected.

“WHAT.”

Lando no longer needed only greens. He had to pick a cheese from this bountiful pile. Oh dear, so many to choose from.

“I said, you smell like pigshit. And he just got a bath,” the survivalist father said. “How much for the tomatoes?”

“Twenty a pound,” Luke said viciously.

“That’s steep.”

“There’s a discount for people who smell like pigshit.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“No, but I know how to wallow in the time between buyers.”

“Are you angry or something?”

“Take your damn tomatoes.”

“I didn’t pay yet—”

“Just take ‘em. Go. Go.”

“Twenty—?”

“Hey, Mr. Calrissian, that’ll be ten-fifty,” Luke said over the protests.

That was then. This is now. And Luke Lars-Skywalker has not let up on his tirade against this survivalist. Nor, it is important to note however, has the survivalist stopped coming to the vegetable stand when Luke is working it.

What is even more is that Lando can see with his own two eyes that the survivalist is not holding his baby at the vegetable stand now, as Lando closes his car door a little ways from the stand. Luke smiles at Lando as he draws near; he is bouncing at the knees. He waves the baby’s hand in greeting and the child gurgles and twists back to grab at his face.

Lando smiles and does not say anything.

He finds Chewie inspecting a sprinkler at the edge of his and Han’s yard on the way back and crosses the street to inspect it with him. It sputters. Chewie suspects outloud that their squirrels are getting stronger and more destructive by the day.

Lando asks him if he’s been the Lars’s vegetable stand since moving into town.

He has.

Lando asks if he’s ever seen Luke there, holding a baby.

He has.

Lando is smug.

“Mr. Rugged Mountain Man is falling for the farm boy,” he tells Chewie.

Chewie lifts a thick eyebrow.

“One day soon, that baby is going to go from living off the grid to living in a barn,” Lando tells him. “Mark my words.”

Chewie tells him that that is impossible without a kidnapping charge because the Rugged Mountain Man is the straightest man that he’s ever seen. Lando tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

Weirder things have happened. Han and Leia, for example.

Chewie tells him that he knows that Lando is somehow responsible for those two’s newly inescapable sexual tension and he will never forgive him for it.

Lando cannot believe his ears. Him? An instigator? Of course not, Chewie. He is but a humble spider, waiting around in his house for a fly to shake things up. He is an observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Chewie just points a finger at him.

Lando points a finger-gun back. He fires it with a click of his tongue.

[the-crow-binary]

Benedict-Birth p2

The sun was shining bright, like the day was the same as any other. But in the Belmont household, nothing was like the other days. None of the family members had been able to find sleep, this night. The mother, Céleste, had been on the verge of death since the birth of the child, leaving his husband Alexandre worrying so much he had been unable to take care of their son. Son he was just as terrified of.

Simon took the responsability of taking care of the baby while his own children attended to the dying mother, doing all they could to save her, all night long and a good part of the day, now, too. The child’s aura was smaller than before, but the darkness in it could still be perceived by anyone with a bit of sensitivity to magic.

There was no doubt in the hunter’s heart ; this child was cursed. And the first thought he had was that no one can ever know about it. He doesn’t want to inflict on his children and grandchildren the pain he, and all of their ancestors, had to go through. They were finally accepted by the people, even loved, they built a whole village around them… this baby was a danger on their clan’s name, as much as it hurt him to think about.

« How could this happen… » he wondered, his heart aching for the poor, sleeping baby in his arms. He was so innocent, so small, his life was barely starting… but where was it leading him to ? Simon gritted his teeth as he asked himself. Why ? Why was it happening ? Their family have been nothing but good, they made it their clan’s goal to protect the people, they never stopped hunting the creatures of the night, they killed Dracula four times now, he himself did it twice… thinking about it made his heart drop. Was this curse his fault ? Did Dracula’s curse on him, all those years ago, had longer, lasting effects than he thought ? It couldn’t be… he broke it already. And why would it affect his grandchild, instead of one of his direct children ?

« Father. »

Simon raised his head, his eyes meeting with those of his second son. The lack of sleep could be seen on his face, and yet, he was smiling.

« Ethan, please, tell me you have good news to share… »

« Céleste just woke up. She’s exhausted, but she’ll live. »

Simon felt a weight getting off his chest, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. « Oh thank God… » he sighed in relief.

« She wants to see her baby… »

He tensed back up immediately.

« Does she know about his... aura ? »

« Alexandre told her, but… she won’t believe him. She won’t believe any of us, before she sees him herself. »

The old hunter sighed once again, then got up. He can understand her. No parent would want to believe their own baby was destined for evil, doomed from the moment they were born. He still struggled with the thought, even after what he had felt.

The time he makes it to the bedroom, the baby already started crying. Céleste, half-sitting in her bed, turned her head to them, her face lighting up when she see her child for the first time. Alexandre was sitting on a chair, holding her hand, his sister Jeanne keeping one of hers on his back. As Simon approached them, the mother let go of her husband’s hand, in favor of extend her arms in their direction, ready to welcome her baby.

« My son, come here, it’s okay… »

Simon gave him to her, accompanying her movements until Benedict was safely placed against her chest.

« Shhh, everything is fine, mama is here now, my baby… » she whispers, her finger gently caressing the cheek of her firstborn.  But soon enough, her proud, loving eyes began filling with tears, and a first sob escaped her throat.

« No, no it can’t be… »

She barely feels her husband’s hand caressing her shoulder, grief growing in her chest as the realisation kicks in.

« It… It must be because i’m so tired… »

« My love… » softly called Alexandre. « You’re not imagining things, i’m afraid… »

The new mother’s cries soon join her baby’s very own, as it becomes clearer and clearer that her husband wasn’t lying to her. She could fee lit, the evil emanating from her own boy… Alexandre is quick to embrace her, his own tears joining theirs as he tightly hug his wife and their son.

Looking at them, Simon couldn’t help but feel like they were mourning the loss of a child.

[anonygowose]

PART 3 BABEY!!! Guys they're still long posts :') The start of a new arc... Luke is chilling outside one day, watching the stars in the sky on a cool summer night when BAM.

Abducted by ALIENS!!!

He is mortified and honestly had no way to tell Rocky, so he kept it to himself for a bit. He couldn't believe that aliens could be so... cruel? Poor Luke doesn't even know what Rocky's original intentions were for coming onto this planet, he truly believes that Rocky is "one of the good ones." Yes, he has changed over the year of knowing Luke, but in all honesty he still isn't a good person.

And yes, he got pregnant.

He spends his time playing guitar in public venues, he actually became pretty good overtime and was using his hobby as a way to get some extra money to support himself and the household.

During one of his breaks, he sees... her.

A relatively normal person, working at a food stand outside the venue he was at. It was heart-eyes at first sight, Luke couldn't believe the kind of lady he had stumbled upon. Though he was unsure if these feelings were caused by abnormal hormones as a baby grows inside of him, or because he was truly attracted to her.

Seema also appears out and about, walking as fruitily as possible. We stan her.

Unfortunately, Luke's pregnancy got to the point where he couldn't hide it or pass it up to weight gain and whatnot. Rocky caught on and understood what had happened, feeling horribly guilty for it. Rocky realized how hurt he felt from this, and how he really despises being an alien after this moment.

Rocky is supportive, however, helping Luke buy clothing and furniture for the future child.

He also knew that being an alien child can be overwhelming and confusing, so being one himself Rocky decided to be one of the future child's caretakers.

They chill outside for a bit, talking about life and waiting for the baby to burst right out of Luke.

And as predicted, it happens.

Meet Moxie, the newest member of the household. A tiny green baby living his best life.

Luke and Rocky each take days off respectively, with Luke going out and playing music for tips and inspiration and Rocky going out with ladies.

He still actively hooks up with the neighbor lady, and one of those days he receives a call from Luke. Rocky listens to him as he sounds semi-drunk and sobbing. Rocky asks where Moxie is and Luke tells him that he's at daycare while he's out at a bar drinking his life away. He sobs as he confesses to Rocky, wanting to start a genuine family with him but Rocky knows that he can't do that, not yet. He cares for Luke too much and he can't bare every hurting him like he has with others.

Rocky hangs up, not saying a single word back to Luke and looks back at his date, awaiting some more intimacy. He feels awful.

They move on after this day, pretending it had never happened. Rocky feels incredibly guilty while Luke kind of feels empty after it all, unsure if he actually confessed to Rocky or if it was all in a drunken fever dream.

Eventually Moxie grows up, and the two feel incredibly happy over this fact.

Moxie's bed is set up right next to Luke's, where they spend many nights reading bedtime stories together. It's sweet.

Rocky is absolutely in love with the kid, he loves being a parent despite not actually being one.

They teach Moxie some valuable things, such as walking and dancing, all important childhood steps.

And finally another year goes by, oh how the time flies.

The day after New Years Rocky gets promoted twice in a row, which is shocking considering he's never stuck with a job long enough to actually receive such a thing.

He had posted about it on social media, expecting Luke to be the first person to congratulate him in person but off in the distance he sees Seema, charging at full speed towards him.

And she gives him a big 'ol hug!

She is so proud of Rocky, knowing his struggled with being noncommittal and congratulates him. She literally goes "ROCKY!!! YOU DID YOU'RE DOING AMAZING I AM SO PROUD OF YOU :D!!!" and Rocky is flabbergasted at this, not really receiving this much support from someone other than Luke.

Also here's a silly screenshot from this moment hehe.

So Rocky lets her inside and she finally gets to meet Moxie! Both he and Luke realize that she probably didn't even know Luke was pregnant for the past few months, but they decided to keep it to themselves as it's harder to explain than to not.

Unfortunately Captain Whitaker hadn't been receiving the amount of attention he should have due to Rocky and Luke's social lives, but once Moxie came along the two became best friends. Captain Whitaker rarely left his side, it's adorable.

After Seema had met Moxie, she had grown closer to him, Rocky and Luke to the point of calling her family. She helped babysit Moxie whenever necessary, and he absolutely adored his giant blue raccoon aunt.

And Luke loved taking Moxie on runs with him, they're both active creatures.

And after some time of creating songs and playing for the public, Luke finally releases his first one! It's an incredible feat.

So I hop onto The Sims 4 on my brand new laptop to find out all of my saves had been wiped. OneDrive stopped backing up years ago. I didn't realize the Gallery was local-only (bold of me to assume that EA could ever possibly think of Cloud Save) and I lost all my households, including my comfort save with sims I've had for 3 years now. It was the one household I genuinely cared so much for, had a fuckton of lore of, and are the only human characters I actually draw relatively frequently. I have sobbed my eyes out about this and god damn, I didn't realize how emotionally attached I would get with a save. Luckily I screenshot everything (a folder I manually backed up via USB) so I still have all of their life events and outfits and such, and I did plan on making a short blog-like series with them (eg; they are the ones posting about their life) but. Waghfjdgj. Gonna be posting a buncha screenshots of them momentarily because I'm brainrotten

[1kook]

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.  warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3  word count: 8.7k  

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him. 

And then winter comes. 

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years. 

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household. 

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute. 

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets. 

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick. 

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house. 

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable. 

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold. 

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him. 

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional. 

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.” 

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before. 

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again. 

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty. 

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house. 

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions. 

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever. 

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through. 

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times. 

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner. 

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong. 

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor 

You blink. 

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago. 

Oh, so this was new. 

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on. 

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again. 

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy. 

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning. 

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest. 

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you. 

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck. 

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss. 

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?” 

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck. 

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest. 

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck. 

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds. 

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy. 

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side. 

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?” 

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again. 

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip. 

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers. 

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct. 

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip. 

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt. 

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery. 

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again. 

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him. 

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored. 

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately. 

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again. 

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate. 

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear. 

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum. 

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad. 

So you do. 

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.” 

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm. 

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes. 

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth. 

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet. 

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves. 

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that. 

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t. 

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him. 

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully. 

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed. 

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight. 

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off. 

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly. 

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you. 

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face. 

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch. 

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble. 

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?” 

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls. 

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy. 

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully. 

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip. 

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite. 

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely. 

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why. 

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now. 

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months. 

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—” 

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions. 

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing. 

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss. 

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn. 

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat. 

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss. 

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty. 

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off. 

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up. 

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good. 

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. 

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading. 

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds. 

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it. 

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...” 

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick. 

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you. 

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you. 

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his. 

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.” 

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks. 

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt. 

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips. 

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,”  you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.” 

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin. 

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm. 

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you. 

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success. 

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself. 

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell. 

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle. 

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out. 

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart. 

 To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death. 

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying. 

It fits perfectly. 

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

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