#someone wondering if there would be an audience for that sort of thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

birdantlers · 1 year ago

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A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

��.then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

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Muting notifs

#artists on tumblr #Artistic #digital art #art history #anthropology #humanity #art discussion #art theory #skit yells

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biteofcherry · 28 days ago

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To the victor go the spoils

minotaur!Ari Levinson x female reader

summary: It was supposed to be your small wish coming true. You didn't think that it was merely a cog in a wicked set-up that catered to someone else's desire.

warnings: minotaur!Ari; dark!Ari; monsterfucking, but no bestiality; heavy dub-con; power imbalance; size kink; breeding kink; belly bulge/cumflation; unprotected sex; dirty talk; talk of forced piercing; housewife kink;

word count: 4.8k

Author’s Note: Another installment in the Scaretale universe. Special shout out to @stargazingfangirl18 who may be the biggest minotaur!Ari hoe out there 😆🖤

Huffing out a breath, you tried to keep up with Natasha’s long strides. She wasn’t tall, but somehow her lean legs were taking twice the distance yours did. It also appeared she was in a hurry, though not out of fear, but rather excitement.

You wondered, if it was the fight she dragged you to that got her all hyper and potentially aroused. As you learned over the months of meeting and befriending the fae, Natasha got turned on by a lot of things, often kinky things.

Watching a bloody fight wasn’t your type of entertainment. But since it was a part of Natasha’s grand plan, you relented and went with her. And to your own surprise, you found yourself experiencing more than just disgust and fear.

Your preferences might’ve been of the softer, sweeter kind, but there was still a pulsing part of your body that reacted to the sight of strong, half-naked men viciously fighting one another.

Well, monsters, not men. Still, your core tightened with a wild sort of interest.

Which at least would make the second part of Natasha’s scheme more bearable.

Because your friend decided to help you make a certain man jealous and she was adamant that having you flirt with one of the fighters would be the perfect way to do it. Especially since the man you were kinda pinning after was your ex. Your breakup wasn’t some disaster, more like him being honest about not feeling for you anything other than sympathy after the four dates you went on. But you still liked him and wanted him.

Though perhaps that was because he seemed to be the embodiment of what you dreamed you perfect partner to be.

Smart, polite, well dressed, with steady income and his own apartment. A solid guy.

Many would call him boring, but you saw it as reliable.

The only wild part about him was his passion for watching fights. He never showed any aggression of his own, didn’t even mention wanting to try boxing, or some other fighting style. He simply enjoyed the show of strength and brutality, as if it was a round of cricket.

He wouldn’t miss the fight of the year - of the decade even, as some said. The champion of champions who was supposed to be retired has agreed to enter the ring for the last time.

Ari Levinson.

A minotaur.

The minotaur. The most famous, even if you weren’t a sports fan, his name reached your ears in some way.

Sitting there at the arena, watching his fight, you had to agree he was impressive. In the way he moved. In his sheer strength. In the way he looked, too. Though that realization came with a thrilling shock.

Still, after the fight ended - with Levinson winning without difficulty - your thoughts returned to Paul. You caught a glimpse of him in the audience, but then he disappeared in the masses. Natasha’s plan was based on her certainty that he was going to be present at the celebration for the victor that was being held at the Scaretale club.

A club known mostly for its matchmaking between monsters and humans, but not limited to it.

The celebration was for invited guests only, meaning also guests who spend half of their yearly paycheck to be granted close proximity to the victor. Paul, for all his reasonable approach to life, would splurge on this one passion.

Your blessing was Natasha, who got both of you personal invites. Said she knew someone on the inside. Convenient. You didn’t question it, since it gave you an opportunity to find yourself close to Paul and catch his attention.

Natasha, who showed incredible ease in wrapping men (both monster and human) around her finger, was convinced that however posed and boring a man is, his hindbrain will always salivate for the juicy bite in another man’s grasp. Especially in someone’s admirable grasp.

She intended to get you close to Ari Levinson himself. Simply introducing you, but making sure that Paul saw the close proximity between the two of you.

Honestly, a part of you thought it was the most ridiculous idea, but there was a part of you that wanted to be reckless and follow that wild plan in hope of gaining your greatest desire.

Which is why you dared to wear a sweet, but rather short sundress that flowed high around your thighs, giving a teasing glimpse.

Entering the Scaretale was like stepping into a completely different dimension.

Natasha didn’t seem to feel any change, but you nearly stopped in your tracks. Outside there was chaos of life, people moving around, noises filling the air. Here you were engulfed in a vacuum of tranquility.

Seductive half-shadows speared by drops of light and jewel tones mixed with velvet black. Various monsters and a small congregation of people were mingling around. But their conversations seemed quieter, carrying a hush of flirtation and excitement.

You spotted Paul among one group to the side; with a drink in his hand he was nodding along as two bearded men talked. His gaze kept shifting towards the center of the place where a large, oval bar took stage.

There, standing next to only one man, was the man of the hour. The minotaur.

You noticed that despite it being a special event for the rich VIPs, no one actually dared to come anywhere close to the fighter. They were given a privilege of being so very close to him, maybe even meet his gaze and nod his way, but not necessarily the honor of being allowed closer.

Which meant that you and Natasha, striding right across the room and toward the bar, were drawing attention.

Paul’s attention, too, undoubtedly.

As you neared, the minotaur and the man beside him looked your way. There was such intensity in the blue of Levinson’s eyes that your gaze dropped down instantly. The man next to him was easier to look at, with his relaxed posture, leaning against the bar, and an amused smirk dancing on his beautifully carved lips.

Next to the minotaur, he appeared shorter. Leaner, too. Though that wasn’t a surprise, since Levinson was so damn huge.

He was a beast in the ring, but up close even more so.

The calm, falsely homey-like feeling that greeted you first (which called so directly to the white picket fence desires of simple, happy domestic life), crumbled with the crackling intensity of the power and heat pulsating off the minotaur.

You kept your polite distance, yet still could feel his warmth brushing against your bare arms.

“Nat.” The other man smiled; the way his mouth curved was both enticing and sinister at the same time.

“Cuz,” she snickered and leaned forward to brush his cheek with a kiss. Then she turned to the minotaur, boldly extending her hand - “Mr Levinson.”

Ari gruffed a short greeting, enclosing her delicate hand in his massive one. Your gaze dropped to their connected hands, transfixed. His fingers were so big and long. Two of yours would make one of his.

There was still bloodied tape wrapped around his knuckles, reminding you of the swift, fast punches he threw in the ring.

Your gaze traveled up his forearm, taking in the golden coloring of hair covering his bronze skin and protruding veins curving around muscles. Further up, his bicep flexed in an impressive, wide sculpt. Round shoulder began the path to the wide chest - oh, so wide.

And so bare. Shiny with sweat, with which he seemed completely unbothered.

Forcing yourself to not follow the path of darkening hair on his chest descending into a thick trail leading down, you looked up. to his face Sturdy jaw was lined with a soft looking, thick beard. His cheeks were peppered with freckles. Noble, long nose was crowned with a pure gold septum ring. His hair came past his jawline, strands of dark blonde and bronze, curling slightly at the ends.

High above the line of his ears, long, massive horns protruded. Curved wide, in bronze color shading into cream and then turning black at the very sharp ends.

“This is the friend you mentioned?” He asked, his question still directed at Natasha, but his attention switched to you fully.

His gaze caught yours and you couldn’t look away. The air around you seemed to charge with stifling intensity, as if your instincts were rattling in growing fear of the monster in front of you snapping you in half.

He could do that, you saw him in the ring; not to mention the sheer size difference between the two of you.

“She is.” Natasha’s voice resounded more melodic than you've ever heard before. She nudged you.

Swallowing nervously, you almost curtsied as you introduced yourself.

Both Natasha and her supposed cousin chuckled, noticing your reaction. Ari didn’t smirk, but his head tilted slightly as he studied you. You felt frozen on the spot when he reached a single digit and drew it down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Then his gaze slowly dragged down your form. Heat erupted beneath your skin - partly out of embarrassment, partly because the minotaur’s attention was plucking at certain, deep strings in your core.

That display undoubtedly drew many people’s attention, but somehow you were unable to think of Paul at the moment, whether he was watching you, or not. You were more focused on regulating your breath and not making any weird sounds.

Ari’s eyes returned to your face, the almost hostile darkness in them receding into unexpected calm and warmth.

“I accept the payment. We’re even.” He said to the other two, without taking his eyes off of you.

His fingers circled your wrist. You felt his touch like a searing brand, but you didn’t dare to yank your arm out of his grip. Or maybe it wasn’t just fear of repercussion, but rather the reaction of your body that slowed other instincts.

Suddenly, Ari moved. He simply turned around and strode toward the back of the club, dragging you with him.

“Hey!” You gasped. “Wait!”

You almost had to run to match his pace. You turned your head, looking at Natasha over your shoulder. Her eyes gleamed mischievously and she winked at you.

Was this part of the plan? Was Paul supposed to see you go with the minotaur and feel a surge of jealousy?

You didn’t get any answers from your friend, nor any sort of reassurance, before darkness engulfed you. Levinson dragged you into some sort of corridor, on the far right. It seemed to spiral down for a moment. At the end of it, the darkness finally dispersed. Drops of light hung in the air, casting a soft glow and revealing a double door.

When Ari got the both of you inside, the door disappeared, leaving you in a large, open space, but with no visible way out.

“Wha- what’s going on?” You asked, wetting your lips.

Ari let go of your hand. Where he touched you, you felt a faint pulsing. At first you thought it to be pain, from how firm he held you, but there was nothing unpleasant about it.

“Just want to take a shower before we travel.”

It struck you, how casually he said it. That gruff, scary, unapproachable beast suddenly sounded almost carefree. When he peered at you over his shoulder, there was playfulness in his eyes. And it matched his next words.

“You can help, Poppy.”

You frowned. Unless all the fights have damaged his brain, he learned your name just minutes ago. Then you realized he was referring to the pattern on your dress. Pretty, red poppy flowers on a pristine white fabric.

“That’s a nice accent, too,” he added. “Red enticing the bull.”

You stared. Simply stared. Not only, because you had no words to counter his teasing assumption, but because he fucking dropped his boxer shorts down.

You couldn’t help it, your eyes swept down from his broad back to the sculpted ass and thick, hairy thighs. Hair on his legs was so thick it gave semblance of softest fur, all in tones of golden bronze. His hooves, in contrast, were black as the tips of his horns.

“I’m not helping you!” You squeaked, feeling embarrassment scorching your face. “And can you please cover yourself?”

When Ari turned back to you, your gaze dropped down, but you quickly forced yourself to look away.

He cut the distance between you in two powerful strides, the stomp of his hooves making your heart thud. He loomed over you; his shadow forming a scary reflection on the light, marble walls.

A large hand cupped your chin, forcing you to turn and look up at him.

“I’m not covering the sight you’ll be seeing daily, Poppy. Better get used to it.” Previous glimpse of playfulness drained from his voice. “And you will be helping me, washing me thoroughly and devoted, little wife.”

The ground seemed to part beneath your feet and a cold, dreadful abyss waited for you to fall into it. There wasn’t a single thread of potential joke to hang on to. Just the unyielding grip of the minotaur, keeping you afloat, while at the same time being the one dragging you into doom.

“That’s why you’re here,” he added, with a huff.

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hold on you didn’t allow much movement. “My friend wanted to help me make one man jealous and-”

“And I’m sure he was jealous when he saw me scoop my bride up.” Ari shrugged. “Deal has been fulfilled.”

“Deal?” Your throat parched when Ari’s other hand slipped onto your waist. He curved his arm around you, bringing you closer to his sturdy, hot body.

Your breasts pressed against his broad chest and an outline of something big and hardening nestled against your belly. Something awoke in your core, tingling with need.

“Your friend is a fae. A dark fae.” He explained. “You wanted that man to be jealous and she guaranteed that. She didn’t promise you a happy ending with him. Ransom, however, promised me a wife. That was my price.”

You gasped, a muffled No tumbling from your lips.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t believe your friend tricked and used you like that. Natasha was upfront about being a fae, though she never revealed she was a dark one. Still, you trusted her. Until the flash of her sinister amusement when Ari dragged you away reflected in your memory. There was something cold about it.

Another gasp followed, this one more helpless, as Ari lifted you slightly off the floor. His arm around your body tightened as he easily picked you the few inches up. The hand holding your chin eased. He traced the back of his fingers along your jaw then down your neck.

“I was done with fighting. Had enough of them already and the riches I gained over the years are enough to last me and two next generations. But I was lacking something. Those generations, you see.” His fingers curled around the front of your neck. “So when Ransom tried to talk me into one more fight, I asked for a different payment. I wanted a wife.”

“But I don’t want that!” You squirmed in his arms, bracing your small hands on his shoulders. No matter how much of your own strength you put into it, those attempts were comical and pathetic against the minotaur.

“You don’t want to build a life with a faithful partner?” Ari quirked a brow, taking a step back and carrying you with him.

“Look me in the eye, Poppy, and tell me you aren’t a girl who dreams of marriage. Of stability and domestic bliss.”

“Not with you!” You protested, helplessly kicking your feet. The monster wasn’t the slightest bothered by the few kicks into his muscled legs.

“Tough, because I want it with you.” Ari growled.

His fingers around your throat tightened, at the same time his hold on your body readjusted your position. It made you rub against the growing hardness of his cock. The feeling of it twitching against your warm, soft body, made your pussy clench.

He moved across the spacious room - it wasn’t an apartment, but more like an expensive, impractical hotel room, with the resting area flowing openly to the bedroom, with an open rainfall shower right in the middle of it.

Past the shower, on the left side, propped against the marble tiled wall, stood a three-winged mirror in a golden frame.

Ari eased you down to your feet, then turned you around. He held you on his arms, giving merely a foolish hope of freedom.

What was worse, the arm banded around your ribcage elevated your breasts. Your stiffened nipples were visible through the fabric of your dress. Your clenched thighs still protected the evidence of your body’s response, but you couldn’t deny the heat pooling low in your belly and marking your underwear with slick as you looked at your reflection.

You were so small compared to him. The mirror was tall, but Ari had to bend his knees to fit his face in the reflection.

In your sweet dress, your human body so fragile and helpless, you looked like an abducted sacrifice for the brutal monster behind you.

Something about that picture sent a jolt of thrill down your spine.

“You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you, Poppy?” Ari’s warm breath tickled your ear. “A good girl who dreams of a loving husband to take care of her. I’ll be that. Just a bit rougher around the edges,” he chuckled.

One of his arms loosened, his hand trailing slowly along the swell of your belly, then down toward your hip.

“With a bigger cock than any meek human man,” he rocked his hips against you, pressing the monstrous hardness into your ass.

“Oh gods!” You moaned.

A surge of heat flushed you as embarrassment for the involuntary reaction settled in. While you were mortified, Ari’s eyes sparked.

“You like that idea, my little Poppy.” He didn’t ask, he stated.

You shook your head, but tightened your lips in fear of releasing another humiliating sound.

Ari started bunching the fabric of your dress up, inch by inch, slowly rolling it up. Then his hoove kicked your feet apart and a thick, hairy thigh pressed between your legs.

His hand slid down, cupping your pussy boldly. Your body jerked, but it resulted in more delicious pressure against your folds. Ari held his palm in place, only crooking his middle finger and dragging it right over your clit. Your knees buckled, a shiver rolling through your body.

“It may scare you, but your body is eager to ride the bull.” Ari’s low laugh was followed by a lewd lick of his tongue along your cheek.

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you.” He rubbed your nub harder. “But for the most part, I’ll do the riding.”

He snarled with hunger, gripping the pink cotton of your panties and tearing them away in one move. Thick, calloused fingers swept between your delicate folds, finding you shamefully wet.

“I’ll take you hard. Split your tight pussy on my cock. Fuck you while you scream your release. Fuck you while you scream that it’s too much. I’ll defile you. Fill you.”

His fingers were roughly moving from your swelling clit to your opening. The more he touched, the more he talked about the dirty things he planned on doing, the more wetness he drew out. The more your mouth parted, letting out tiny mewls and gasps.

“I’ll ruin you and you’ll let me.” He circled your clit again, faster. “You will let me do whatever I want and you’ll love everything and beg for more.”

Suddenly, he stopped. Leaving your pussy throbbing and unsatisfied.

He gripped the neckline of your dress and yanked, ripping the fabric and spilling your breasts out. Fingers wet with your juices traced the areola of your nipples, pads gently brushing hardened peaks.

“So pretty and sensitive,” Ari hummed, tweaking one of your buds between his thumb and index finger. “They will look even more beautiful when we have them pierced.”

“Fuck!” You jerked in his arms, but it was less of a weak protest and more a surprisingly violent reaction to the filthy hot image.

“Like the idea, huh?” Ari chuckled, pinching your abused nipple. The sting of pain went straight to your core. “I can have a chain to go along with them, tug on it like on a leash and have you obediently bend for me.”

Your slick was slowly dripping down your thigh and if Ari continued the filthy vocal torment, you’d be leaving wet spots on the floor in no time.

“You don’t have to worry, though,” he added in a softer tone, but his words were no less dirty, “nipple piercings usually don’t interfere with breastfeeding.”

Your glazed over gaze, which was focused on the reflection of his hands defiling your body, snapped up to Ari’s. He looked pleased, amused even, with your reaction to his implication. The spark of shock in your eyes combined with the way a shiny, thick string of slick was swaying between your thighs.

“Oh yes, Poppy,” he crooned, dipping his fingers in your wetness again. “I’m going to breed you. Fill that sweet pussy with my cum over and over again, until we fill our house with a gaggle of babes.”

The No forming somewhere in the back of your head died out as blazing pleasure seared you when Ari thrust two of his big fingers inside of you.

You screamed, clenching your eyes shut. The stretch of it felt almost brutal, but for your body it was the exact stimulation it needed to humiliate you further and push you right over the edge.

Your walls pulsed around intrusion bigger than most of your toys. Usually you had to work yourself up for much longer, before you used some of the larger things, but apparently being abducted and having a massive minotaur promise to ruin you was better than any foreplay.

Ari’s triumphant laughter cracked with a groan of pleasure as your walls kept fluttering around his fingers, driving him mad with temptation of feeling that on his bare cock. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, careless of your squirming and increasing cries.

“Gotta open you up, little one,” he curled his fingers, driving his pads over the spongy trigger that catapulted you to the brink of another orgasm.

“I want to stretch your cunt and break your will, not damage my eager breeder.”

“I’m not- I’m not your bre-” You mumbled, yet your hips kept rolling down, matching the rough tempo of his fingers.

Ari’s other hand clasped around your throat, clenching in warning, but not cutting off your airways. Despite him not holding you tightly, you didn’t bolt away. You stayed in place, watching in the mirror how the minotaur’s fingers disappeared in your pussy; how your slick glistened on your thighs.

“Look at yourself,” Ari snapped. “You’re leaking all over my hand, eagerly fucking yourself on my fingers. You’re going to have the same dumb, devoted look on your face when I spill deep inside of you.”

It was the way his fingers tormented you, it had to be, not the promise of knocking you up that tipped you right over the edge.

“That’s it, Poppy.” He squeezed your throat. “Watch yourself cum from the mere idea of being bred.”

And you did, your glassy eyes staring at the reflection of a panting woman in a ripped dress. Toes barely touching the floor, held up by thick fingers stuck deep in your dripping cunt and a hand curled around the front of your neck.

You were a puppet in the monster’s hands.

You were whatever he wanted you to be. A Poppy. A wife. A breeder.

When Ari withdrew his fingers from your sopping core, the loud squelching sound evoked a new wave of embarrassment. But you had no time to dwell on the humiliation as he tore the rest of your dress away and forced you to bend over.

Your arms stretched forward, hands braced on the mirror as you bent at the waist. Ari twisted one hand in your hair, propping your hips up with the other. He still needed to bend his knees to line up his cock with your entrance.

“Can’t wait to see you stretched and swollen,” Ari groaned, easing the bulbous tip of his massive dick into you. Your walls resisted, your tight channel not used to the minotaur’s size.

Your lips parted on a stretched, pained moan. You didn’t think it would fit. At the same time, you felt as if your suffering would be worse, if he didn’t continue.

“First from the overflow of my cum,” Ari kept pushing in, slow, but mindless of your keening. “Then as my seed takes root and you grow me a calf.”

Eyes rolled to the back of your head, drool wetting your bottom lip, as Ari’s cock sank in. The stretch felt endless, the sense of being so so full an overwhelming madness. Your body fell forward, elbows bending as your face pressed into the mirror. Your ragged breath left a foggy stain, your wet lips smudging the surface.

There was a long minute of lull - tense silence filled with your and Ari’s heavy breathing.

A short, merciful pause to let your body savor the feeling of being impaled and full.

Then, like a soap bubble, it burst.

Ari fucked you the way he promised, riding you hard. Your body floated there pliant, taking each brutal thrust and dripping for him. Your vision became hazy, but every few thrusts it cleared out and you caught the sight of your reflection. The big monster behind you: dark and sweaty, groaning and huffing as he took you; and your body so spent and boneless, but still vibrating with each sensation.

He pulled you back to him, wrapping an arm across your torso to hold you upright. It felt as if you sunk further down onto his dick. The angle causing your toes to curl and eliciting your cry.

Ari growled at you to hold onto his horns. When you did, your body arched, chest pushing forward. In the mirror, your reflection displayed a most lewd painting.

You watched the massive cock ease out of your small body, only to quickly stuff it full again.

When his groans turned into wild huffing, his hands clenching on your body as his hips sped up, you came for the third time. Less loud this time, but your walls cinched tightly. Your head fell onto Ari’s shoulder as you stared blankly at the ceiling, riding out the aftershocks.

Ari followed soon after, coming with a roar and driving deep into you.

Your consciousness felt cloudy, floating apart from your body. But it was the physical plane that pulled your mind back into the present, drawing your focus to the spreading warmth and heaviness.

Low in your belly.

You felt Ari’s cock throbbing inside of you; your walls clung to him desperately milking each drop of his cum. Spent that was flowing and flowing, filling your cunt and womb. Your insides bloated with it, stretching to accommodate the flood of seed.

Even in the mirror you could see the more prominent swell of your belly.

Ari’s gaze was focused on that, as well. One of his hands palmed the faint bulge, his fingers spreading wide and covering most of your belly.

It was so obscene.

A helpless human female taken and broken by the minotaur, dripping on his massive cock, her belly inflated with his cum.

And the dark glint in Ari’s eyes as he stared at your reflection promised more of it in your future. Like that, as well in other positions. With your belly finally swollen with his baby, your breasts heavy with milk, shiny gold piercings adorning your nipples.

You let out a tiny moan at the image your own mind provided, your pussy fluttering around the monster’s still twitching cock.

Ari hummed in response, a deep-chested sound that felt like a soothing vibration against your back. He moved after a longer moment; walking under the ceiling shower, while carrying you still impaled on his dick. He eased you down gently, groaning in displeasure as his cock slipped out of your wet heat.

Your legs felt too weak to hold you up, but Ari’s strong hands supported you. You buried your face in his chest as you felt the gush of fluids dripping out of your gaping hole. There was so much of it, you feared leaking for hours to come.

“Don’t worry, Poppy,” Ari started the warm water, “I’ll fill you plenty and often. And one day it will take. Then again. And again.”

A strained, hoarse sound left your lips. Yet you leaned into Ari’s embrace, sighing in contentment as he lathered your body with soap.

#scaretale universe #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #chris evans smut #minotaur!ari levinson #to the victor go the spoils

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dear-ao3 · 9 months ago

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well good day to all of you. i have a tale. a classified, certified absolute god tier disaster of a tale.

at the ripe hour of 6:45 am i was awoken from my slumber by a Noise. what sort of noise? you might be asking.

the sort of noise that usually accompanies my father getting up at the ass crack of dawn and trying not to turn on the tap loudly so that he doesnt wake us up.

for one blissful moment i thought that i was at home, in my bed, and all was right with the world.

and then i remembered that i live approximately four hours away from my parents and all is not right with the world.

so i did what any person would do. waited for the noise to go away.

but it did not.

so i investigated. in all my bleary eyed glory.

and found that my bathroom ceiling light was pissing.

not just a little either.

a severe, unauthorized amount of water was streaming out of my bathroom light fixture.

so after banging on katyas door and finding a bucket and throwing on a sweatshirt i dragged my tired ass down to the front desk and reported the tea as it were.

now one thing you need to know about our building is that it is old. the second thing you need to know about our building is that the maitenance guys (we call them the boys) are absolutely incredible, like tumblr funny guy posts but irl, however they take for fucking ever to respond to any situation.

this time though, nothing was in clear danger of exploding or lighting on fire. so we made some breakfast. drank some coffee. watched the bucket that we had put in the bathroom fill up with water. and we waited.

and waited.

and waited some more.

then i noticed that if you stepped on some of our kitchen floor tiles they started squelching.

so back downstairs i went and explained the tea as it were once again.

and let it be known, that i worked for two very solid and very miserable years as a resident assistant in college. i know all about the woes of people complaining to you to fix things that you cannot fix and you cannot tell them when it will be fixed because the person who needs to do the fixing is otherwise indisposed. so my general attitude towards this whole situation was "hey man you can't make this better for me and im really not pressed about it as long as someone eventually comes and sorts out my pissing ceiling." which is a great attitude to have in this general situation. and especially so because it was about to get even more strange.

at approximately 9:30am our apartment was graced by the presence of one of the boys. the maintenance man. we will call him james.

we have encountered james before. he delt with our fuse box nearly exploding. that situation was not nearly as chill as this one was.

hes also incredible.

so he comes in and he goes "hey how's it going" and i say "well you know things are just leaking!"

he proceeds to tell us that the fridge in the apartment above us had a connection pipe that froze and exploded some how and that managed to leak all into our apartment. not nearly what i was expecting but hey! at least they know what's going on!

we tell him about the squelching tiles and he says that he will bring us a dehumidifier after he turns off the water and deals with the mess of the fridge above us. we say ok great! this is wonderful!

and he goes to leave the apartment. out of habit i had locked the door when he entered. he goes "aw man did you lock me in?"

and i say

"oh sorry!"

and he pauses.

and he looks at our door in disbelief. perhaps even utter horror.

and this, my lovely audience, is what he was looking at:

surprisingly. he was not staring at the entertainment for man and horse plaque that katya and i found while thrifting. nay. he was staring at the unfortunate combination of the printed photo of lando norris and max verstappens face.

now why are lando norris and ax verstappen on the back of my door? you might be asking. you might even be asking who they are.

and if youve been following the lore of this blog, you might recognize them as formula 1 drivers. lando norris of course being a mclaren driver and max verstappen being the reigning world champion of team red bull.

and how did they wind up on my door? well at christmas katya thought it would be funny to put a picture of lando norris on top of our christmas tree and so we got one printed at cvs but when you get wallet sized photos printed they print you four of them so we ended up with four of the same photo of lando. one went on the tree, one went to my sister, one is in our bathroom and now one is on the back of our door.

as for max. well. katyas partner drinks red bull and he was on the red bull box so we cut him out and stuck him there. neither of us are particularly big max fans, it was just funny.

but anyway. i digress.

james is standing there staring at this array of perplexing stuff and goes.

"really? him??"

and i go

"yeah..." not knowing what else to say.

and james turns. and he looks at us. and he goes. and i shit you the absolute fuck not.

"now what's wrong with lewis hamilton???"

(sir lewis hamilton being the mercedes f1 driver, 7 time world champion and absolute icon)

and katya and i go

"oh no no! we love lewis hamilton! we just respect him too much to put him on the door!"

which is true

and james goes "now what did you think of him going to ferrari?"

and i say "i thought it was an interesting choice"

and katya says "i was surprised."

and james says "you and me both" and then he shuts the door behind him.

katya and i look at eachother. and we both fall to the floor in fits of laughter.

let it be known that james has come face to face with a giant tapestry of mr worldwide mr 305 pitbull himself that is in our bathroom, on several occasions, and yet, he chooses to comment on our choice of formula 1 driver that is taped to the back of our door.

im still in a state of disbelief. my ceiling is still pissing. my floor is still squelching. and my maintenance man felt the need to call our my choice of formula 1 driver at 9:30 on a saturday morning.

#not a tag #from saph #help #what #f1 #lando norris #sir lewis hamilton

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takumiraine · 8 days ago

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Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

#writing #fanfiction #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #batfam #jason todd #red hood #dp x dc crossover

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wilwheaton · 1 year ago

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When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

#tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw exploitation #child actor #still just a geek #lucio fulci #trauma survivor #speaking up for the child who was silenced by his abusers

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dynamightsfave · 1 month ago

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bakugo katsuki—interviews

bakugo katsuki fucking hates interviews. in every shape and form. public conferences? "i did my fucking job. the building crashed down because the base sucked ass. that's not my fucking fault" one on one interviews? "why the fuck do they have so many damn questions about my methods? let them try and do what i do!" talk shows? "if you're not gonna ask me about my job, i don't know what the hell i’m doing here, my personal life is my goddamn business. also, if i wanted comedy i’d go to the fucking circus, at least the clowns wear their actual uniform instead of shitty suits"

safe to say, dynamight is every interviewer's nightmare. he's a wonderful and attentive person off camera (he’s still an asshole, but a nicer one), but when you start asking him questions and place a camera on his face, the brass defensiveness, one of the things that lingers from his stubborn teenage years, shines through. that and that mouth that curses more than a sailor in their golden years ever has. there's offers to take him of course, being in the top ten heroes ranking of not only japan, but the whole world. he's mostly partnered up in these interviews, so there's someone to lead the talking and answer for him when he doesn't want to give into "the stupidest fucking question he's had the misfortune to hear".

red riot and shoto are the ones that are usually designated as his babysitters, but other old classmates have appeared onscreen with him as well. even deku, now a teacher, has made special features. but there's never much demand for an individual interview with pro hero dynamight, and if there ever is, bakugo usually rejects them without looking much into it.

which is why, his secretary was very confused when the mention of a last attempt at a talk show made his boss perk up rather than frown instantly. his lip didn’t instantly curl with a groan and his red irises didn’t meet the back of his skull. instead, he curiously eyed the schedule placed in front of him, and gave a curt nod in thanks when he was done. ryu developed a sense of uneasiness that took over his system. surely that was a sign of the end of the world. but he couldn’t really say anything, pinky and chargebolt recommended the interviewer and swore it would go well. maybe they were right? they needed it too, dynamight hadn't appeared on many public events lately. so there's that, now he just had to pray bakugo didn’t fuck it up.

and that brings us to right now, with dynamight taking a seat in front of you and the public’s applause dimming. the tension that fills the air lingers in the audience, and for once, bakugo and his interviewer seem to be completely at ease. ryu can’t help to think to himself that this is yet another sign that the world is about to end, and he wonders if he should call up his family to say a final goodbye. for now, maybe it’s better he focuses on what’s in front of him.

"great explosion murder god dynamight!" you smile at him, as if he was a friend you’re glad to see again, "so glad you could make it!"

you have that magnetism that makes every guest comfortable around you, familiarity being the base of your show. it’s a big part of why it became so popular, the charming host that interacts with their audience and speaks their mind in such an easy way.

katsuki smirks, chest a bit puffed and fingers drumming the armrest.

"sort of didn’t have a goddamn choice, did i?" while his response only makes the people watching tense more, you only chuckle, nodding as if you understood like nobody else.

"we’re our managers’ puppets aren’t we? either way, wonderful to have you," and goddammit, you never sound insincere, "these days it’s hard to have a minute of great explosion murder god dynamight"

"you know what they say, villains don’t rest. and if they don’t rest that just means us heroes have to work twice as hard as them" did he just answer without cursing? oh the world definitely ends today.

bakugo maintains eye contact with you while he lounges on his seat like he owns the place. he’s made hundreds of interviewers and others shrink with that attitude of his, but from the looks of it, you’re not only not one bit bothered by it, but you almost encourage it. your arms flex as you lean in towards him, agreeing with him.

"all right, since i don’t want to waste much of that precious time of yours..." eyes twinkling, you could even say teasing—dare i say flirty—, you tap a small melody onto your notebook with your pen, "let’s dive right in to the questions! promise this won’t be long. first off, i want to solve a doubt i’ve had for some time now"

he arches a brow, accepting the challenge. there’s the same amusement in his eyes that yours have, it sends chills across the room. it’s so weird to see the bakugo katsuki being not mean to someone that isn’t a little kid or a polite fan.

"i’ve said it a couple times now, and i have to admit it’s a bit of a mouthful. “great explosion murder god dynamight”. why that name? how on earth did you come up with it?"

it’s funny. you say it as if it isn’t a mouthful. quite the opposite, it rolls off your tongue like quick, flowing as if it’s escaped a million times, a prayer you know by heart. bakugo rolls his eyes, similar comments follow him practically every day everywhere he goes since he made the name up. he’s built up skin to them, not that they ever bothered him, he’s pretty proud of his hero name. some might say too proud.

"it’s a reflection of everything i am," he winces after a second, "maybe not the murder part."

"i do hear die is one of your favorite words tho"

"yeah well, it’s good to let the emotions out or whatever the hell. i try not to say it as much anymore, people say it’s rude or some shit," his hand makes a fast motion, as if to sweat it off, he really doesn’t give a damn, "anyway, the name’s like that because it had to embody how fucking awesome i am"

"ah, that makes sense," you nod along, not bothered by the curses, "a loud and bright name like your explosions. it does suit you"

at the compliment, the smirk returns to his lips, a small huff with it. he shuffles around to sit higher, now getting an idea of how this interview is going to go. katsuki finds that he doesn’t really mind it, at least the questions are off to a good start. and the host... well let’s just say he likes this one.

"i know, i picked it myself," he states, and you can’t help but laugh at how sure of himself he is. reminds you of a 6-year-old, not a single ounce of doubt in his body about how cool they are.

"would you say it was inspired by something else? maybe a hero you look up to?"

"nah, ‘t was all me," liar.

"i see. a unique name to say the least. but on the topic, is there any hero that you look up to? someone you aspire to be like. other than, i'm sure, best jeanist"

"obviously," he repeats, "but i mean; every kid and their goddamn mother has dreamt of becoming all might, he was n.1 longer than anyone. i’m sort of a basic bitch that way. when i was little i wanted to be like him, so i followed that dream until i made it real. and now i push myself to be as great as he was and more. plus ultra and all that bullshitr"

"wow. sounds like hard work," he grunts in agreement, and you purse your lips, "we all agree all might is a one of the greatest symbols we have, must have been incredible to be able to study under him. you mentioned the school’s motto. can you tell us about that? the ua days?"

katsuki smiles, his eyes drifting away to his hands. you can’t help but think he looks rather handsome, reminiscing his high school.

"in one word: it was fucking insane. he brought a lot of insight about what to expect in the actual field, and how to treat with bystanders—the little motherfuckers—, and he was always pushing us to do our best. he’s the sort of person you just know cares about what he’s doing," he explains, "our homeroom teacher, mr. aizawa was also very much like that, even though he didn’t look it. ua students are lucky when it comes to teachers. but they’re all ungrateful snotty brats"

it’s the first time bakugo katsuki has ever said something nice in public, even if it has some mean side dishes (wouldn’t be something bakugo katsuki said otherwise). at this point, it’s just you two in the room. no lights, no cameras, no audience, not even the questions you’ve jotted down in your notebook. only a conversation between two people. katsuki wonders if it’s a you effect, and he figures it must be, because he’s never as comfortable as he is talking to you. it comes so easy.

you smile, and it takes everything in you to not reach and put your hand on his arm at his words, the reminder of all the people watching in the room and through the cameras a dying reminder in the back of your mind. you like having him here, and you frankly don’t understand why other hosts dread his visits.

"sounds like a wonderful experience. i’ve talked to others from your course and they all speak of it with so much fondness, just like you. even with the hardships you had to endure," you clear your throat, voice dropping to barely a mutter. even the mic strapped to your blouse has trouble picking it up, "but i’m sure you don’t like thinking of them, i know i don’t. so, i know you’ve said all might and eraserhead are big inspirations, but do you have any other people you admire?"

you know you’re pushing your luck. your tone is far too friendly to be considered professional now and he’s not one to be heartfelt on camera. but if you could just get him to confirm what cellophane and shoto said last week... what you just know is the truth, but dynamight is a bit too proud to admit. you can see it in the way he looks away and puffs his cheeks to blow air.

"i mean, obviously, i’m incredibly grateful to best jeanist and edgeshot, they fucking saved my life," his cheeks grow the slightest bit of pink under your intense gaze. he almost chuckles as you nod entranced and edge just a tiny bit closer awaiting for the true answer. he guesses he might as well indulge, so, with a much lower tone, he continues, "and ya know, in class there were others that were pretty good too. not as incredible as i am, but close enough. if i had to pick any, maybe shitty hair and the dumbass deku. i guess"

screw the lights. your smile is blinding. it shines so much bakugo suddenly doesn’t feel like the answer was practically yanked from his throat. this is too much for his rearranged heart.

"that’s funny, they speak pretty highly of you too," you giggle. your eyes clash, and the small smile that forms on his face is instinct, he can’t control it. one, two, three.

"of course they fucking do. they better, else i’ll crush their bodies," he huffs, snapping back to his position before he was gobsmacked by you.

"all right, i’ve just got a couple more questions before we let you go," you get back on track too, despite the heat on the back of your neck, "uhm... oh yeah! well i guess you’ve answered this already, but just in case. you said red riot and deku were people you admired as heroes, i take it they are also the easiest to partner up with? i know pro hero deku is out of commission at the moment, but back when you still worked together"

dynamight actually thinks about this one. he furrows his brows, and his weight shifts on the sofa. he hums as his hand strokes his chin.

"well, it depends on the job. generally, i do like to partner up with them, we understand each other very well, as do everyone form our class. the time we spent training with each other pays off. so yeah, they’re easy to work with. but also, the half ‘n half bastard is quick to respond to what i do, and ponytail is a great strategist when it comes to infiltration or a mission that takes planning. the damn rabbit gets on my nerves a lot, but we make a good team. she should start thinking about retiring though, before she starts dragging me down"

"it’s lovely to hear the heroes of japan are so tight and coordinated. i must say, hearing you praise them is refreshing," your lip gets caught in your teeth in an attempt to stop the growing smirk, but your eyes betray you.

"oi, don’t misinterpret what i’m fucking sayin’. they’re all still pains in my ass, each worse than the last one"

"uh huh... okay, last question. if you weren’t a hero, what would you be?" that takes him aback.

"fuck you mean? i was always gonna be a damn hero. i don’t know. maybe one of those people that handle bombs in the army or some shit like that," he shrugs, but then a beat passes, "a firefighter"

"final answer?" you arch a brow. he grunts an affirmation, "o-kay! well, it’s been a pleasure to have you here, i hope we did not waste much of your time, but you’re free to go now. i appreciate that you didn’t shout"

he chuckles, following your steps as you get up and circle your table to get to him and say goodbye. the audience is clapping for you two, ryu is releasing the breath he’d been holding all throughout the interview, and the camera people are preparing to shut off. you reach him, and just like his smile before, his next actions are pure instinct. even more, they’re almost a routine.

his hand reaches for your waist, and he effortlessly pulls you closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. now, in this routine, it’s not common that you tense up. usually, you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest. you look up to him, eyes wide, and it takes one millisecond for him to realize what he’s done. he curses under his breath, and you laugh.

"welp, there’s that. no more hiding this," the stunned public is so silent they hear your whispers, "see you at home?"

katsuki gives you that low laugh you love, squishes your waist, and nods.

"yeah, see you at home"

ryu dials his family to say his goodbyes as his boss steps off the stage and the audience recovers from the shock. he prays the call gets through before the world suddenly explodes.

luckily, the world doesn’t combust, and he lives to see the heart magazines with your image on their covers and headlines screaming about japan’s favorite talk show’s host and potty mouth’s newly discovered relationship.

#mha #bnha #bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bnha x you #i just think he's neat #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 6 months ago

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never not mine, m | jjk | "... in your eyes."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

You'll find that you were never not mine. Wandering sometimes leads to finding. Finding sometimes leads to the truth. The truth sometimes leads to pinning someone to the wall and kissing them. But only if it feels right.

part i | part ii | this is part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sloooow burn; exes-to-lovers / second chance romance; angst and fluff and feels; your POV; smut (nipple play, scratching / marking, handjob, cum-eating / feeding, fingering, penetrative sex - missionary, doggy)

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

“What is the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?”

The most important lesson I’ve learned, huh… I think I would say that even though this world is difficult, tough, downright unbearable at times, it is okay to be comforted by the small things. I think a lot of people ignore those small things when they’re upset since they seem frivolous or out-of-touch to appreciate when you are having a hard time. But those are the most important times to enjoy them. We should not feel guilty about a small happiness. A taste of a favorite sweet. The sunset sky when you look up. Laughing with a friend even though everything around you feels dark. These moments will become the stars that will light up your universe in this black world.

For such a friendly, unassuming young man in a suit, he had been such a poet.

At first, you wondered if this was something you could apply on to your life. You had asked, it works in reverse too, doesn’t it?

He had tilted his head, inquisitive. What do you mean?

Small, painful things can slowly but surely break a reverie too, if you don’t take notice of them.

Ah. You’re right.

Each conversation had been insightful in its own way. The woman in the white dress. The most important lesson I’ve learned is loyalty. You might not make as much money or be as famous as you would if you turned your back on someone, but money and fame are fleeting. If you nurture those around you well, you will live a fulfilled life. The man with the silvery-blonde hair and white dress shirt. What an odd question. For me… to be proud of doing what I want to do, even if I may not measure up to the success of others. When I was younger, I thought it was more important to reach a massive audience, to have many people see my color. But now... I don’t think that’s what I want. I want to be an important part of someone’s life, short-term or long-term. I want my time to count to those who count. The woman in a tight denim number and lots of colorful bracelets. It’s important to be yourself. No one walks the same path. You might be too much for some but you might be just right for others, and those people will end up understand you best. The last one, a man with a bright smile and black dress shirt that seemed to barely contain his energy. An important lesson, huh? I guess I would say, go for it. Sometimes I’m uneasy or not confident in a new situation, and I have to remember to just go for it. Yeah, I think I’ve learned a lot from just doing rather than thinking too long about it. The only thing holding me back was being scared. But, being scared doesn’t mean you can’t take action. It means you can, because you have the strength to acknowledge your fear.

Yes, well.

Going for it sort of ended in smashing over a million won worth of liquor into the ground.

You couldn’t blame the advice though. Honestly, you were glad for it. You were glad for each and every connection you made tonight with those strangers. You weren’t sure if Kim Seokjin had set it all up or if each one had approached from their own curiosity. A mixture of both, maybe. Before, they had all been only pretty faces. A shallow judgement for each individual’s hopes, dreams, and realities. You were sure that was Seokjin’s plan – for you to see for yourself what kind of world you were in.

Maybe not so vapid after all.

A little silly, perhaps.

“Hmph, well, at least I can thank you for not letting me walk into a porn scene.”

You winced as Kim Seokjin folded his arms. You both had stopped at the end of the hallway with Seokjin waving the guards away to speak to you directly. Your feet were mildly hurting from standing up for so long. It could have also been due to the emotionally draining past hour.

“I had no intentions of that,” you protested.

Those perfect brows furrowed in disbelief. “Uh huh.”

You made a face. “Nothing was happening back there.”

“Uh huh,” Seokjin tittered again.

You couldn’t keep looking up at him anymore. He held a hand up as you shifted your eyes to the wall, crossing your arms too. Mostly to keep warm. And to hide a bit.

“Nu uh, I don’t want to know what dirty things you two were talking about.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “It’s not like that–”

Seokjin cut you off abruptly. “Did it help?” he inquired pointedly. “Did smashing one of my most expensive bottles of alcohol provide the catharsis you were looking for?”

You felt your cheeks heat. “S-Sorry, I’ll pay for it–”

“Hmph!” He sounded and looked offended. “I don’t need money. I have plenty of that. What I don’t have plenty of is somewhat sane people in my life. I watched you destroy public property and slap one of my security guys as if it was a normal Friday night for you.”

You cowered a bit. “Ah… I’ll apologize to him too.”

Seokjin sighed. He was a refined man with a hint of childishness that gave him eternal youth.

“I was glad to see it.”

He laughed slightly, shaking his head. You stared at him.

“I was nearly afraid that dating Jeon Jungkook had broken you.”

Wait.

“Broken me?”

His large shoulders slumped a little. “Ah, it was… It was so obvious. With Jungkook, too. It was as if the light had been sucked out of him. And you. There was a coldness about you that formed. I worried if you could hear all the whispers behind hands. Hoped Jungkook-ah had shielded you from them or, I don’t know, made you impervious somehow. But you could feel it too, couldn’t you? The ostracization. And he had contributed to it, in time.”

He had noticed.

That was enough to touch your heart.

You faltered. “It’s none of your fault. Or his circle of friends.”

Seokjin waved his hand. “Of course not. But it was still there. Hearing mindless droning all day is still a minor annoyance that builds up to a hornet’s nest over time. And I – no, we – spoke up too late.” He lowered his arms, defeated. “There isn’t much I can do, I know. But I wanted you to know that not everyone among us feels that way. Not everyone has their head in the clouds. Not just my circle of friends, but lots of people in this industry are good people with good intentions who are much better at comforting words than I am.”

You felt a surge of gratitude. Maybe for the first time tonight, you felt like crying. You lifted your head to soft, black brown eyes that were the windows to a big heart.

“Thank you.”

He seemed taken aback. “Ah… Right. Yes, you’re welcome,” he mumbled awkwardly.

You bowed to him.

“S-Stop that!” He smacked your shoulder with a mix of panic and defiance. “Don’t be ridiculous. And, anyway, I didn’t even succeed! You still ended up in an altercation with that big-nosed dongsaeng of mine. Hah…”

You laughed a little. “Ah, I’m sorry about that too. It was my fault he was so riled up.”

Seokjin gave you a contemptuous look that would put even the most disapproving aunt to shame. “No, really?”

You tried not to laugh. He was making it very difficult. It was probably the designer suit and corporately-parted hair mixed with his cartoonish reaction. “Please don’t be too hard on him.”

He made a disgruntled face as if he had to deal with an obnoxious puppy. “You should be worried about me. I’m sure he’s back there stomping his feet and being a stubborn little shit. Hah, well. I’ll have security escort you to your car waiting outside. Don’t slap anybody.”

You pouted. His youthfulness was infectious. “Aish, I won’t. I know my limits.”

“If only your other half did.” Seokjin threw up his hands in exasperation. “Go before I change my mind.”

He wouldn’t.

You backed off anyway, letting Seokjin saunter off, and was greeted halfway to the door by a kind security guard who didn’t ask if you were going to slap him. He did seem amused though. He was professional enough to keep it to himself, leading you to a side entrance where a black car was waiting to take you home after a very long and enlightening night.

Night felt different now.

Days felt different too, but the change wasn’t as obvious due to the hours consumed by work. There was plenty of distraction during the day, although you became strangely aware to how the world seemed different. How the sunlight seemed brighter. How there seemed to be a rhythm to the birds’ wings as they flapped away. How you occasionally caught yourself scanning the faces on streets, looking for something.

Someone.

But the sunset is when you noticed the shadows dancing around you. As the day died, you watched people slip from their responsibilities to their desires. A warm meal. A visit to the store to pick up a visual treat or a world within pages. A chance to see a familiar face, ending in a hug or, if lucky, a kiss. Stories within bodies.

You, too.

You found yourself at the movie theater again. You spent a moment, scanning the titles, picking an action movie you had never heard of. Even splurged for the popcorn, shaking it up in the bag with the salty, garlicky powder getting on your fingertips. You spotted a few clusters of friends. Couples. But also a few single individuals that were busy getting comfortable in their seats, placing their belongings just so, as if they did this all the time.

So, you too, sat down and placed your black bow purse beside you, adjusting your popcorn bag to the perfect snacking distance. It was exciting as the lights dimmed to black, enjoying the music score in surround sound, sucked into another world of imaginary action that you could safely enjoy despite all the bullets.

With popcorn, of course.

It felt different now.

It was only after you made your way home that you realized why.

And you smiled.

Another night, you decided to stop by the mall. Not to buy anything really, but to listen to the music at each of the stores. In this day and age of everything online, it was rare for you to make the effort. It was different now though, somehow. Honestly, not so bad. You purchased an overpriced drink and pretended to look at all the clothes as you listened to what was popular right now. Occasionally, you heard something interesting and pulled out your phone to search for the title of the song vis one of the lyrics, the usual way you used to do it. There were definitely apps for identifying songs instantly now, you thought, but there was something hands on and extra satisfying of replicating an old process.

You found yourself in front of a wall of skirts.

You looked up at the colors, the patterns, and saw nothing of what was currently in your wardrobe.

At work, you were required to dress semi-professionally. A lot of single-color blouses, long black skirts, simple silhouette dresses. A cardigan was your idea of spicing it up. In fact, today you were in a maroon button-up blouse with a high neck and billowy sleeves, and your signature long black skirt. Black heels with a cross strap detail, nothing special. Before, while you were dating Jungkook, you had borrowed a lot of clothes, as they had been required for specific events. Transactions. Nothing you personally owned, nor needed to. Even the small, tight dresses that you had purchased for dates you didn’t own anymore. You had donated them all. They had been purchased with the intent to look like a model’s girlfriend. Not to look like, well.

Yourself.

A pink gingham miniskirt with small red strawberries stitched onto it caught your eye.

You left the store with a brown bag with a few parcels wrapped in pink tissue paper and a lighter bank account. Did you know where you were going to wear these clothes? Nope. It was different, buying without a purpose, and yet.

It was an excuse to find an occasion.

You settled on a bench with a smile.

You held your drink and lifted your head, watching people walk past. Seeing glimpses of their stories through the windows of shops. A surprised face at seeing something they wanted. A look of bliss once they took a sniff of a scented candle. A wringing of hands in front of a gift shop, running out of time and paralyzed by decision. You took a sip, wondering if they would be successful. Your thoughts wandered, as they always did. I have someone. Individual realities parallel to yours, with the occasional interaction a demonstration of interaction. Moments that required moving against the natural course for a purpose. Sometimes a brief purpose, and sometimes entangled because they wanted to be.

The question was, did you want to be?

You had become aware of how your line had been. Dulled by distraction, lacking intersections, moving the lonely course without remorse. All the small things becoming a blur of monotony. The roses had become colorless from the coldness that you had inadvertently held onto.

Bit by bit, you were finding color once more.

You stood up with your empty cup, hurrying to find the appropriate trash can to dispose it in.

“Hey, excuse me!”

You started.

A mother with her arm around a small child’s shoulders waved at you. “Your shopping.”

“Oh, sh–sorry!”

You went back, bowing repeatedly as you picked up the brown bag, startled that you had forgotten your quite expensive purchases. The child shook their head at you. You sheepishly laughed, letting yourself be scolded by the kid. “An adult shouldn’t be so careless!” Well, that was a bit harsh, but you thanked them anyway, waving as you parted.

You turned around, returning to your escape route.

Careless, huh?

Maybe the kid was right.

Someone in black was walking down the path. A man. He was walking fast. An oversized grey beanie with dark hair poking out. Body drowning in a slashed black hoodie and ripped jeans. Black boots. Black face mask. It was a bit odd because he was wearing sunglasses inside. Still, there was no reason for you to look twice. He looked up.

Somehow you knew your eyes had met.

You slowed down.

Jeon Jungkook slowed down, reaching up to remove his glasses.

Would your eyes have met if you hadn’t had to double back to retrieve your shopping bag?

If you weren’t careless?

You saw him catch his breath as soon as he knew it was you. You weren’t sure how he knew. Then again, how did you know? This entire adventure had been on a whim. He stopped at a reasonable distance from you, and half-lowered his face mask, as if to greet you. But neither of you could utter a word. You held your small black purse that you haven’t changed in several years. It was a simple design with the designer embossed in very small font above a leather bow sewed flush to the front. Unremarkable, really, unless you knew.

And he knew, because Jungkook had brought it for you.

The first gift at the very beginning. He looked from the bag to you. Wondering if he should comment on it. He hesitated, and you understood why. Two parallel lines. No interaction would occur unless one moved against the natural course and doing so would be, well.

Careless.

“I hope,” you started, cautiously. Something flickered in those big brown orbs. “I hope Kim Seokjin didn’t scold you too much.”

He lowered his head a bit, half-laughing and half-scowling. “I did get a scolding for causing a commotion.”

“It was my fault,” you acknowledged once again.

He shook his head. “No, it was mine.”

You half-smiled. “Wanna fight about it?”

Jungkook raised his head, still holding onto the bottom of his face mask. You could see the mirth in his stance. It was almost as if there wasn’t a weighing limbo trapped between you and him.

“Actually, yeah.”

Almost immediately, you saw him falter, as if he knew he shouldn’t say something like that. You felt a sting witnessing it. He opened his mouth, and you almost heard it, his casual, just kidding, and this wasn’t like him at all.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

You interrupted him before he could add, just kidding. He stiffened, exposing hints of the printed white t-shirt under the tears of his hoodie. You were both occupying space on the walkway. People needed to walk around, some unbothered, some slighted by the inconvenience. His name on your tongue felt foreign and familiar at the same time. An end and a beginning all at once.

I have someone.

So did you.

You smiled.

“It’s really good to see you out and about.”

His eyes widened. You hoped he could tell that you meant it. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat a bit, trying to eliminate the sudden croak. “Yeah. You too. I’m…” His eyes shifted a bit. He was always focused on you, regardless. “I’m glad I ran into you today.”

And maybe that was it.

You were okay with that, though. That might have previously been a lie, but not now. It was probably unnecessary to say. Perhaps you had spoken up for some sort of closure, for both you and him. A chapter ended in some way.

He rubbed the back of his neck, ticking his head to the brown bag by your side. “You came to shop today?”

You held it up halfway with a chuckle. “Ah, well… It wasn’t the plan. Ended up that way.” You noticed the way he intently observed your actions. Couldn’t avoid it, really. You lowered the bag, not hiding even though it was maybe the better thing to do. “What about you?”

He paused. Had he forgotten already? You watched him gain his bearings with bemused patience.

“Ah, I…”

Jungkook looked and sounded embarrassed.

“What the hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Actually, I cancelled a shoot last minute.”

Your head tilted. “I’m surprised. That’s not like you.”

His pink lips upturned. You could spot that tiny mole underneath them, right at the center. “Yeah…” He trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. Ashamed, almost.

“It’s okay, though,” you offered. You hated to see that expression on his face. “You did what you felt was right. These things happen.”

He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t cancelled a shoot since…” He stopped.

You waited.

Jungkook glanced at you. You saw a pink twinge dust across his cheekbones.

“Since I first asked you out.”

You blinked at him. “What are you talking about?” You frowned. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

He winced and looked up at the ceiling, rocking on his heels a bit. “Actually, I… I lied. I pretended I wasn’t getting any bookings. Just to spend time with you in the beginning. But, uh, then I felt guilty. I wasn’t the man I thought I needed to be. The man you deserved.” He sighed, yanking one of his hands out to scratch his eyebrow absentmindedly. “But maybe I never was, because then I got swept up in all that bullshit.”

Jungkook looked down.

“I know it’s too late to say such things now.”

He seemed to collapse a little bit despite his tall frame.

“Now, it’s…” He sighed. “I can’t concentrate at all. I keep asking myself what I’m doing. For a while there I kept working in hopes that you would…” He grimaced again, but chose to ramble on anyway. “So you would still see me everywhere. Stupid, huh? And now it’s just…” He shook his head. “I think I should give up.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He took a deep breath and straightened. “Ah, my bad. I went on for nothing.” Bowing slightly, backing away. “I have a lot on my mind. I didn’t expect to run into you and now I’ve run my mouth like a madman.”

“Jungkook.”

His name came out of your mouth before you registered it. He stopped moving, looking back at you, halfway between pulling up his face mask. You struggled to find the words, clutching your unexpected purchases and your racing heart, his first present to you against your ribs.

“Don’t give up.”

You made sure not to break eye contact.

“It’s not like you to give up, you know. It’s my… my favorite thing about you.”

He seemed stunned.

“R… Really?”

You couldn’t help but smile. Nervously albeit fiercely determined.

“One of many.” You relaxed a bit, relieved that you were able to say so. You laughed a little at the absurdity of it all. “Although perhaps we need to stop doing these kinds of things in public.”

Jungkook jumped, seemingly realizing all the people around too. “Ah… Whoops.”

You bowed as you spoke. “Then, I’ll…”

The way he said your name, so soft and dreamlike, made you freeze mid-movement. He seemed flustered, stepping a little closer to you. It was the correct moment to pull back, replace some respective distance between you and him to keep a measure of strangers, and yet.

You let your eyes meet his under wisps of black hair sticking out of his beanie.

“Can we spend a little more time together? If it’s not too much trouble?”

It was. You had work tomorrow. You needed to get home and put away your things. Wash up. Do your nightly routine to unwind. Get back to being a responsible adult with responsibilities living a responsible life.

Your lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Sure.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere.”

You were standing by his motorbike now. His pride and joy, yet you knew it was rarely used in his day-to-day life. For the best, probably, considering the risk. You weren’t surprised to see it today though. He always rode when he felt frustrated or out of it. The walk here had been silent, which you had expected. Jungkook was the king of speaking without a plan. You didn’t mind it, though. It reminded you of good times.

He awkwardly shuffled, obviously realizing that himself now.

“Hey.”

“Uh?” he answered distractedly.

“Why did you ask me out back then?”

He fumbled with his hands a bit. “Ah, that’s…”

You tilted your head, patiently waiting.

“I…” He stuttered a bit. Cleared his throat again. “I just couldn’t help but look twice. I thought you were hot as hell.”

You almost snorted. “Don’t you encounter enough of that at work?” you chuckled.

He shook his head. “No, it’s more like… Um, even if they’re attractive, everyone knows it is pretty for a purpose. They’re all taking care of themselves. Looks are the selling point, after all.” He poked at his own chest. “Me too.” He raised his head to you. “But you’re different. You don’t have to think about how you look will reflect in a paycheck. You take care of yourself for yourself.”

You thought about it. It didn’t seem that extraordinary. “Well, anybody can do that.”

He smirked.

“If anybody could do it, why could I only see you?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You raised a hand to smack him and stopped short. Instead, you let your hand fall and half-rolled your eyes. “Ehhh, don’t try to pull that stuff on me.”

He laughed behind his hand. “Have to try.”

You frowned with feigned annoyance. Jungkook had always been taller than you, even in heels, assuming you weren’t opting for miniature stilts. Still, you always had the impression he was never looking down at you, but up, even when his eyes were downcast.

“Yeah, that.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“That look you’re giving me right now,” he chuckled sheepishly. “I knew you’d be able to balance me out and set me straight.”

You squinted at him. You let out a puff of air and looked away, tumbled into memories where maybe you could have been the one to change the course of these parallel lines. “Yeah, and look where that got us,” you muttered.

Sigh.

Somewhere behind you, a car honked loudly.

“Standing next to each other?” Jungkook quietly asked.

Two cars were having trouble at an intersection at the end of the row.

Standing next to each other.

Your gaze drifted back and locked with his. He didn’t try to hide the emotions his eyes. You were quite sure he could see through you too. The impasse remained, not because a bridge couldn’t be built, but because it couldn’t bear to be burned once more. Once more meant it would crumble to ash and disappear forever. You had thought it already had, until tonight.

You tried to reason with the unreasonable. “You cannot believe you skipping work and me deciding to spend a good chunk of my paycheck to mean some serendipitous shit, can you?” you scoffed.

He gave you that brilliant smile that had tamed you from the very beginning.

“You–”

You poked him hard in the chest.

“Ahh!”

Jungkook must not have expected that at all.

He almost fell over.

Your hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his hoodie, dragging him back. His body lurched, slightly off balance, and your elbow swung forward, bracing onto his abs, leaving your faces close enough together for bystanders to get the wrong idea. For him to get the wrong idea. For you, too. You were close enough to count his eyelashes.

Enough time elapsed that you might as well have.

“What… What is with you?” you muttered, gripping his clothes. “You’re so… dramatic.”

He had another piercing on the side of his right lip now. Huh. How come you didn’t notice? Probably too busy being mad at him. Or not staring at his lips in fear of indecent thoughts. This current proximity and shared heat were not helping. His hands were somehow on your shoulders. Probably to steady himself. Or something else. You weren’t sure.

Jungkook stared at your lips.

You didn’t back away.

He leaned down and kissed you.

He must be an idiot to put you both in this position again. You must be an idiot too, because you kissed him back. Fuck it. Your hand on his chest relaxed, fingers spreading out, pressing your lips to his, breathing him in. He still used the same cologne you had complimented on back then. It made you smile into his lips. His tense hands on your shoulders fluttered, one slipping down to your upper arm, the other grazing your neck. His thumb brushing the side of your cheek. His other fingers weaving into your hair, tilting his head slightly. No promises, but.

A dream made.

You tapped his chest, forcing him to break the connection.

“W… What?” Jungkook gasped, his short breath mixing into yours.

“Not… Not here,” you chuckled, feeling your racing pulse in your throat. “I think we’ve done enough public reconciliation. Adding public indecency is not it. Someone is going to recognize you soon.”

Those shadowed eyes watching you were telling you he was ready to risk it.

“No,” you gritted, punching his chest lightly. Surprisingly, Jungkook did not budge and held on very strongly to your arm. “Stop that. Stop it with the sex eyes.”

He grinned. You could tell from the way his eyes crinkled. “Is it working?”

You pried yourself from him with some effort.

“All you’re telling me is that you really like handcuffs.”

“Promise?”

You straightened your clothes and answered absentmindedly. “Promise what?” You looked up to give him an indignant expression. He took your purchases to place them in the back of his motorcycle, giving you no verbal response.

Just a sneaky smirk in return.

“What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Uh…”

Before he could make another sound, you grabbed Jeon Jungkook by the collar and dragged him to you.

It was different.

Just not in the way you thought it would be.

Part of you thought to hold back. Build a solid foundation to see if this would work. Talk for a long while, move slow, step by recommended step. Then again, if you actually believed that, you would have instructed him to take you back to your apartment. Maybe send him off with a kiss and a pat on the head. You know. The complete opposite of shoving him up against his living room wall and tracing your tongue over his moaning lips with his hands gripping your waist. If this was going to work, it was always going to work. It didn’t matter if it was the wrong way or the right way.

This love was either going down in a blaze of glory or start an everlasting fire.

Might as well get on the ride.

You let him kiss down your neck, your hands sliding down to his. Interlocking fingers. Shivering at the sensation of his lips in your skin, familiar and new. Body-to-body. You pulled up his hands to force him to lose the top layers, including the beanie, exposing his toned chest and gleaming tattoos going from his right hand to his shoulder. His hoodie and t-shirt fell to the floor in a soft thump. His hair was different than when you had last seen him. Sides shaven, the top still long, messy black waves due to being crammed into the beanie. He flicked his head back, sending black strands all over his half-moon eyes, glistening pink lips parted in a soundless gasp.

You took his wrists and pinned Jungkook to the wall.

Panting, watching him under you despite looking upwards.

“W… What?” he breathed, locked in your transfixed stare.

It was different, yet it was the same. You could feel it. There could have been many others between the last time and right now. You knew there wasn’t. It was both sad and validating, because you knew how much he hated being alone, but now you knew there was truth to those promises he had said to you between sheets and pillows.

You leaned down and licked a wet, fat stripe over his chest, dripping saliva all over him.

Jungkook moaned, leaning his head against the wall.

“You belong to me,” you whispered over his heart. Raised your head and he was looking back at you.

Only you.

“I belong to you,” he whispered back.

You skimmed your lips over his skin.

“Prove it to me.”

He surrendered.

To your tongue, tracing patterns over his collarbones. To your lips, dotting kisses and making him flinch, whining for more. To your hands, holding him down and at your mercy, exploring him with sight, touch, and taste. You let go of one of his wrists to trail your nails over his abdomen, observing the way his body rippled, lifting towards you as sensitivity increased. You let your fingers wander, around his waist and into shaded territory, running your nails down his spine, watching his reaction. His head tilted back, hair in wisps around his temples, dark eyes clouded in lust.

Your name slipped from his lips.

You dug your nails into his lower back and pulled yourself up, unable to keep the side of your lips from curving upwards at his delicious whines.

“Take off my blouse.”

His fingertips slid across the slinky maroon fabric. Button by button, the fabric began to unravel in his hands, your forehead to his as he did so. You took his breath, tracing his muscles, murmuring his name just to feel him shiver as he heard it.

“I never had anyone else after you,” he mumbled, circling one of the buttons with his thumb. “I couldn’t.”

“You could have,” you hummed. “You were a free man.”

Jungkook undid the last button and stared into your eyes.

“No, I’m not.”

You half-smiled. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

He leaned in again, brushing your lips with his.

“I belong to you.”

His touch, his kiss, the dance of mesmerizing senses. You stepped back. He followed. Tangled in each other, your blouse slipping off and dropping to the floor. Your bra unclasped, tumbling, his hands all over, places he had been a million times and desiring forevermore, squeezing your breasts with his hands, almost tripping over your skirt as you stepped out of it. His pants joined the trail of passion, and then his tongue was on you, lifting you in his arms and tasting your hard nipples with your hands in his hair, clutching his head for support with your legs around his waist.

“I’m going to fall,” you gasped, breathless.

“Over my dead body,” was the muffled answer with his face buried into your breasts. “Fuck, I love your ass.”

Perhaps to avoid death getting two for the price of one, Jungkook let you down, devouring you with kisses with your taste lingering on his lips, sinking his fingers into the soft curves. You curled your tongue against his, making him moan, hips grinding against hips, feeling his insistent hardness against your softness, trapping himself between your legs. You were still in your panties and he was still in his boxer briefs, although the thin fabrics were merely a nuisance to the inevitable.

“Jungkook…”

He was thrusting into you and jamming his cock in between your thighs, his strong arms wrapped around you and his teeth on your shoulder. You hummed, torn between telling him off and enjoying the feeling of his arousal swelling between your legs, but it was he who gasped and threw his head back, his hard length twitching against your clothed pussy.

“You ready to include me in this?” you questioned, amused.

“S-Sorry… Can’t help myself…”

Somehow, by instinct and minor effort, you were both in his bedroom now. The familiar bed you had once called yours, remembering the future dreamed upon those white sheets. Jungkook pulled you to them, calling you to the paradise that could only be created between two. Don’t, was your meek protest as he pulled down your panties and kneaded your thighs, shaking his head, I don’t care, and his tongue slid over your heat. Wet, dripping, your sweet taste and his saliva. He moaned between your legs, decorating you with kisses before sliding his tongue over you, drinking you desperately, you taste so fucking good, fuck, and your fingers buried into the sheets. He remembered everything you liked. Steady, soft licks, then harder when your legs tensed, tipping his head to bring his lips around your clit, drenching his chin with your wetness.

His hands turned and slipped under your legs, dragging you to his face by your ass.

“F-Fuck, Jungkook…”

You reached down and gripped his hair as you came on his face, his muffled gasp of surprise drowned out by the moan produced through your arched back and prolonged euphoria. Fuck. Fuck, it hadn’t been evident how much you missed this, no, him, your knuckles against the crown of his head, his hot tongue all over, his fingers locked onto your ass, even the way his nose brushed against your oversensitive clit as he thrust his tongue into your pussy, triggering another wave of pleasure, sparking electricity that burned through your veins.

His.

He pulled himself up with a groan, his mouth all over your body. Leaving bites, kisses, licks in his lustful wake. Your nails dug into his shoulder and he made that whimper you loved, obviously wanting more, and so you clawed his upper back as he pretended to resist you, refusing to move higher as he sucked on your nipples, gazing at you under half-lidded eyes, rubbing your other nipple between his fingers.

“Take it,” you growled under your breath.

He did, rubbing his hard, neglected cock against your thigh, denying himself longer.

Over time, you had hesitated to do such things. Jungkook had gotten in trouble before for being marked up. After all, his body was his selling point, and booking back-to-back shoots with poor choices in between ended up in humiliation. Unjustly so, perhaps, but you never did it again. Maybe you should have been more considerate this time too, but, no, that wasn’t what he was asking for.

He wanted the consequences of you.

He brought his face close to yours, your orgasm still on his breath.

“Mark me,” Jungkook demanded, his voice low and deep and gravelly. “I’m yours.”

So you did.

Hickeys on his perfect neck, sharp nails over his ass as you pushed down his underwear, adorning him with fierce, vicious passion that bruised him. He kissed your forehead, buried his fingers in your hair, and pinned you to him, pre-cum dripping onto your hip as he kicked off his restraints, pressing his hardness to you.

“You’ll get in trouble,” you warned even though the damage was already done.

“I don’t care,” he retorted, his thigh rubbing against your still-wet pussy. “I don’t care if I have to cancel the rest of the week. I don’t care if I never work in the modeling industry again. The only thing I care about is making sure you always know how much I love you.”

You froze, your lips above the inked floral mandala on his right shoulder.

“I should have made time.”

His arms drew up and encircled your head, his lips against the crown.

“I’m so, so sorry for not realizing how disrespectful I was to you. And I won’t do it again,” he murmured, leaving kisses intertwined with your hair. “I promise.”

“I…”

You reached up and held his shoulders, anchored despite the turbulence of an emotional sea.

“I missed being by your side, Jungkook.”

If his hard dick wasn’t literally throbbing against your hip, you might have cried.

You reached down and touched him.

“Ah!”

“Woah.” Your arm hooked around his waist as your hand enclosed around his girth. “I’m just making sure he’s keeping interest even during this emotional breakthrough.”

His cheeks flushed as he realized he had chosen his moment with possibly suboptimal timing. He didn’t have to worry. His body seemed to recognize your hand right away. You could feel the way his cock eagerly twitched on your palm. You cocked an eyebrow. He gave you a the-fuck-you-expect look, and you curled two fingers around his balls, lightly massaging with the pads of your fingers, simulating your tongue. He gasped, gripping your shoulders.

You leaned down and spit in your hand.

“F-Fuck!”

You backed up and slowly, leisurely, spread the slippery saliva all over his cock, letting him adjust his knees to give you a better positioning. Your other arm had moved behind you, lifting your torso up as you jacked him off. He seemed to not know what to do with his hands, foreign objects in his possession before his eye line drifted down. Down. His fingers trailed over your breasts, squeezing them and playing with your nipples as you increased the pace.

“Handcuffs could come in handy right now,” you commented.

He glared at you.

“S… Shut up.”

His cock had throbbed at the suggestion though.

You tilted your head, watching his breathing quicken as you applied the pressure where he liked it, the same pulse every time, not too fast and not too slow, building the frustration with a smile.

His face tensed.

Faster. A little tighter. Your thumb rubbed just under the base of the head with every ascent. He placed his palms against your hard nipples and you felt the familiar snap of his hips, leaning into your hand, his eyelashes fluttering, and for a brief moment you considered stopping.

Then again, these weren’t your sheets.

He gasped out your name and shot all over your stomach and thigh.

Hot, thick cum splattered onto your skin, making you suck in a breath as you felt it, saw it, smelled it, intense and strong and all over you. You were lucky it was on the thicker side, white streaks sticking to your body rather than running off. A painting of perverse proportions. Jungkook stared at his work, still semi-hard in your hand, clearly turned on by the sight. You sent him a questioning look.

“What now?”

Then he shocked you, and probably himself, by diving down and running his warm tongue over your cum-covered skin.

“Oh, what–”

Instant burning tingles spread throughout your nerves at the contact, vibrating through to your core, dripping as you witnessed the milky white coat his tongue. Your hand touched his shoulder, drawing him up, and he was tamed by your gesture, rising, his lips smeared with his release, and you drew closer to the heavy scent, to him. Lips to lips. Drank it from his mouth, swallowing the mixture of saliva and orgasm. Your tongue tangled in his, his fingers in between your legs again, thrusting two fingers into you, following the pull you had on him. Deep, slow, faster as the kiss grew more intense, breath to consumed breath, rolling your hips up into his hand, tightening around him, and Jungkook moaned, getting harder in your hand as your slick arousal drenched his.

“Condom?”

They spilled over the bed in his haste.

You were pleased to see it was the same brand you usually enjoyed. There wasn’t much to be read into that, though, because they had become his favorite as well per your introduction. You wondered if there would be a second first-time awkwardness and you were immediately proven wrong from the desperate and experienced way Jungkook dragged your ass to line up his dick. There was no time to be anxious, it seemed.

“You’ve acting like you’ve never had me before,” you teased.

Those dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t act like you don’t have the tightest, most perfect pussy I’ve ever been in.”

You half-shrugged. “Things could change.”

He slid in and clenched his jaw.

“You liar.”

You smirked and closed in around his length.

“F-Fuuuuuuuck me…”

You could have probably kept it up if it wasn’t for how fucking good he felt inside you. Just the right girth, and he lifted your legs, deeper, gasping, reaching the depth you liked. Your thighs against his chest. You locked eyes. Jungkook cocked an eyebrow with a familiar smirk. The corner of your lips ticked upward, and the rough, powerful pace began, your hand gripping his tattooed forearm and the other the sheets, losing yourself to the pleasure, pressed between the mattress and his hard body. His eyes closed, your lashes fluttering, witnessing glimpses of bliss, whispers of sweet nonsense lost between moans, leaning your head back onto his pillows, sinking into his scent.

Belonging to him.

His hair flicked sweat onto your chest. Your hand on the bed bent back and shoved the pillows down, using the leverage to lift your hips to his thrust, moaning at the visceral sound of slapping hips, wet and loud and vibrating throughout the room.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he panted out between gasps. “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

You tried to deliver a compliment back but it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Your orgasm abruptly interrupted any coherent though, forcing you to bury your head back and endure the vice-grip of wanton delirium, barely able to gasp out his name as the hot wave dragged you under, your inner walls viciously pulsing all around his length. You heard Jungkook groan and attempt to say something, probably how much he enjoyed feeling your orgasm, he had done so before, however he seemed to be in his own dilemma as well, clenching his jaw and snapping his head down, the muscles of his chest taut and tense, and, in your intoxicated haze, you realized he was attempting not to follow, but.

“Fuck!”

He slammed his cock into you and cursed, throwing his head back as you felt the jerk of his cock spilling into the condom, trapped in your tightness, dragged into the kind of fever that couldn’t be sweat out, sinking down, down.

You stilled, suspended in bliss.

It was a little easier to breathe now. You missed this. Him, specifically. The sex you had together, carnal and intense and unparalleled. Closed your eyes, breathing hard, feeling the familiarity of Jungkook on top of you, spent, sweaty, frantic for round two. He didn’t like stopping if he could help it. It was one of his best traits. You felt him lower your legs carefully, backing out of you with a hiss.

Then you heard a wet, dirty sound.

You opened one eye.

He was staring at your body.

Running his fingers over his still-hard cock, bringing it back to full hardness.

“Let me look at you.”

You hummed. “You’re only seeing one side.”

His dark eyes shifted up to yours.

“Okay. Turn over.”

Desire turned his voice deeper, huskier.

With a sly smile, you rolled over, and scooted onto your knees, spreading your ass for him. You heard him suck in a breath, that’s so fucking sexy, and you flexed, letting him watch, entrancing him with the visual and the obvious sound of your wetness.

“Every part of you is perfect.” You could hear him jacking himself off, hard and fast. “Fucking perfect.”

“I feel that your judgement is clouded right now,” you answered back, muffled by his pillows in your face.

You heard the ripping sound and then a groan as he rolled down the condom. Then his strong hands grabbed your hips, prompting you to let go, and he sank into you.

“Fuck no, it’s not,” he gasped, picking you up by the hips to fully sheath himself. You managed to pull a pillow to your chest to allow ample breathing room. “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can satisfy me.”

You made your pussy tighten around him and he moaned again, his hot breath washing down your spine.

“Then let me satisfy you,” you purred, leaning back into him.

Your ass met his crotch in a loud, gratifying smack, easily locking into a rhythm you both enjoyed. Hard, aggressive, powerful, not holding back, you lifting a hand to extend back, and he caught your forearm, thrusting deeply as he held onto you. All of his power was directed below, the grip on your arm simply a symbol of possession, forcing you to lift your head and arch your back, adjusting to that more fruitful angle, sending heat all throughout your blood and nerves, the tension building, louder, harder, more.

He let you go, and you bucked back against him.

Moaned your name, delicious and desperate, begging you.

It was hard to count your orgasms. They seemed to blend into one another, entangled with the passion and the beat, not wanting to stop even as you struggled to breathe, clutching the pillow so hard that you could still feel your nails digging into your palm. The lust searing and yet not enough, chasing more, wanting more, wanting him, only him, your only, the one that belonged to you.

Your head tipped back, seeing only fragments of your surroundings, your hair a mess over your face.

“Jungkook, I love you,” you gasped.

You felt his hips flinch and he moaned your name, long and drawn-out, his hard cock jolting inside you, gripping your hips so tightly you probably had imprints of his fingertips. There was a flurry of expletives and panting. The haze of inexplicable euphoria settling, unavoidable and desired. You closed your eyes, savoring his release, feeling the radiating vibrations of his high pour into you as he slid down, his hot hands over your back, his shuddering exhales warming your shoulder blades.

Sweat, in small shivering droplets, sprinkled onto your skin.

“I love you too.”

He pressed his fingertips into your rising and falling body, touching you all over, confessing to your racing heart beneath his lips.

“I love you so fucking much.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, totally.”

You turned your head to see Jungkook staring at your tits. You tucked a knuckle under his chin and forced it up. He gave you the big-peepers-in-headlights look.

“Huh?”

“Are you sure about this?” you repeated once more.

He gave you a confused look. “Yeah. I thought we talked about it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me, but I’m not sure how much I can trust a discussion we were having with you balls deep inside me.”

“Eh?” His lower lip upturned. “Why not?”

You rubbed your temple with two fingers. “Why not, hah…”

“I meant it.”

You pulled one of his pillows over your naked chest so he could focus. You weren’t even sure why he had these. Jungkook slept on one of those stiff cylindrical pillows that was supposedly more comfortable. You weren’t too sure about how good that was for his neck, but sometimes you just have to accept the strangeness of your significant other. He must have kept these for the look of a nicely made bed. Or for moments like this. His eyes went back to your face again, reluctantly. He seemed a little disappointed.

“You don’t think I meant it?”

You saw his eyes were drifting to your thighs now. “It’s not really that…” You considered it. “It’s more… Well, we’ve tried already, you know. Aren’t you afraid it’ll happen again?”

His gaze shifted. You waited, letting him collect his thoughts.

“Afraid?” You saw him reflect the past and the mistakes. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. I’m definitely going to change from how I was before. I can see how my work-life balance was shit, as both a friend and boyfriend. I don’t want to go back to that either,” Jungkook mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it now. I can’t get time back. I was stupid, thinking me overworking myself wouldn’t drive you away, you know, we would have so much more time later… I went about it the worst way. I didn’t even discuss it with you. That was just me being selfish, and that selfishness made me insecure… I don’t want that anymore. I promise you that.” He shook his head and looked up at you guiltily. “Still… I can’t promise I won’t fuck up in some other way. And that scares me. But I have to act, even if I’m scared. Even if your final answer is, let’s not see each other anymore, at least I will have honestly given you my all this time, because you are it for me.”

You shook your head too. “There could be someone out there for you that is a lot more suitable than me. The world is the big place.”

He frowned, exasperated. “No. No, you don’t get it.” He placed a hand on your knee and looked into your eyes. “You are it for me. The world is big place, but my world is right here.” He poked you and you laughed, startled at the suddenness. A smile burst onto his face, holding your knee down, trying to drive his point home over your mirth. “Hey! Hey. I really meant it. All of it.”

You stopped laughing.

Somehow one of your hands was covering his now, feeling his warmth and hard knuckles in your palm.

“I belong to you,” Jungkook repeated, his own I love you. “I can’t love anyone else like how I love you. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Even if you leave me, sure, I might find someone to not be lonely with, but I will only belong to you.”

You held onto his hand, curling your fingers into his palm. “You…” This man was crazy, saying things like this. He affectionately squeezed your knee, flashing that killer smile of his.

“So… Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pulled his hand from under yours and touched your cheek, his knuckles against your skin.

“I’ll go along with whatever you choose.”

Truth was, you had already chosen.

“I’ll do my best too,” you murmured quietly, holding the pillow tightly. “I won’t let myself be complacent anymore.”

From the look in his eyes, you saw that Jungkook recognized that it had become an unintentional consequence of his actions. He smiled, still stroking your cheek.

“Yeah. Let’s be a team this time.”

You nodded, smiling back.

An extended silence of staring into each other’s eyes.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Are you just imagining rubbing your dick on my cheek?”

His rough fingertips grazed over your jaw. “Yeah,” he replied dreamily.

You smacked his hand.

“Ow!”

“Pay attention!”

“W-Wha, what?” He pouted. “What am I supposed to do!”

You grimaced, feigning annoyance but also not really. This guy. “No wonder we could only have serious talks in public or incarcerated…” you muttered.

“Ah, yeah, that reminds me.”

You raised an eyebrow at him as he twisted around and reached over to his phone, watching the ripple of his back muscles as he moved. Damn. This guy. He bounced back, messing about on the screen. You were too busy admiring the definition of his arms to notice, until.

“What kind of handcuffs should we buy?” Jungkook chirped, turning his phone to showing you the screen display of a sex goods webstore.

You blinked at him.

“What.”

And thus begun round two.

epilogue

“Hey- oh, wow.”

You stilled, surprised.

‘Oh, I thought you were going to meet me there?”

In your hand was your well-loved small black purse with a bow. Your other hand held the door open, seeing the tall form of Jeon Jungkook gawking at you in his matching denim jacket and jeans. Calvin Klein, the same brand as his white t-shirt under the jacket. That same brand was holding a lunch event today, except one of their attendees was blocking your path, open-mouthed at your hips wrapped in a tight, pink gingham miniskirt with embroidered red strawberries. Then his stare went to your chest, to the emerald-green satin blouse that complimented the little green accents of the mini strawberries, although you suspected his interest was less in the color and more in the way the seams accentuated the curve of your breasts.

You raised your eyebrows.

“I… I left early. I wanted to pick you up,” he was saying absentmindedly.

You gestured to the black car waiting at the front. “I already ordered a car, though. I can’t ride with you on your bike in this skirt.”

“We can get in the car.” Jungkook’s eyes went back down. You knew he wasn’t admiring the delicate crisscross straps of your black velvet pumps. “Damn, your legs,” he mumbled.

The driver of the car was about to watch a live-action porno if you didn’t take action. You set the alarm and lock before stepping out. Immediately, Jungkook’s hand raised, as did his gaze. You looked from the tattooed hand to his face. He grinned, creating sparkles in his big dark brown eyes.

“I ran off, hehe. I just wanted to personally accompany my darling,” he admitted. “Hopefully no one noticed.”

You fitted your hand in his, letting him lead you. “You’re too handsome not to notice. What a troublemaker,” you joked, pleased at his rebellion.

“Your troublemaker now. Where are we eating?”

“There’s a French themed café near some shops. After, could we stop by the tea shop? My dad has a request I need to fulfill.”

“Ooo, I love adventures with my future wife.”

You gave him a curious smirk. His mischievous grin just kept getting bigger, that underlip mole suddenly visible like a secret wink. He had been dropping such hints lately. You pretended to gloss over it even though the discussion of dream rings had already happened months ago. You reached out to open the car door and Jungkook impatiently nudged your hand away, doing it for you so you could enter easily in your heels. It was a very nice thing to do.

Taehyung probably grilled such behaviors into him. Not that you were complaining, of course.

You confirmed the destination with the driver as Jungkook got in the car from the other side, taking care to hook his sunglasses on the front of his shirt. You heard his phone vibrate. You turned your head to see him snickering at it.

“Taehyungie’s mad that I left him alone.”

“Whoops.” You did feel a little bad.

He waved a hand, tongue in cheek. “He’ll get over it.”

Your eyes met.

He had such beautiful, expressive eyes that held the stars every time he saw you.

“You sure?” you asked quietly.

Jungkook reached over and stroked your cheek with a smile.

“I’m sure I want to eat lunch with my future wife, yup. Then I’ll buy tea for her dad so I can get on his good side.”

You laughed. “Sounds like a sweet master plan.”

His black hair loosely styled over his forehead made him look younger. You knew better. Perhaps grown was not the word for it, but you could tell he was becoming more and more of the man he wanted to be every day. Attending events with Jungkook was different these days; he checked on you throughout the night, actively included you in conversations, and even introduced you to people he thought you might enjoy talking to, now to the point that familiar faces would come up to you first before they recognized him. But what was more important was this – arranging quality time to spend together, more communication, and obvious commitment. The pleasant surprise not being flowers or sweets or other material things, and instead his presence earlier than expected.

His laugh at night.

His forehead kiss in the morning, even if you were half-awake in bed.

His silly photos of fogging up a makeup artist’s mirror with his breath and drawing a heart with your name inside it.

He still had a hectic schedule, but now you and him knew when enough was enough. You could finally talk about it before either of you became too stressed out or lonely by it. That improvement was worth that entire roller coaster to get here.

You smiled.

He smiled back, his knee touching yours.

He was still stroking your cheek.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking right now?”

He didn’t respond right away. He just adjusted his legs suspiciously and gave you his most innocent look that indicated he was most certainly guilty.

“Eh?”

You took him by the wrist and slowly lowered it before the driver could notice your partner-in-crime’s suspicious behavior. He pouted at you. The tent in his pants twitched. You cocked an eyebrow. Then you remembered something.

“Oh, by the way.”

He perked up. “What is it?”

You unzipped your purse a little bit and flashed the edge of shiny silver metal and chain.

“I borrowed something from a friend.”

Jungkook looked down.

Odd that it took him more than a moment to recognize handcuffs, considering that he – and you – had so much prior experience with them. His eyes went wide once it clicked. His cheeks flushed red. You smirked and rezipped your bag.

“What the fu–”

fin.

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

inspired by taylor swift's imgonnagetyouback :)

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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cottonlemonade · 1 month ago

Text

Crush At First Sight

word count: 811 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Tendou x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: you are on vacation and go visit a praline-making demonstration

Part of the Parisian tourist experience for a chocolate connoisseur such as yourself you simply had to go to a praline-making demonstration. Prim and proper you sat in the first row of the small room with the high ceiling windows, waiting (im)patiently for the chocolatier to step behind the detached metal counter on which a large basin sat that smelled heavenly of chocolate.

Utensils, molds, and a large flat thing you recognized as a scraper lay neatly on the clean surface.

People to your left and right were chatting in different languages and taking pictures of the setup. A few minutes passed until the door behind the counter opened and a young man stepped out. Your first thought was that he looked excited, the second, he was really quite handsome in a chaotic sort of way. He wore a white uniform, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.

“Bonjour à tous! English or Français?”

General mumblings of “English” simmered up from the crowd and he nodded.

“Bear with me, please. My English is only so-so.”, he said heavily accented. It sounded a bit French and a bit of something else.

“My name is Satori, I’m from Japan but came to study … chocolate in Paris.”

The audience chuckled and the young chocolatier straightened his previously slouched shoulders a little, apparently relieved to have broken the ice so easily.

Tendou had done these demonstrations dozens of times before. The chocolate academy sent out their protégés regularly to these tourist demonstrations and usually, he had up to six a day.

He scanned the crowd, proud of such a good turnout, and silently wondered if he had prepared enough tasty treats for everyone to have a bite afterward and then spotted you. Oh no, you were way too cute. This could be a problem. He’d be too preoccupied trying to show off, what if he dropped the filled molds or accidentally used too much force scraping off excess chocolate and sent some flying in your direction? As he stirred the molten chocolate in the basin he stole a second glance in your direction. You sat and watched expectantly, clearly genuinely curious about his upcoming explanations. He decided to ignore you for now, to not spare you another look. For his own mental state. But when his little workshop began and he held up his different instruments asking for participation in naming them and your hand shot up he knew he was in trouble.

Of course, you knew all the utensils, and of freaking course, you knew how to define what a praline was in its essence. Gorgeous and as excited about his work as he was - if it were up to him he would have sent everyone packing and given you a private show, ending with lifting you onto the counter and feeding you one delicious creation of his after another. He tried not to imagine his fingers dipping into your generous sides or standing between your plush thighs, pushing praline after praline past your lips. He held up one of the older molds they used to pour chocolate into in the 1850s and said, “As you can see, these were made of iron. I, of course, could bend them easily because I’m very strong but the new polycarbonate ones are bendable for everyone else as well.”

His heart tumbled down at least two long sets of stairs when he watched you laugh at his joke.

Bravely, he soldiered through his demonstration, disappointed when someone snatched up a reply to a question you obviously knew the answer to. Somewhere towards the end you had stopped raising your hand, undoubtedly uncomfortable about some whispers and looks from people next to you. He adored your eagerness, tried not to coo at how you chewed your lips when suppressing an answer and by the time he hit the mold with finished, set pralines on the counter to get them out he was already thinking of a way to ask for your number.

He did an over-the-top bow at the end, thanking people for their attention, and began cleaning the counter while the audience filed out of the room. You stayed back a bit much to his delight, sorting through your bag. Finally, you carefully picked up one of the pralines as if it was the most precious thing ever and not something he literally threw together in half an hour.

“This was great, thank you.”, you said and Tendou melted like the chocolate in the bain-marie.

“You’re very welcome.”, he replied, watching with bated breath as you lifted the treat to your lips.

“Oh wow… incredible.”

Tendou beamed.

“You know, this particular one goes great with coffee. Fancy a cup? The next group won’t be here for another 30 minutes.”

You looked surprised, which dialed his cute aggression up to 100.

“I’d love that.”

a/n: I’m currently on vacation in Brussels and went to the Chocolate Museum yesterday which was so incredibly interesting 😱 After watching a demonstration by a young cocky chocolatier I knew I had to write something like it for Tendou! Originally, it was supposed to be a drabble. Oh well.

#tendou x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #tendou fluff #tendou x reader #hq tendou #haikyuu tendou #tendou satori #tendo x chubby reader #tendo satori #tendo x reader #hq tendo #haikyuu tendo

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libraryraccoon · 9 months ago

Note

I was wondering how a Dazai!Reader from BSD (preferably 15 year old Dazai) would interact with the HH crew

Btw, I love your stuff sm, have a lovely day if you see this!

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Info : I haven't watched BSD for a long time, so it's probably wrong/inaccurate, sorry. Reader have 15 years old.

Message fom Raccoon : What ? Dad!Lucifer ? Dad!Alastor ? Okay, take that Dad!Husk !

TW : Suicide (mentionned); SH (mentionned)

General Headcanon

Finally.

After all this years of trying, after all this attempts, you were finally dead !

And what do we do when we have achieved such a feat ? We drink until the morning !

As you drank, you recounted your feat of finally dying to the bartender, some sort of cat-bird demon.

He gave you a judgmental look when you told him you were 15 and died of suicide.

But you were used to it, people often judge you while you were alive and was trying every second to die.

After a few hours, you were drunk and followed the bartender back to his place, a small apartment in a quiet corner of Hell.

You shouldn't follow someone to their home, you know that, but for your defense, you were drunk and he was a cat. And you have a weakness for cats.

Two things making it impossible to refuse his invitation.

And, if anything ever went wrong, you always had your gun with you, which had appeared at the same time as you in Hell.

The bartender's name was Husk and he kind of adopted you ? You weren't even sure if one sinner could adopt another sinner.

Life was calm with Husk, and you somehow helped him with his work.

By that I mean you were stopping the powers of other demons with your power, so you used it to kick out all the assholes who attacked him from the bar.

You and Husk had this dynamic of "Father who will kill for his child & Child who will sacrifice themselves for their father."

And then, one day you had to move to the Hazbin Hotel because Husk find a work there.

Alastor was surprised to see that Husk now had a kid–he didn't think it was possible for an alcoholic like him to have a child.

And he learned that Husk had cut down on his drinking, so he could be a better father.

*very kindly and not at all suspiciously notes this fact in the back of his mind.*

The hotel was quite shocked to know that you were a child from a fucking mafia and that you had died of suicide at 15 years old. If Husk hadn't informed them about that, they never would have suspected it.

Your humor worries them more than anything else.

Charlie is worry every time you make jokes about suicide while your dad rolls his eyes at it.

Husk was used to your jokes after a few months of living together.

The hotel wasn't.

Charlie is like your older sister, optimistic and a little naive at times.

She always tries to make you see the bright side of things and to make you forget this idea of double death.

Spoiler : it doesn't work.

Lucifer sees you like one of his children.

He spoils you like he spoiled Charlie when she was just a child.

Husk often makes side eyes at him, accusing him of trying to steal his child.

And that was true.

Lucifer, Charlie, Husk and Angel Dust are the ones who are the most concerned about your mental health.

Alastor wanted to make you sign a contract "I become powerful and Alastor releases my father from his contract in exchange of stopping trying to kill myself."

You didn't sign it.

Alastor tried to use you to spy on Vox and the Vees because he was bored and wanted some entertainment.

It worked.

Alastor do radio shows with you sometimes, you two are called "The RadioDuo".

His audience LOVES you.

You gained Alastor some listeners btw.

You help Niffty with her work at the Hotel.

Even if Charlie said you didn't have to do it, you do it anyway.

Vaggie take all your guns because you apparently “didn’t need” them.

You managed to recover them with a little manipulation.

Angel Dust could see himself in you.

You reminded him of his little human self, Anthony, broken by the world and wanting to end it. A family running the Mafia and forcing him to join it.

You're a bit like him, but compared to him, who fought to survive, had a reason to survive, you had nothing, no reason to fight, and you gave up.

When Angel Dust isn't working, he usually stays with you and Husk.

He doesn't want to abandon you, leave you alone in such a rotten world. He wants you to be protected and to be the child you never could be.

He will never let anyone touch you, never.

Husk and Angel Dust are usually the ones who bandage you after SH, Angel Dust doesn't say anything as he does it, because he understands. Husk doesn't speak as well, but you can see that by doing so he's blaming himself, making you instantly regret it.

Don't try to kill yourself in front of them, please. They're already worried enough, don't add more.

Hotel Hazbin was, in a way, your family.

And you would kill everyone in this room before killing yourself before anything happened to them.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x gn reader #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust #alastor #niffty #vaggie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #Dazai!reader #I tried #I didn't had enough space for Sir Pentious :(#I saw some ppl saying angel dust was in a mafia #so here we are #dad!husk #dad husk #Raccoon is writing

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zukosdualdao · 6 months ago

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just… the absolute trust between zutara in the finale is unreal. after zuko’s impromptu training attack session, yes, katara is surprised and even somewhat angry as she confronts him, but when she says “you could have hurt aang!” all it reminds me of is the fact that just a few episodes ago, she literally threatened to kill him if he ever gave her a reason to think he might so something to hurt aang. but here, now, even as she’s confronting him, she just… waits for him to explain, and she actually sees and agrees with his point once zuko tells the gaang about ozai’s plan.

there is also the absolutely, 100% synchronized way they fight during the simulated training session, something that calls back to their synchronization and teamwork in the southern raiders, and that inherently shows a lot of trust and understanding between them.

katara is the one who initially asks zuko what they should do after aang disappears. everyone else agrees, but it's katara who trusts him enough to position him, not just to herself but to everyone else, as someone they should listen to because of his history, skill, and experience, especially noteworthy because the reason she gives—“you are sort of the expert at tracking the avatar”—is what used to make him untrustworthy in their eyes. they’ve come such a long way.

then katara notices zuko freeze and sit in front of iroh’s tent, and when she asks if he’s okay, he just… completely trusts her with exactly what he’s feeling, and if he’s even a little worried that what he’s saying might cause her to act derisively, because what he’s referencing here is also what katara was angry and hurt about, he doesn’t show it. he just so completely trusts her with it, and her insistence that iroh will forgive him is born from her own trust of zuko, and she's able to tell him what he needs to hear because she was once in iroh's position and zuko proved his genuine remorse and care to her.

then, of course, we've got zuko not missing a beat as he asks katara to be the one to come with him to confront azula, and her ready acceptance. they make a good team, and they know it.

but when they get there and azula challenges zuko to an agni kai - though she initially has misgivings, katara ultimately trusts zuko when he says he can handle it and understands that he doesn't want her to get hurt if she doesn't have to. (an aspect of zuko's "i can't explain it, but she's slipping" line that i think gets underexamined, btw, is that that's not an inherently good thing for them. yes, maybe that means zuko will be able to take her, particularly because he knows azula and her fighting style well. but someone who is "slipping" is also, in this case, desperate, and more prone to being reckless with people's lives. zuko tries to mitigate that by fighting her alone, but it doesn't work because azula can't follow the terms she sets when she realizes she's losing.)

the lightning scene is a really interesting example of trust as it relates to zuko and katara, because to me, the emphasis there isn't quite so much on zuko and katara trusting each other. there's barely time for katara to think through what will happen to as azula aims for her or wonder what zuko will do, after all, and zuko is probably in too much pain and too out of it to think about katara coming to try to heal him. (though if they did have the time and mental faculties to think it through, i think they would both 120 percent trust the other to help them.)

instead, the emphasis is on the audience trusting the characters. from the moment zuko sees where azula's aiming, he doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think about, just. immediately jumps in front of the lightning before it can reach katara. i've said this before, but as soon as he understood what was happening, there was just no chance of that lightning ever getting to katara and that's the point. we've seen what zuko looks like when he's hesitating or conflicted, and the difference is stark. the show never wants you to question exactly what zuko will do, that he refuses to let katara get heart, that he'll save her.

and for her part, katara immediately runs to try and save zuko despite azula still being around and attacking, and tries again before realizing she needs to defeat azula in order to do so. but the entire scene of katara's defeating her, while obviously heroic and emblematic of katara's power and the culmination of her arc as a girl whose culture and identity was nearly stripped away from her to being a master waterbender, is also framed as katara defeating azula so she can get to zuko. she would have done it anyways, yes, but in this context, right now, she is fighting azula so she can get to zuko to heal him.

here, in the narrative culmination of their arcs together, it shows not just that they trust each other, but asks the audience to not doubt the development of the dynamic that’s been built, to trust that they will take care of each other. and they do.

#will never be over it ! tbh!#atla rewatch ‘24 #zutara #sozin’s comet #zuko #katara

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intuitive-revelations · 6 months ago

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Theory: Something serious is up with the TARDIS

I had been wondering about this all series, but after Rogue today, it's finally been confirmed that something's going on with the TARDIS (on top of all the other arc threads going on!).

The moment I picked it up was in The Devil's Chord, where the TARDIS makes a strange groan and creaks after landing back in 1963. Ruby thinks it's from Maestro, but the Doctor says it's "something else". As of today it's happened again, twice! Once in the episode itself, once in the next time trailer. The exact same sound effect!

Someone on reddit pointed out a few weeks ago that this sound appeared even earlier too, in Wild Blue Yonder (notably also when we first saw Susan Twist, had gravity changed to mavity, and welcomed the Pantheon into the universe). Each time, it's also had attention drawn to it. Here's a video of each scene, followed by a direct comparison of each sound:

(I did have a quick glance to see if it appeared elsewhere, maybe even during Flux. As far as I can tell however, Wild Blue Yonder seems to be the only non-S14 appearance.)

What's more, going back to that Reddit thread, someone pointed out what the Wild Blue Yonder script says about this moment:

And then the TARDIS seems to moan. The Doctor fascinated. DONNA: Is it working? THE DOCTOR: I think so. Strange. He reaches out, touches the TARDIS, wondering. And that 'strange' will come back to haunt him, one day. But now...

(Suddenly the TARDIS freaking out over Donna's spill might make a bit more sense...)

So what the hell's going on?

Well, between a trailer scene and some news that just came out a few hours ago as of writing this, I think I may have an idea. Given it's based on trailer footage uploaded and then removed from YouTube, I'll put it below beneath a read more:

In a removed Disney+ teaser trailer we get two frames of the Doctor screaming out into space (with Mel behind him). Except it's not from "his" TARDIS:

It's the f*cking memory TARDIS!

And here's the thing. Not only was this trailer scrubbed from the Disney+ and BBC channels, but in the other trailers, this clip is entirely different! Not only is Mel gone, but the TARDIS interior is now Fifteen's own, and the TARDIS is in a different, generic region of space.

Just before this, we also see a similar nebulous region of space matching the unmanipulated clip.

But why on Earth is this such a big deal, that the BBC/Disney would go full MCU and give us a deliberately altered clip? The only previous time I remember Doctor Who doing this was for Series 10, hiding the plot point of the Doctor's blindness. It's not because of Mel, who literally appears in the released trailer. It's also seemingly not because of the background, despite it also being altered (unless the two moons are a clue with the planet being Gallifrey or something - the thought had occurred to me - but that's such a tiny detail, and we also only see one sun). Instead, it must be the Memory TARDIS. But why?

In-universe, I have no idea. On one hand I'd be delighted to get some answers as to its nature. Assuming it's connected to the groans we've been hearing, then it could be the TARDIS undergoes some sort of metamorphosis into this state? But we've seen the TARDIS change all the time, whether for safety, to recover or whatever. I also can't imagine general audiences are falling over themselves to find out the in-universe explanation for a Classic Who re-release framing device. Not to mention, apparently the sound will go on to "haunt" the Doctor...

...maybe the TARDIS straight up is taken out of commission in some way? And the Memory TARDIS isn't the same ship, but the Doctor's way of saving the day without her? Maybe even remembered into existence Fitz/Amy style?

Out of universe however, it's just been announced yesterday that we're getting more Tales of the TARDIS.

And not just more omnibus stories with past characters returning for in-universe commentary... but with Fifteen and Ruby! What's more, it's apparently a one-off, right before the finale (but, note, after the first part next week).

Which means it's important. Possibly extremely so, given the edited trailer scene. It might even serve as an interquel, given Fifteen and Ruby are somehow in it.

I've seen two common theories. Either a) it will be Pyramids of Mars, and we're getting Sutekh in the finale (presumably with Fifteen and Ruby partially because of bringing back Elizabeth Sladen obviously not being an available option - and even if you thought up another character, eg. Luke, I doubt Tom would be interested, at that point anyway), or b) it will be something tying into Susan returning.

Honestly between the remaining trailer clips (eg. sandstorms and dusty planets), a tease RTD supposedly gave in DWM, and an old interview with him where he supposedly floated the idea of bringing back a Classic Who for a finale and airing the original serial on BBC3 beforehand, I'm kinda leaning towards the prior, even though it wasn't at all on my radar.

However, this still doesn't actually answer what's up with the TARDIS.

It could quite literally be anything. However, here's a few ideas, some reasonable some weird, that I have come up with:

Old age / stress. This is a weird one, but oddly enough something I had thought of once in the past, and I just saw someone else come to the same idea on Reddit. The idea is that while the Doctor has a new regeneration cycle and now a good few years, if not decades or more, of rest and recovery, the TARDIS may struggling in it's own right (especially if it is somehow old enough to have once been the Fugitive Doctor's). However, while this could be something interesting to explore, and I think isn't entirely mutually exclusive with other options, I can't imagine going anywhere near a storyline of the TARDIS itself 'wearing thin'. Besides, if we did, I like to imagine it would have been foreshadowed with size leakage, as per Name of the Doctor.

Relating to the above, could it be something linked to the TARDIS splitting in The Giggle? However, the sound starts before then (not that that means much to the TARDIS, but still).

Laws of rationality breaking down. This one makes the most sense in a lot of ways, between the expanded universe (particularly Christmas on a Rational Planet) and Flux, we've seen the TARDIS cannot survive in an irrational universe. While time has stabilised for now, we're still seeing magic and other Old Time forces encroaching in on the Web of Time. I'm a bit torn with this one however, as while it works from a lore and writing perspective, plus matches with this starting in Wild Blue Yonder (right after the Mavity incident... interestingly), it seems odd it's not more connected with what happened in Flux? Why are the sounds and effects on the TARDIS completely different?

Something to do with the Doctor's fobwatch. In Rogue, the Doctor blames the sound on indigestion. We know we're getting more Timeless Child related stuff - could this somehow be linked to Thirteen dropping the Division biodata module deep into the TARDIS? Would be a weird time to pick this up though, and I'm not sure exactly how that would have had such an effect.

The most actually likely, but least possible to theorise about: it's something time-wimey to do with Ruby, the villain(s) of the story, and/or Susan Twist, especially given this started after her first appearance.

Regardless, I'm just excited to see what's up with the Memory / "Remembered" TARDIS, because it's seems we're about to learn something...

#Doctor Who #DW Spoilers #Fifteenth Doctor #Fourteenth Doctor #Wild Blue Yonder #The Devil's Chord #Rogue #The Legend of Ruby Sunday #Tales of the TARDIS #DW Theory #DW Meta #Doctor Who Spoilers

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ladyloveandjustice · 3 months ago

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I watched a compilation of clips of live action Zuko scenes (mostly with Iroh) because I think the actor they chose for Zuko is great and I still think he's great, but as someone who recently binged the cartoon, it's really interesting me the way they sanded off the rough edges of Zuko's relationship with Iroh, and the way it sort of damages the characters and the plot...and it makes me think of reoccurring issues in media and how the approach characters (which is exacerbated by the fans who jump the gun and think characters doing unlikeable things or being problematic means the story endorses these thing and that it makes them bad characters)

There's an intense fear of making Zuko too "unlikeable" in the live action, and that really shows in the way they play his relationship with Iroh. In the cartoon, Zuko is honestly downright nasty to Iroh a lot of the time. He's mean! He takes out his anger on Iroh a lot! A good two thirds of their interactions in the first two seasons involve Zuko being frustrated, complaining, or even directly being aggressive towards him.

He has a lot of genuinely cruel moments. You (or maybe just I) can weirdly forgive him more for hunting Aang because he's doing it for a sympathetic, heartwrenching reason even though it is bad and he's wrong. But there's no reason or goal in him being mean to his uncle, it's simply that he's an angry, traumatized, scared teenager and his uncle is someone he can safely take that out on, because Iroh has the patience of a saint and will always forgive him.

And when Iroh tries to push him to realize that chasing after his father's love is futile, he gets downright vicious, calling him selfish, shallow, lazy, jealous of his brother, he just goes right for the jugular because he's so afraid of what Iroh's telling him, he doesn't want to hear it so much that he'll lash out at him as hard as he can to get him to stop, and also to convince himself that Iroh doesn't know what he's talking about.

Zuko is not a nice person for a good chunk of the series, and that includes his relationship with the one person who unfailingly loves and supports him, who's pretty much given up a comfortable like just to help and look after him, and I think that's important. It means he actually needs a redemption arc. It gives his guilt about how he treated Iroh later on weight. And the fact the series allows Zuko to be truly nasty but we still root for him shows how good the writing is. Because despite all that, we can still see the good inside him, we want him to be a better person.

And in the show, in the beginning, Zuko shows those sparks of good slowly. Which allows the audience to feel real tension in not knowing what he'll do. Take that episode in season 1 where Iroh is captured...the viewer genuinely does not know what Zuko will do from what we've seen so far. When he says he'll leave without Iroh, as a viewer, you wonder if he might do it because he's often so mean to Iroh. But it's clear that Iroh knows Zuko's threats are totally empty and he would never leave without him, he's not worried at all when he misses the deadline, and he also knows that Zuko will be coming to rescue him. But the audience doesn't necessarily know that at this point in the series, so when Zuko not only doesn't leave without him, but goes to rescue him and even gives up his chance to capture the Avatar to do so, it's new information for the audience. We see this kid genuinely loves his uncle, and is even willing to sacrifice a chance at the thing he wants most in the world to save him. I think it's that moment that Zuko officially becomes a sympathetic character (It was hinted at with his refusal to kill Zhao and his clear happiness when Iroh praises him, but it becomes concrete here), since we still don't know his backstory yet.

When it happens in the live action though, it's not new information though, and not just because I've watched the original . It's because they never allowed Zuko to be really unlikeable. He's not that mean to Iroh in this version, it's clear from the beginning he loves and respects him. They even have the moment where Zuko sees Appa happen AFTER he's already risked his life to save Iroh, so there's no suspense, of course he's not going to abandon his injured uncle to chase Aang, we already know he'll put himself on the line to save him. It doesn't have any impact because the audience is never allowed to question whether Zuko cares.

And this hesitation to make Zuko be mean to his uncle has ripple effects on the story the live action is unwilling to deal with- it damages Iroh as the character and makes his actions not make sense. Because if Zuko actually listens to Iroh and consistently respects him, why doesn't Iroh just work harder at trying to get him to stop trying to please his abusive father, to stop hunting the Avatar? it seems like he'd be willing to listen with enough work. Live action Aang even questions this and Iroh just. doesn't answer him. Blows it off. As Big Joel points out in his video, it becomes a baffling moment.

But it's clear to me why he doesn't push Zuko harder in the cartoon. The idea that his father's love is attainable and he just needs to get it back, that he can capture the Avatar and regain the family he lost, that this is the right thing to do...it's pretty much what's keeping Zuko going. If Zuko doesn't have that, he might give up on life entirely. Iroh directly says this. 'the important thing is hunting the Avatar gives Zuko hope'. And Iroh knows if he pushes Zuko too much about this, Zuko won't hear it, he will lash out at him and probably leave him, just as he does in season 2, and then how can he help his nephew heal, give him support, and gently guide Zuko to do better?

This is especially demonstrated in the beginning of season 2 when Azula says Ozai wants him back and Zuko, so desperate to be loved, falls for her trap. Iroh tries to gently tell him that his father is not that kind of person, gently tiptoes towards "your father's love is not attainable" and Zuko immediately lashes out viciously, shuts down the conversation, and is willing to leave without him (though he's clearly ecstatic when Iroh does choose to come with him. ecstatic for him, anyway). So Iroh has to pretend to agree with him. to go along with it, all so he can protect Zuko when it does turn out to be a trap.

It's pretty easy to see the turning points in the show that cause Iroh he steps up and finally really try to push Zuko to stop hunting Aang, be a better person and find his own happiness. There's the end of season one when Zuko would have died trying to capture Aang if Aang hadn't chosen to save him. This is a wake up call for Iroh. It's definitely when Iroh realizes the fact it gives Zuko hope doesn't matter, because Zuko's fixation on hunting the Avatar is very likely going to end with Zuko dead. Zuko is so fixated on this he won't prioritize his own survival. This is directly confirmed by the show because Iroh brings it up later when he finally snaps and yells at Zuko to stop this. And there's also the aforementioned moment, where Zuko's desperation for his father's love leads him into a trap and they both have to become fugitives. I think this is when it sinks in for Iroh there's no happy ending for Zuko where he's welcomed back home, and this hope could lead him straight into danger.

(I don't know if this idea Iroh doesn't truly think hunting Aang is a good thing but won't push Zuko too hard about it because that would only shatter their relationship in the first season was actually what they had in mind while writing season 1, but I do think they made it track pretty well when they decided to make his character shift in season 2. )

So yes, Zuko being more amiable and respectful makes Iroh's dynamic with him not make as much sense, and makes Iroh seem much more baffling and callous, especially since the live action makes it very clear that Iroh believes capturing the Avatar is the wrong thing to do from the beginning.

But they don't care about story consistency, or building believable conflict, or writing coherent character dynamics, or allowing Zuko growth. No, the writers like Zuko, they don't want to risk the audience not liking Zuko, so lets remove a lot of his flaws, make his feelings toward Iroh warmer and more respectful because that's easier to watch and everyone liked how warm and loving he was toward Iroh at the end of season 3, so lets just skip to that. The cartoon trusted us to see the good in Zuko and root for him on his journey even if it was messy and sometimes painful to watch, but the live action doesn't, so it won't put in the work. And so his story becomes less meaningful and satisfying, and so Iroh's behavior stops making as much sense. I could easily believe the Zuko in the cartoon would betray Iroh out of sheer desperation to be accepted by Ozai, even as it wracks him with regret, but I wouldn't be able to believe live action Zuko would make such a decision. He's too nice! He never disdains his uncle!

Characters being allowed to do nasty, mean things even to people who love them and then grow to be better is important for writing believable stories and believable growth, especially when it comes to redemption arcs. But I've seen a reluctance to accept that in some writers and a lot of fans. Katara's moments of cruelty are removed (which fans were always less forgiving of than Zuko's hmmm i wonder why), Zuko's moments of being cruel to someone who loves him are removed, we have make it clear Iroh is good from the beginning and directly excuse Iroh's hypocrisy in sometimes prioritizing Zuko's happiness over like, the safety of the world and ending the war sometimes, rather than simply see him quietly develop to be better on that front. It sucks.

We have to be willing to be uncomfortable with characters actions and words sometimes without dismissing them as bad characters, and I....just want fans to consider that, and writers to consider that.

#avatar the last airbender #zuko #iroh #atla #meta #i began writing this like a few weeks ago and it ended up so long rip me

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katareyoudrilling · 2 months ago

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Audience of One (Dave York one-shot)

Pairing: Bodyguard Dave York x Female Reader

Summary: When online comments threaten your safety, you reluctantly agree to hire a bodyguard

Word count: ~3k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: a bit of danger, masturbation, unprotected PIV (please use protection IRL), a hickey (sort of)

A/N: This is my entry for @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope challenge! I got famous person AU and twisted it to fit my very niche tastes lol. It has been quite a while since I posted something, thanks for hanging in there with me. I really hope you enjoy it! Big thanks to @burntheedges for the beta 😘

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dave York Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist – link in my bio or let me know!

“I really think you’re overreacting.” You finish cleaning off your instrument and securing it in your case.

“I’m not and it’s not open to discussion.”

You sigh. “I’m a concert violinist, not a movie star. No one is out to ‘get me’ or whatever. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” your manager forces you to meet her gaze. “There have been emails, social media posts… I know you don’t want to believe it, but there are creeps out there focused on you. I need you to be safe.”

She’s looking at you with so much care and concern that the fight leaves your body. “Fine. Send him in.”

“Thank you.” She turns to open the door to the dressing room and gestures to someone in the hallway. You gather the rest of your things into your bag and prepare to head to your hotel.

Your manager steps back into the room trailed by a tall, broad, dark-haired, incredibly attractive man in an overcoat.

“Meet Dave York, your bodyguard.”

. . . . . . . . . .

“I’m really sorry about this,” you apologize for the tenth time since getting into the back of the town car with your new bodyguard in tow. “All this fuss is unnecessary.”

Dave regards you across the darkened backseat. “Your manager doesn’t think so and neither do I. The sooner you accept my help, the better this will go.”

You lose your train of thought as the streetlights sweep across his gorgeous features. His pouty lips… his aquiline nose… his strong jaw… his dark eyes… each feature takes its turn in the lamplight. It’s probably for the best, taking him in all at once might actually kill you. No one has the right to be this handsome.

You shake yourself out of your reverie and find Dave watching you closely. You look away quickly, shifting your focus out your window. You cross your legs, and the slit of your dress opens, revealing your legs up to mid-thigh. You quickly adjust the skirt to cover yourself and tell yourself that you’re imagining Dave’s eyes flickering away.

You clear your throat, “Right, umm… how is this going to go, exactly?”

“I’ll be with you during the day. When you return to your hotel room at night, I’ll hand off responsibility to my security team. There will be extra security at your concerts and events as well.”

“That doesn’t sound too intrusive.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“I hope you like classical music.”

“We’ll find out.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

And that’s how it goes. Dave meets you outside your door when you’re ready to leave in the morning and accompanies you on each step of your schedule. He tags along to masterclasses, rehearsals, concerts, and your own practice sessions. Ushering you in and out of town cars and back exits.

You share brief conversations in the car. His dry, sarcastic wit comes out little by little as you spend time with him. He often makes you laugh and you thrill when his pouty lips tilt at the edges into a wry smirk at something you said.

He leaves you at your hotel room door in each city at the end of the day, waiting until you close the door to call his security team.

You don’t lean against the door and wonder where he goes after he’s with you. That would be inappropriate.

You don’t replay the events of the day, the glances, the almost touches, that assuredly exist only in your own imagination.

You don’t catalog the little things you’ve learned about him. Single. No kids. Ex-military. Coffee, black. Unexpected crinkles around the eyes when he smiles.

You don’t seek him out in the concert halls, looking for a sign that he enjoys the music you’re making, always finding him watching you intently from backstage, still and focused.

You don’t find yourself pulling out your favorite toy to relieve some tension more and more frequently as the days spent in his company add up.

Definitely not.

. . . . . . . . . .

“You played something different tonight.” Dave’s deep voice breaks the silence of the car.

You hum your assent, “Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy. It’s a real crowd pleaser.”

“I didn’t know a violin could do that.”

You chuckle, “Yeah, the soloist gets to show off in that one.”

“You like to show off, don’t you?”

The energy in the car shifts in an instant. Dave’s dark eyes are even darker than usual as he regards you across the cab. The question hangs heavy in the air.

“You have to like to show off to do my job,” you explain a bit breathlessly. You meet his dark gaze, and he hums in approval. “Do you like to show off, Dave?”

He drags his thumb across his lower lip, your eyes can’t help but follow the movement.

“No, I don’t like to show off. I like to watch.”

His words hit you like an electrical current, zinging across your skin, breaking you out into full body goose bumps.

You hold each other’s gaze in the dark, your breath coming in increasingly erratic pants. He doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

You cross your legs and allow your skirt to fall open up your legs, just like the first night you were in the car with him. This time, the dress has an even higher slit—you save this particular gown for when you perform the Carmen, you enjoy playing into the persona. This time, you don’t cover up.

You watch as his gaze flickers to your bare legs, exposed practically all the way to your underwear, the tip of his tongue sneaks out to wet his plush lips.

He drags his eyes back up to yours. The air is thick with possibility. A line has definitely been crossed. Words begin to bubble up from your gut when the car pulls to a stop in front of the hotel.

The moment pops like a balloon.

Dave opens his door and swings up and out of the car. In a haze, you open your door and step out into the night.

The next moments go by in a flash.

You hear someone shout your name, Dave yells, you’re shoved against the car, unfamiliar hands grab your shoulders and whisk you into the hotel lobby and into the elevator. The doors close before you can understand the commotion happening outside the hotel.

You’re flanked by security guards you’ve seen around after hours. The words “assailant” “custody” “weapon” permeate the buzzing in your brain. Questions form and dissipate in the tangle of your thoughts before you can get them out.

The elevator doors open on your floor, and you are bodily moved into your hotel room. Before they can close the door, you finally manage to ask what’s going on only to be met with vague instructions to stay in your room and wait.

You pace the floor and look out your window, hoping for a glimpse of what might be happening on the street below, but you’re on the wrong side of the building. It doesn’t hold any answers for you.

Your hands reach for your phone only to realize it’s still in your bag in the car, along with your instrument case.

The car.

Your mind returns to that moment right before you pulled up to the hotel. So ripe with promise and possibility.

Then you had gotten out of the car.

Oh shit.

You got out of the car yourself. You opened your door yourself. You weren’t supposed to do that. Dave opens your door. Dave ushers you out of the car.

It’s all your fault.

Just as your thoughts threaten to spiral, there’s a firm knock on your door.

“It’s me. Everything is ok. Open the door.” You hear Dave through the door. You rush over and check the peephole like he told you to. At least you can say you remembered to do that. You confirm it’s him and open the door.

“Dave, I—”

He crashes into you, pressing you against the wall with the length of his body before claiming your mouth with a rough, desperate kiss. His hands grip your chin, your shoulders, your hip as he devours your mouth.

Your hands scrabble against his chest, finding the lapels of his coat to hang on.

Just as suddenly as you found yourself kissing Dave, you aren’t. He pulls back abruptly leaving you cold and breathless.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t ha—”

You pull him back to you by his coat, drawing his mouth back to yours. You lick into his mouth, moaning as he responds.

This kiss is less frantic, but still full of need. Your tongues tangle together, tasting and testing.

Dave eventually breaks away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m ok, but what happened?”

“A man came running toward you, the police have him now. I’m sure it’s the person making those creepy comments about you online.”

“I got out of the car by myself, Dave, I’m so sorry, I know I’m n—”

“Shh,” he hushes you. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”

He presses his lips to yours, swallowing your protests, until you melt into him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He drags his lips down your throat, across your collarbones and shoulders. He licks back up the side of your neck.

You gasp as he drags his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck.

“I noticed this mark the night I first met you,” he murmurs into your skin. “I was so jealous of whoever got to do that to you. I kept waiting to find out who it was, to see if they were worthy of marking your skin, but there has been no one and the mark has stayed.” You sense the unasked question.

“My… it’s… a violin hickey,” you pant as he drags his nose up the column of your throat and along your jaw. “Where my violin rubs against my neck when I play.” He chuckles.

“Should I be jealous of your violin?”

“Probably.”

He hums against you. “Fair enough.”

He steps back to the hotel room door and for a moment your heart drops thinking that he might be leaving, but he only opens the door to pull your bag and violin case into the room. You hear him conversing with a guard outside before he closes the door, locking the deadbolt before turning back to you.

He shrugs off his overcoat and suit jacket. He loosens the knot of his tie and begins to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. You watch the movement of his fingers with rapt attention.

“So, Miss Show off. Do you want to show off for me?” His eyes flash dangerous and dark and a thrill runs up your spine.

Adrenaline tingles in your fingertips as you find the zipper of your dress and pull it down your side.

You lock eyes with Dave as you let your gown fall to the floor, a puddle at your feet. You are left standing in only your panties and high heels.

Dave drinks you in, caressing your curves with his warm gaze. Your nipples harden under his perusal and wetness pools between your legs. It’s all you can do to not rub your thighs together.

“Get on the bed.” He commands, his voice deep and rasping with need. His shirtsleeves are rolled up now, exposing the tendons and veins in his forearms. His hands fist at his sides, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. But you’ve learned this about Dave, he is always in control of himself.

You walk over to the bed, turning your back to him and adding an extra sway to your hips. You catch his strangled moan at the sight of your round ass framed by the string of your thong. You turn to sit at the end of the bed with a satisfied smirk. Dave stands at arm’s length from you, pinning you with his dark eyes.

“Show me. Let me see if those fingers can play your pussy as well as they play your violin.”

You gasp at his filthy words and your center clenches with need. Keeping your eyes on him once again, you drag your panties down your legs and off, kicking off your shoes as you do, and scoot a bit farther onto the bed.

You lean back into the plush bedding, resting on one elbow, knees bent, and spread your legs for Dave.

He drinks you in hungrily as you part yourself for him, dipping your fingers into your wetness.

Your mouth falls open as you circle your clit, a moan escaping your chest. You fight to keep your eyes open so you can watch Dave watch you. You really do like to show off and he is an eager audience.

You quicken your pace, hitting the rhythm you like best, and find yourself careening towards your peak. Your hips buck on the bed, and you whine that you’re close.

“Show me,” Dave commands one last time before you fall over the edge, pulsing and shivering through your release.

“Do I get a standing ovation?” you ask, breathless, once you’ve come back to yourself.

“You tell me.”

You crack one eye open and find that he’s standing at the end of the bed naked. His cock juts proudly away from his hips at full attention.

“My favorite kind.” You lick your lips as you sit up and crawl to the edge of the bed. You look up at him as you take the tip of his cock between your lips, sliding down the hard length of him. You watch his stomach flex with effort as he resists fucking into your mouth.

It makes you want to make him lose control. He’s always alert and watching. Even in the car on the way to the hotel tonight, he kept his cool as you tempted him. Bursting into your room to kiss you is the only time you’ve seen him not in complete control of himself.

You tongue and suck and moan around him, losing yourself in the rhythm. Dave drags his fingers down your cheek and throat.

“Look at you, fuck.” He cups your breasts, swaying heavily between your arms, and pinches your nipples. “I want to watch these tits bounce while I fuck you.”

You whimper around his length, arousal practically dripping down your legs. He pulls out of your mouth, diving down to kiss you deeply and press you backwards onto the bed.

He arranges himself against the headboard and drags you on top of him. “Ride me, baby,” he commands. You eagerly comply, lining his weeping cock up with your entrance.

Your eyes roll back in your head as you sink down onto him, the stretch is so delicious with every inch you take. When you bottom out, you open your eyes to find Dave breathing hard, the tendons of his neck taut with effort.

You rise and sink back down slowly, angling yourself backwards so he can see his cock disappear into your wet heat. He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches between you, giving you friction that makes you shudder with each roll of your hips.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, eyes locked on your greedy pussy, swallowing him whole. You feel yourself start to flutter around him, the intensity of his eyes on you drives your arousal higher and higher. Being watched with so much desire gives you such a thrill that your orgasm threatens to take you far too soon.

You slow and lean forward, placing a hand on the headboard over Dave’s head. Your breasts wobble in front of his face and he quickly takes one nipple into his mouth. You arch your back into him as he sucks and tugs, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

He holds your hips still with one hand as he feasts on you, bringing his other to cup and pinch your tender flesh.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry as the pressure builds in your core. Your hips grind into him, seeking relief as he relentlessly toys with you.

He allows you to move, to chase your high, riding his cock with abandon as he looks up at you with lust blown eyes. You tilt your hips, and he finds your clit once again.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he praises you as you near your peak. “Come on my cock, baby. I want to feel you.”

You come with a gasp, rising up on your knees as your pussy clenches then collapsing back down with shuddering pulses. Dave caresses your back before rolling you over and gently pulling out. He kneels between your legs, stroking his length, as you lie boneless and hazy.

“That was so fucking hot, baby.” His jaw clenches as he strokes himself faster and faster. “I fucking love to watch you. Watch you play your violin… watch you touch yourself… watch you fuck…”

“It’s my turn, Dave,” you interrupt. “I want to watch you come. Come all over me.” You prop yourself up on your elbows and smirk at the way a shudder moves through his body. He lets go with a groan, ropes of cum painting your tummy and chest.

You both collapse, satisfied. Dave cleans you up, taking extra care with your breasts. You smirk as he chases the warm cloth with his even warmer mouth.

“What happens now?” you ask later, when you’re twined together on the bed. “If that was the guy…”

“I’ll be here as long as you need me and even after you don’t,” Dave presses a kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle into his side, relaxing in the knowledge that you are safe and thrilled with the prospect of showing off again for your audience of one.

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A/N: I don't have, and never have had, a violin hickey. I probably don't practice enough lol. But they are often seen as a point of pride among violinists.

Dave York Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist - in reblog

#roll a trope challenge #dave york #famous person au #dave york x reader #pedro pascal characters

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