#tandem paper bombs

[internal-ethics]

THE EDO TENSEI POST

aka the 'hiretsu post' aka 'the 2nd hokage's despicable jutsu' post

[redpenship]

i had to write a 6k word research paper last semester in which i had to do hypothesis testing relating to any subject about WMDs. my idea was to test why states step away from the brink of developing nuclear weapons or get rid of them, with a focus on two explanations: domestic normative changes (so, attitudes regarding nuclear weapons) and security-based explanations (do nuclear weapons provide meaningful defence to the state in question?). this was done in tandem with my plotting for buzzsaw 2, which made me curious about the strategic utility of projecting "safety" or "neutrality" to potential aggressors. the core dilemma in the story is about whether or not aliens can be trusted, or more specifically if kindness is present throughout the universe. it's really all about perception--so, how an individual perceives aliens. to link this with my paper topic, i was specifically seeking to prove that perceptions of nuclear weapons had a greater influence on the lack of horizontal proliferation than security issues. my findings were kind of interesting.

basically, i was proven incorrect. i used congruence analysis (comparing various states and why they did or did not acquire nuclear weapons) to do my hypothesis testing. i feel like rambling a little bit, so here are some of my favourite cases:

Canada (Nuclear weapons capacity: HIGH -- large domestic sources of uranium, multiple research reactors that could be converted to uranium-enrichment facilities for weapons production, encouragement from US to create arsenal, and sufficient high-tech weaponry knowledge to develop an arsenal). Normative explanation: Canadians on average do not perceive military strength as being a source of national pride. It isn't very important in the national consciousness. Security Explanations: Proximity to US means that any nuclear strikes on Canadian territory will provoke US retaliation against the aggressor. Moreover, Canada's nuclear weapons policy at the time emphasized the avoidance of negative security externalities--leaders believed that acquiring nuclear weapons would provoke enemy states into doing the same, and so chose not to obtain them.

Sweden (Nuclear weapons capacity: MEDIUM -- domestic plutonium sources, advanced weapons systems) Normative Explanations: Public support for acquiring a nuclear arsenal reached a high of 57% in 1959. A successful anti-nuclear weapons campaign by the Social Democrat Party sought to make Swedish identity and the possession of nuclear weapons "incompatible" lowered public support to 31% by 1967. The nuclear weapons program lost public support entirely within a decade. Security Explanations: Sweden was most concerned about a Soviet invasion of Western Europe. Despite being a neutral state, their leaders came to the conclusion that the United States would defend any western European state from Soviet expansion to prevent its sphere of influence from growing further. As well, Sweden was worried about provoking the USSR and chose not to develop an arsenal for this reason as well.

Brazil (Nuclear weapons capacity: MEDIUM -- similar reasons to Sweden) Normative Explanations: Brazil's nuclear weapons program occurred under its military dictatorship. After its collapse, the civilian government ended all plans to develop an arsenal. I'm not taking into consideration how Brazilians felt about it because it was a secret program. Security Explanations: The military regime was primarily concerned by Argentina's head-start on enrichment methods and ballistic missile technology. President Geisel established a military nuclear energy research program that ran parallel to the civilian nuclear energy body, CNEN. By 1990, they were believed to be around two years away from testing a Hiroshima-type bomb (admittedly, a piece of shit by 90s standards). The program was terminated in 1990 by civilian President Mollo. Notably, Argentina had transitioned to democracy a few years prior, which contributed greatly to the end of its paranoia towards its neighbour. (Military regimes are prone to mirror paradoxes, in which they assume their rivals are as equally unstable and militaristic. This was definitely true of Argentina's military dictatorship in general though).

My primary case study was South Africa, whose apartheid government built six nuclear bombs beginning in the 1970s until the late 1980s. I chose it because it's the only state to have ever built and then dismantled its nuclear arsenal. At the time, the government was very concerned about the survival of its white state, since the rest of Africa was decolonizing and they were becoming a pariah on the global scene for their apartheid policies. Also, Soviet and Cuban troops were running around getting into conflicts in the continent and they were worried about getting invaded for being anti-communist and super racist. This made them desperate enough to build nuclear weapons.

They actually tried really, really hard to get security assurances from the United States, which led to them going as far as to sanction Rhodesia for being white supremacist (a hypocrisy equivalent only to Norway convincing itself that it meets climate targets). They failed to convince the US to help them (because South Africa was strategically worthless, so it was totally within the United States' comfort zone to ignore them and later condemn them) and were pretty much only friends with Israel, who helped them quite a bit with the nuclear weapons program. In one of the texts I read for the paper (page 287 of Will South Africa Survive? by R.W. Johnson), there's a translation of a section of South African Prime Minister Vorster's interview with Israeli newspaper Ma'ariv in 1976 in which he states that Israel and apartheid South Africa kind of have the same thing going on, with specific reference to their policies of occupation and racial/economic exclusion. So, if you ever need some additional evidence that Israel is an apartheid state for whatever reason, feel free to cite a literal leader of apartheid South Africa admitting that Israel does the same thing.

ANYWAYS, apartheid South Africa got rid of its nuclear weapons during two events/processes: the end of apartheid, and the fall of the Soviet Union. The cause of their disarmament doesn't require much thought since PM de Klerk admitted to parliament that they got rid of their nuclear weapons because their primary security threat (the USSR) no longer existed. Their weapons weren't even very good (could only be delivered by bombers) and their entire strategy for them was to just imply to the US that they possessed them, which would force the US to step up and protect them so South Africa wouldn't reveal they had them to the world and potentially trigger proliferation across Africa.

What I got out of all of this isn't that normative/perceptive explanations for disarmament are worthless, but rather that security concerns must be dealt with as a prerequisite to disarmament. Sweden and Canada fell under US extended deterrence and felt no need to develop weapons, while Brazil and South Africa's regional security concerns collapsed and they no longer had a reason to have nuclear weapons. Countries who are not threatened by nuclear powers or are protected by nuclear powers do not need nuclear weapons to guarantee their survival.

Taking into this account, I've altered the story of buzzsaw 2 to reflect my findings somewhat. A lot of it is the same, I've just put a bit more attention into addressing the security dilemma faced by Earth lol. More specifically, how a planet can minimize security externalities to avoid provoking aliens and how the necessity of doing so can challenge the status of imperial powers on said planet...

[natedogx15]

Multimouse Powerhouse

Another "Marinette Secretly Has Powers" au, like Miraculousless Hero. However, this au has her wield a different Miraculous in tandem with her powers. This one can be considered a crack au.

For this au, Master Fu passes out another/more Miraculous to help the Ladybug and Black Cat and chooses Marinette for the Mouse Miraculous. However, he might not know that Marinette has another secret she's keeping. Specifically, her dangerous powers.

In this au, I imagined Marinette having the powers of Marvel's Boom Boom, where she can create explosive orbs of energy/plasma. Combining that with the Mouse Miraculous' duplication ability, you have a tiny army, with each being able to make highly explosive orbs to throw or drop on the Akumas.

A funny concept I had was the army making paper airplanes and flying above Akumas before dropping the orbs airstrike bombing-style.

I thought it would be a fun au to open the path for more chaos. Alternate universes where Miraculous wielders already have powers are interesting to explore.

[technovillain]

This is a lot of stuff. I’m sorry.

I have a big PN3 idea that I wanted to turn into a long comic series, actually. It’d have a new bad guy structure that takes the “diving for understanding in terrible people” thing a bit further. And also starting to tackle the influence of bigger societal influences on the behavior of individuals. A big chunk of the character development is Lili (now a teenager) having to learn hard adult realities about fighting the good fight as she tries to take on a bigger role in the Psychonauts. It’s not just about removing the one bad guy anymore. The Psychonauts as an institution is also under threat, so the stakes are huge and everyone’s kinda being pushed further toward the edge (but especially Lili and Raz, who see this as their home).

It’s also about contending with lasting traumas from PN 1 and 2. Ford and Lucy have passed away (or, astral projected out of their bodies forever on accident depending on who you ask), and the circumstances of it bring up a new layer of issues on both the PN and Aquato sides—also tying up some stuff there from PN 2 that I wanted to look at. Like Frazie’s temptation and reluctance to let herself be psychic or Bob’s relationship with Truman. Raz himself, also a teenager, is grappling with all that stuff he felt like he was too young to process before, plus stuff about growing up. Even though it was a terrible thing to do, Raz can now better understand why Ford did what he did and wonders if he honestly would have done any better. He’s realizing in his own actions that you sometimes can’t avoid making a choice with nasty consequences, reinforced by the villain. And that has stuff to do with his family too, re: parents and siblings trying to keep the pack safe and together with unhealthy force. Dogen’s also a main character, trying to get over the fear that he’s a disaster waiting to happen and seize his own agency in things to protect the place that has been helping him recover.

It all sounds very grim on paper, but I have a plan to get it to tie together and work out based on the theme of getting to the roots of the status quo and changing it rather than bending to it.

Also, there’d be new fun enemies like Anxiety (buzzardlike) and Guilt (leech/serpentlike), which look like cousins of Panic Attacks and Regrets. They start out as little worms and crows but evolve into death-rolling alligators and dive-bombing raptors as things escalate. And changing the kids’ skillsets to fit their experience—like Raz swinging from mental connections instead of hamsterballing bc he’s bigger. Dogen making someone picture sheep to knock them out. Lili combining plants and fire to great (or terrible) effect. Ziplining on the core thread of a bad mood to get to a deeper area. Tandem lev ball combat. Going into a mind multiple times over the story to see how it changes in the face of developments.

Saying it again: really really sorry this is so long. I do really love the idea of a PN3, as well as your ideas. I felt the urge to gush bc I’ve been holding this idea in for years while I work on it. Thanks for reading. :)

I don't really have much to add to this but that's only because I love how detailed this is.....makes me think abt just how good a timeskipped PN3 could be!!!!!!!!!

[mariacallous]

In an article published last month in the scholarly journal Russian Politics, U.S. State Department Senior Analyst of Russian Politics Robert Otto challenges the theory — now common among anti-Kremlin dissidents and widespread in the West — that Vladimir Putin ordered the Federal Security Service (FSB) to bomb multiple apartment buildings in September 1999 in a murderous scheme to boost his presidential momentum. Otto argues that a plot by the oligarch Boris Berezovsky and Internal Affairs (MVD) Minister Vladimir Rushailo — intended to destabilize Russia’s domestic situation and delay the 2000 presidential election, not to ensure Putin’s rise — is the likelier explanation.

Otto focuses on the evidence presented by Mikhail Trepashkin, the ex-FSB officer whose allegations against the agency fuel claims that Putin ordered the bombings to help himself. Otto notes that Trepashkin identified one of the men who rented staging grounds for one of the attacks as Vladimir Romanovich, though Romanovich apparently died months before September 1999. A less obvious but more important strike against Trepashkin’s credibility is that Romanovich was part of an extortion ring scandal (the 1995 Bank Soldi affair) that linked corrupt officials in the FSB, MVD, and Defense Ministry to Chechen fighters. In his telling of the September 1999 events, Trepashkin described the Bank Soldi affair as intrepid police work led by then Moscow Regional Administration for Organized Crime (RUOP) chief Vladimir Rushailo. But the RUOP, explains Otto, was a kind of criminal protection racket itself and hardly the crew of white knights Trepashkin depicts.

Citing other evidence and reviewing rumors about the role political operative Stanislav Belkovsky allegedly played in strategizing a false flag operation involving apartment bombings, Otto speculates that Boris Berezovsky likely joined forces with Rushailo (his close ally at the MVD who had already helped him finance Chechen rebels through ransom payments to kidnappers) in order to thwart the rising political tandem of former Prime Minister Evgeny Primakov and Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov. However, the whole thing went sideways when Berezovsky’s disgruntled protégés outmaneuvered him by getting Yeltsin to resign and force an election for Putin before Berezovsky could line up his preferred successor. Otto concludes that Putin and the Yeltsin clan nevertheless remain complicit in the bombings for failing to investigate them properly and for exploiting the atmosphere they induced.

[tangleweave]

[ A Christmas Submission by @brooklynislandgirl ]

Of course she texts.

It isn't like she's even thought about what a Spidey bat-signal would look like, except she has. And recycled a small forest of paper in sketches, each increasingly more ridiculous than the last. The only one she keeps is a comic-like drawing of Spider-Claus. She thinks he'll get a kick out of it. Just like she hopes he likes his Ugly Christmas Sweater. It took her a month to knit it herself. She's sure the suit keeps him warm enough, but she worries.

And it's still in theme with the costume.

She makes sure the chili cheese fries are ready, and puts milk and cookies on the table. His metabolism must be through the roof; she knows that too because hers has always been and they might spend the same amount of energy on a single night when both of them are working.

There's other gifts under the tree. A hand-filled backpack he can stash anywhere with some of the best first aid supplies that she'd chosen based on simplicity of use, for those times he's too far away from getting her help. A stocking filled with soothing bath oils and bombs to ease strained muscles and comfort tragically abused joints. Life as a superhero can't be that great. There's a version of a mixed-cd too, with some of his favourite songs, and some of hers. There's one on there in particular that she sings herself, and while she hates it because she's not as good with music as she is dancing, it's all of her thoughts poured into one place.

It isn't extravagant. It isn't commercial, but every single thing is meant to convey the thing he really needs most: To know he's appreciated, that he means something to someone, and that he is loved even when it doesn't feel like it.

Maybe if she uses LED Christmas lights in red and blue…

~*~*~*~

[ Tangleweave ]

When Beth sends him messages, he doesn't often reply in text format, but by gifs or pictures which acknowledge both receipt and context. He's designed his gloves to work in tandem with touchscreens but it's still difficult to type… and oftentimes he's not quite sure what to say to her which would help allay her fears for his safety. Ultimately he knows that's a futile endeavor. When he does send her words of text, they're short, curt, to the point, and most often it means something disastrous, or potentially so. That's unfortunate, but it's the nature of their professions of choice. Her text message this evening is unusually cryptic, though it's tagged at the end with an emoji that lets him know Beth is feeling decidedly conspiratorial this evening.

"Squirrelly," he chuckles to himself, as he tucks the phone back itno his utility belt.

There had been a winter bomb cyclone three days earlier, which had driven everybody off the streets and huddling for warmth in their homes. He was no exception, and it had been the last time Beth had messaged him, advising him to stay safe and off the rooftops. He'd sent her a gif of a corgi wrapping itself in a blanket.

Tonight, though, his spider-sense is feeling more abuzz. And much as he doesn't want to brave the windchill, he knows that it's a minor inconvenience to him to be helpful to struggling New Yorkers -- so an hour earlier, he had sent Beth a picture of a child on a swing. His code to let her know he's on the move tonight. Christmas Eve… which he's determined to make sure is a safe one for late shoppers, partiers, churchgoers, and as many others as possible.

Her message in reply is a bit of a surprise… and yet it isn't, because she's been nothing but kind and generous to him ever since their first meeting. And he smiles beneath his mask to know that she wants him to drop in. It's a sure thing that she's worried about him in the cold, and he understands why; even with the bleeding-edge tech installed in the suit, it still has a difficult time battling frigid temperatures around his fingers and toes.

Even so, landing on her snow-dusted rooftop is enough of an entrance for her to see that he's not suffering nearly so badly as one might be led to believe. Steam rises from under his feet as he approaches, humming a well-worn holiday tune. "Here comes Spider-Man, here comes Spider-Man, right up Riley Lane…"

Before he knows it, he's been ushered into the warmth of her apartment, with the door being all but slammed behind him to deny the cold any further entry. Beth offers everything that he could possibly want to experience in a moment like this… an adoring hug, a gentle peck to his masked cheek, and shy smiles while she turns her attention -- and with it, his own -- to the well-lit tree and the pile of gifts waiting beneath it. The end table bearing cookies and milk… and the chili cheese fries to which she'd introduced him, now arguably a staple for the moments they steal to be in one another's company.

Even disguised as he is, his entire affect changes as he surveys the efforts to which she's gone. His shoulders drop as an audible sigh betrays to her how touched to the heart he is by what she shows him. From the stocking to the backpack, each clearly stocked with thought and care… the food awaiting… the drawing of him wearing a jolly hat and an enormous red coat comically too large for him but cinched at the waist with a belt any wrestling champion would be proud to wear… and the Christmas sweater.

He refuses to call it ugly.

"Oh, Beth," he breathes. He reaches out to gently take her hand in his own, and not for the first time, he wishes he could pull his mask off so that she can see the earnest expression of gratitude and joy on his face.

"It's perfect. All of it." His thumb passes across her knuckles. "Thank you so much."

~*~*~*~

Merry Christmas, Turtle… and thank you for letting me play the long game. 💙

[bymoonchild]

Sugarplum Elegy (M)

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader Genre | Fluff, smut, angst / College!AU, FWB!AU, Soundcloud singer!AU, Idiots to Lovers!AU Warnings | Explicit language, hopeless and helpless pining, constipated feelings, lots of smut, rimming, cum-eating, spitting, blowjob, fingering, classroom sex, Jungkook is emotionally constipated but wbk  Summary | You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while.

Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

Word count | 17.9k

There’s no greater testament to love than love itself – the sheer vulnerability of being bound to someone emotionally and physically, and the aching process that bleeds into infinity. To love in every sense of the word is to offer your entire heart and place it on someone's bare hands, despite knowing that they might crush it in front of your very eyes.

Maybe love is like a dandelion, pretty during the summer mornings, but upon a huge gust of wind, its petals will be blown away, leaving its heart barren, abandoned. Given your past relationships, forming a fresh new ache and vulnerability for yet another person frightens the fuck out of you.

So when you wake up to a Jeon Jungkook beside you, lulled by the quiet sound of his breathing, your heart fizzles in your chest. It’s a no-strings-attached agreement that you two have decided on at the beginning of the year, but it’s still a feeling you can’t quite get accustomed to, especially when the first thing you see in the morning is his peaceful sleeping face, unless he’s spooning you, in which his warm breath will tickle the back of your nape. It’s weird because it feels nice, feels so right.

It's been six months since you two started the whole fuckbuddy agreement, yet you still can't get used to how warm Jungkook is, always so warm, as if the sun has chiselled its way into every single pore of your body, softening and melting your sharp edges. While his body still sends zaps down your spine, your mind registers that you’ve grown to adore the heat of his body when your cold feet always find themselves tangled together with his under the sheets.

He’s not much of a morning person, but sometimes, you’d wake up to him staring at you, caressing every detail of your face with his eyes, sunlight glittering golden in them, and smiling like a fool (an adorable one at that) at your groggy and sleepy self, as though your crusty morning face turns him on because it often leads to the continuation of the previous night’s copulation before scrambling to class.

You know no bounds nor depth with Jeon Jungkook. If anything, you’ve concluded that you’ve never met a person quite like him before, like the cosmos has moved for this concurrence to be possible.

Each new day brings a discovery about your fuckbuddy which keeps you on your toes, but nothing can ever beat the dorky Jungkook who becomes a freak in the sheets as he pounds mercilessly into you or pulls your hair as he buries himself deep inside the hilt of your throat. Nothing beats the feeling of having his warm body pressed up against yours as he whispers sweet nothings that caress and fan against your skin like invisible marks that will always be there, burning from deep within.

You hear Jungkook humming softly from behind you, comfortably settled on your bed while you’re hacking away at your laptop, rushing to finish your paper. You normally can’t work with noise or with another person in the room, but his humming falls quite pleasantly on your ears.

“Bub, you almost done?”

You turn around and spot Jungkook in only a pair of sweatpants, flaunting the ripples of his toned chest and abdomen. You have no idea why he even bothers wearing pants when you both know that he’s going to take off them later.

“Getting a little impatient, Pingu?”

A little pout plays on his lips, “No, it’s just that… You’ve been at it for hours and I’m kind of sleepy.”

“O-Oh, have you been you waiting for me? Why don’t you get ready first?”

“Actually, I thought we could, you know, just sleep tonight,” he smiles sheepishly, the curve of his cheek squished from where he is lying down on his pillow.

“You mean like…?”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You don’t reply, merely shrugging your shoulders, but the bags under your eyes are an easy giveaway.

“Then hurry finish your work and get your ass here. My arms are kind of lonely here and it’s cold.”

You can’t deny that Jungkook looks so gorgeous, so tempting, waiting for you with that familiar tender gleam in his eyes as he pats down at the empty spot beside him.

“You’re cold? But you’re literally my personal heater,” you laugh, tinges of amusement dancing in your orbs, as you relent, slipping under the sheets beside him.

Chuckling softly, he leans in and ensures that there’s as little space between your bodies as possible from head to toe, until the tip of his nose is brushing against yours. He playfully throws a leg over yours, pressing the strong cleave of his chest up against you and his body heat immediately engulfs you, sated and warm.

You feel like there’s a fire in you, made of soft, satin embers.

You smile, looking up at Jungkook’s pretty visage. Your night lamp casts a dim shadow on his face that insinuates his long, feather-like eyelashes, brushing the bone of his structured cheeks. He holds back smiling like the fool he is, busy drinking in the sight of you and the closeness of you, but that roseate flush that blooms over his face betrays his heart’s desire, spreading across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. Pretty.

If stars could take human form, they’d look a lot like Jungkook.

“Want to hear a bed pun that Jin-hyung bombed on us today?”

You hum in response.

“Never mind,” he shrugs, his eyes starting to crinkle up at the corners “It’s kind of sheety.”

“I fucking hate you!” You let out a whole-hearted laugh, doubling over to shove a pillow at Jungkook’s chest, “Don’t know why I put up with your dumb ass.”

“You love my dick!”

And Jungkook is one hundred per cent correct.

He likes to sleep naked, which is something you don’t have a problem with. At least he has the decency to throw on a pair of briefs, but it doesn’t particularly help cover with his morning woods.

You’re about to leave for class, but something uncontrollable and searing stabs at your belly when your eyes land on his taut, golden stomach, the faint line of hair trailing south towards the Calvin Klein imprint and the noticeable boner pressing against it.

As the soft light filters in through your curtains, casting shadows on the gentle slopes of Jungkook's face, a tempting idea pops into your mind and you drop your bag onto the floor, crawling right back into bed.

Jungkook is a guy who adores surprises and you’re someone who likes catering to his interests, though what you adore most is catching him totally off-guard and watching him writhe helplessly under you, for all the times you woke up to him in between your thighs. You find joy in taking care of him as your mouth takes the reigns, slobbery and messy with saliva dribbling down your chin.

Pushing the quilt away off the bed, your eyes take their time to map his body, before your fingers start to trace down the line of hair leading towards his clothed cock. You lean forward to press a kiss to the muscular ridges of his taut abdomen, and then down his happy trail, before slowly mouthing over his bulge and lastly, to his toned, honeyed thighs.

Fuck, you love his thighs – in fact, you've spent too many nights thinking about riding them and keening out loud when he makes your fantasies come true.

His cock springs free when you tug his briefs down and its stiffness almost hits you in the face. He's as rigid as always, tip angry and glossy with arousal and veins prominent in his shaft and you take a few seconds to admire the veins that artistically run up his length like rivers along a woodland. You love his dick, nobody has stroke game like Jungkook and you’ve never been more exhilarated when condoms were thrown out of the picture after you two agreed to be exclusive.

When you wrap your hand around his dick, the soft skin feels like velvet, enticing you to press an open-mouthed kiss to the tip. Body still weighted from sleep, Jungkook's breath involuntarily hitches when you settle in a slow rhythm, hand wrapping around the base of his dick, moving it in tandem with the bobbing of your head.

Slowly, he begins to stir awake at your ministrations, hand bringing up to rub his eyes unconsciously. When he manages to peel his eyes apart and looks down at you through the tops of his eyes, with his dick in your mouth, he groans loudly.

“Morning, Pingu.”

Coyly, you duck your head, running your tongue along the side of Jungkook’s shaft, keeping a firm grip around the base. When you return to the tip, you suckle hard with your lips, lapping over the slit feverishly. You relish the weight of his warm dick in your mouth and it’s when Jungkook starts to pant heavily with eyes rolled all the way back, his muscles straining as he rolls his hips upwards for more that you know you’ve succeeded.

“Fuck,” he knots his fingers through the dark tufts of your hair in pleasure, “I’d kill to wake up to this every day.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day.”

Leaning backwards, you pull Jungkook’s legs up higher and spread open them. You give his ass a little slap before further spreading his asscheeks and he jumps in shock when you spit obscenely into his ass.

Right after you got into the agreement, you two discussed each other’s kinks. You’ve always thought rimming was hot and Jungkook was eager to experiment with you, saying that it’s literally every guy’s dream come true to have his ass eaten out.

Your first lick is a broad strip from his perineum to his entrance, stopping there to suckle lightly at his rim. The contact sends trembles to course throughout Jungkook’s body and he gasps out shamelessly, closing his thighs instinctively and trapping your head between them. When your tongue laps at his tight, little tunnel, pressing little kisses to his rim, he arches his back out of his reaction, eyes clouded with lust.

You can’t help but tighten your fingers around his ass, kneading it greedily as drool and spit drip from the corner of your lips. At this, his mouth falls open in soundless moans, soft whimpers drawn from the back of his throat, muscles rippling beneath his skin.

Jungkook tastes better than you remember, though the only thing you can focus on is how helpless he is writhing underneath you and the protrusion of his arm veins as he clutches the sheets firmly from the interminable sensation.

You see his hand reach out for his dick that's throbbing between his thighs, aching for any kind of friction. The darkness in his eyes is enough to send a punch of heat straight into the pit of your gut.

"Touch yourself and you can say goodbye to coming,” you slap his hand away.

He throws his head in frustration, eyes shut and lips red and parted, "But–"

"Let me help you."

A growl is ready at the back of his throat when you lightly scrape your teeth on his rim, spit dripping down your chin, trailing past his balls and down to your bedsheet. Laundry Senpai would be out for a field day.

While your tongue continues to lick at his rim, back to his balls and then to the very tip of his dick, your right hand finds itself wrapped around the thick girth of his dick, finally giving it some attention. You begin to milk him, stroking him again and again and helping him to chase his orgasm. Perched on either side of your face, Jungkook feels his legs grow weak as you continue to jerk him off, revelling in each wanton sigh and moan that slips from your lips.

Out of pleasure or lack of control, you don’t oppose when his hips start to rut against your face as he chases his high. Instead, you slacken your jaw and lap at his puckered hole faster, prodding at his entrance with the tip of your tongue, knowing that he isn’t going to last much longer.

When Jungkook finally comes, you lap at his cock thirstily, taking in every drop of cum. He looks so fucked out, chest heaving up and down as globs of white cover your lips and chin, but you continue to lick the cum, swirling around his head. You gaze up at Jungkook and sees that lower lip is slightly swollen from where he’d been biting down on it, slightly red, and you desperately yearn to feel the soft and warm skin beneath the pad of your finger.

He pats your hair with a dreamy smile and your heart stutters at the way his eyes crinkle so prettily no matter how gently he’s smiling.

Your room is suspended in a beautiful haze, the morning air sitting like a blanket around you two, alongside the sounds of your breathing.

“Cute,” you whisper, pressing little kisses along the length of his dick.

Heat ruptures across Jungkook’s face, a visible flush radiating on his rounded, apple cheeks, and works its way to the bridge of his nose.

“You did not just call my dick cute,” he raggedly inhales.

“Shit, I gotta run – have class in like,” you ignore his complaint, checking your watch, “Fuck, 20 minutes.”

“Hey, take it back! My dick is not cute,” he puffs, folding his arms.

“Dude, I legit just woke you up with a blowjob and this is the thanks I get.”

“Just kidding…” He smiles sheepishly, taking your hand into his, “So I’ll see you tonight? We’re having dinner at the new Italian place, right?”

“Of course, can’t wait to watch you have an overdose of cheese.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes playfully, but the glint in his eyes screams that he can’t wait.

“Anyways, you better get up – you’re going to be late for your 11am.”

“I’m skipping,” his lips curl up into a smirk and even in his sleepy state, he still knows how to be a brat, “Gotta help Yoongi-hyung with something.”

"You're up to something no good, huh?”

With a sparkle in his eye, he smiles, "That I am."

You chuckle and press your hand against Jungkook’s cheek, fingers brushing against the scar on his cheekbone, intending to pinch his cheek, but he beats you to it and quickly turns his face into the curve of your palm. He then presses a kiss to it, painting his smile against the wrinkles of your skin and your heart ricochets in your chest.

“I—See you, Pingu.”

Another sleepy bunny smile adorns the stretch of his lips, “See you later.”

You don’t realise that you’ve been carrying a smile on your face ever since you left your apartment until your friend Jiyoon breaks you out of your trance by telling you that you look like a clown. Waking up to Jungkook by your side is such a domestic concept and honestly, that should intimidate you. Instead, all you feel is a blooming of butterflies in your stomach.

There are several traits and abilities of Jungkook’s that he prides himself on. He’s intelligent in a lot of ways and in some ways not. He’s socially aware and knows when to be quiet or loud. Yet, he has always assumed an air of detachment and aloofness, making people and sometimes even himself believe that he has an extra layer of skin, invisible and almost impenetrable.

He is, nevertheless, just a little shier with his words and doesn’t open up easily. Even when he does, he still walks on seashells around his closest of friends. He can’t help it – it’s just his nature and who he is. However, people who know him should know that he’s all bark and no bite. He’s much softer than he looks – and his heart is fragile and afraid.

Admittedly, he is a hopeless romantic at heart although the pursuit of pure, unconditional love is found dead in a ditch and he will rather die than admit that he still believes that he’ll hear bells when he crosses path with his soulmate.

Now with you in the picture, he really doesn’t know anymore. It’s unclear how this arrangement started, it’s a nebulous concurrence of fate… alongside the need to fulfil sexual desires with no strings attached.

You two met at a school event through Yoongi, your friend who’s a music production major and also the campus radio DJ, and while the three of you hung out a couple of times, you’ve never really established a friendship with him.

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment where it all started – how you fell into each other like this, how you grew to become addicted to the crash of his body against yours, fitting into the little crooks of each other’s life. It worked so well the first time that the second time was kind of a given and soon, both of you came to some sort of unspoken agreement that the next time you come into contact would result in both tangled in bed.

So there isn’t such an exact moment when things unavoidably shifted in your life and trying to find the exact moment that unchained everything would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. It’s just that you can’t quite remember sex feeling so good with anyone else.

Still, you wouldn’t count on him being entirely transparent with you.

He’s still an enigma, never quite settling, and consequently, neither could your so-called agreement. The line has blurred far too much for comprehension. But it’s simply the beautiful contradictions that make Jungkook so Jungkook, someone you may never quite understand, but desperately want to, from somewhere deep in your bones. All you know is that your heart somehow lurches whenever he’s near, that his gaze still makes you shy especially when you’re under him at his mercy, and that re-watching (yet) another Marvel film with him on your bed brings comfort to your heart.

It’s not fair how Jungkook can make you feel like you’re six feet under what you assume must be somewhere between lust and adoration, when he says the dumbest of things like, “96% of guys masturbate.”

“Then what about the other 4%?”

He deadpans with a casual shrug of his shoulders, “The other 4% don’t have hands.”

You throw a pillow at his smug face, but even if he says the dumbest things, you like to listen to the timbre of his voice, how it rolls over the vowels like honey smothering biscuits. You should hate the way he makes you bare your neck so easily, makes you quiver and tremble at the slightest touch, yet your stomach still coils no matter how hard you try to push away the hummingbird heart residing in your chest.

“I don’t know why I even tolerate you.”

“Thanks, love you too.”

Questionable words like these have been thrown around casually, the harrowing weight often settling uneasily in both of your stomachs. Too many unspoken words fill the air and they’ve been lingering in the air for some time now. While it’s undeniable that you two share something, where feelings are mutually understood without having to say much, life isn’t a bed of roses and things will happen when the universe wants them to.

“Noted with thanks.”

Staying over wasn’t initially part of the deal in fear of jeopardising the friendly arrangement, but as time goes by, when sex becomes a daily thing and Jungkook starts coming over more often and later in the night, breaching the fuck buddy etiquette starts to matter less.

The dick appointments are always at your place because he proclaims that he loves your bed and it’s ten folds comfier than his. You can’t seem to fathom why because you find his bed equally comfortable to sleep on and it probably smells much nicer than yours, mixed with the brew of his musky scent and peach shampoo.

Now, almost half of the things in your apartment belong to him including his favourite fabric softener, just because he can. He makes sure that he’s over every Friday at least to do laundry and has even persuaded you to entrust all laundry duties. Friends with benefits etiquette? Not in this household.

You smile at the toothbrush holder, before picking out yours, which has its place next to Jungkook’s red one. It’s just moments like these where you know that he’s undoubtedly carved himself a rightful space in your life like there was a space reserved just for him. Becoming a constant beyond the late-night dick appointments and one of your best friends, someone you text and exchange dank memes with on a daily basis. Someone you trust.

You adapt to him quickly, and he accepts you unconditionally. In an odd way, it’s like he’s always meant to be by your side. It’s like the cosmos knew. And slowly, it’s as if he’s never gone and the mutual fear of overstaying your welcome or the fear of letting yourself get too comfortable with each other has dissipated. Now, it gets harder not to think about how his cologne tends to rub off on you even hours after sex and it gets harder to ignore the mixture of scents that lingers in your room.

Stepping out of the shower, you hum quietly to yourself and see Jungkook engrossed in playing a game on his phone. When you continue to hum, Jungkook drops his phone and stares at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“W-What are you singing?”

You chuckle, “Whoa, was I that bad?”

His face is a chiaroscuro, the right side illuminated from the lamplight, the left in soft shadow. But there’s something indescribable about his expression that you can’t seem to decipher as he stares at you guardedly.  

“N-No! I’m just ¬– what song is that?”

“It’s Euphoria,” you dismiss him casually, “By GCF. He’s a new Soundcloud singer whom I just discovered the other day. Heard of him before?”

“E-Er, no?”

“What’s with your reaction?”

“N-Nothing! I-It’s a nice song I guess.”

You beam, “Yeah, I think he just started his singing career, but I really like his voice. Makes me feel all soft inside.”

“Soft, huh?” A teasing smirk inches its way onto the edges of Jungkook’s lips, “I thought you only like listening to rap music.”

“Geez, can’t I have a diverse taste in music?”

“No.”

“Bitch,” you roll your eyes in faux annoyance, “Remind me to send you some of his music.”

“I-It’s fine… I can just search it up myself.”

You grab your phone, ready to unlock it, “No wait, let me just play his song—”

Whatever you’re about to say is lost when Jungkook reaches for you and cuts you off with a kiss. Heat sinks low in your belly when he catches your lower lip and tugs at it roughly. He rests his hands onto the tapers of your waist, before going south to cup over the curve of your ass, causing you to drop your phone on the bed. A deep spike of pleasure pulses in his abdomen when your eyes widen, a soft sound passing through your lips that only he has the privilege of hearing.

That night, the sex is a little different.

Jungkook roams languid kisses everywhere – your lips, jaw, the column down your throat, clavicles and down the valley of your breasts and you let him trace love notes all over your skin.

It’s a feeling that you two are used to. The sound of his pants being unzipped as he unravels you, your tongue feeling heavy with his. The crescent marks of your nails on Jungkook’s back as he thrusts into you with unbridled ardour, never losing eye contact with you. The breathy praises on your skin till it’s almost scalding, like pure propulsions of energy looping into stellar spaces, burnished suns flaring radiant.

Jungkook coaxes sounds out of your mouth like he’s tugging at your heartstrings, drawing out symphonies and melodies trapped beneath your tongue, until the room echoes with a mixture of curses and moans, until there’s nothing but Jungkook and only him on your mind.

You don’t fall asleep immediately that night.

While Jungkook’s face is tucked into his pillow, lips slightly parted, and breaths calm and soft against your sheets, you comb your fingers through his hair, liking how his locks feel soft like rose petals between your fingers.

When dawn arrives and slowly paints the world a pale rose and the noise of the city is muted outside, you bury your face into the dips of his shoulder blades as your mind continues to swirl, absorbing Jungkook and everything about him. How he smells like the smell of clean linen and peach, a light musk that sits heavy and familiar, how you can’t shake the phantom smell of Jungkook’s cologne on your skin.

In all honesty, it hurts. You’ve never felt this susceptible to someone’s gaze or touch and it fills you with nothing but with further want for him.  

Friends with benefits aren’t meant to be like this. They aren’t supposed to have such tenderness laced into every touch. But the thing is, you’re well aware that you don’t just treat Jungkook as just a fuckbuddy, not when your body reacts to his touches like this, not when static seems to build beneath your bones every time he smiles at you with stars coruscating in his eyes.  

There are times you’ve thought about how maybe, just maybe he feels something different about you, like the way you feel about him, but you’re probably projecting your own feelings onto him, so you dismiss it without further thought.

You could make a home in the hollow of his hold. But for now, you’d just let the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest lull you to sleep.

[you] [16:35] hello are you open for business today [16:36] i would like to make a dick appointment

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [16:36] hi yes, welcum [16:36] we have a slot from 8pm all the way till 9am the next morning [16:37] we provide dinner too. any preference?

[you] [16:37] i would like some nuggets with a Dick on the side [16:37] mega upsize for the Dick please  

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [16:37] Large size it is. okie dokies your reservation has been confirmed [16:37] n.e ways, want to hear a joke about my dick? [16:37] nevermind, it’s too long

[you] [16:38] sorry can i cancel my appointment? i don’t remember asking for a lame willy  

Jungkook always delivers and you’re not just talking about nuggets, bubble tea, and his Big Dick on the side. He always delivers, whether it’s his promises or fleeting remarks that you don’t even remember him saying. After months of being physically intimate with him, you learn that Jungkook is everything you thought he would be, and at the same time so much more and it piques your curiosity.

You want to learn more about him, unravel him from inside and out, until you are confidently acquainted with the exact colour of his eyes, the sound of his laughter, and the little antics that just make him so charming and endearingly dorky – everything that makes him Jeon Jungkook.

“Strawberry milk tea for me, 100% sugar because why not, and a green milk tea with pearls, 30% sugar for my lady.”

Static gathers at your fingertips as Jungkook’s fingers brush against yours when he hands you your drink.

You ignore his attempt to flirt, “You remember my order?”

“Of course,” he says a little too quickly and regrets immediately, “I-I mean, it’s a simple order… Pretty sure my one braincell can at least remember it.”

Smiling softly, you pull him into an embrace, while he rests his chin on the top of your head, taking advantage of the extra centimetres in height he has on you.

The light coming from your bed lamp allows the brush of his lashes to be shadowed onto the perfectly sculpted apples of his cheeks. From where you’re standing, you swear you can see a little blush making camp on his cheeks and you’re smacked once again with heavy realisation that your fuckbuddy is unbelievably ethereal.

Not that you aren’t already aware of it, but Jungkook staring at you with such bright adoration in his eyes, the light scar etched on his cheek, which screams to be smooched, and the small mole on the side of his neck that has become your favourite spot to kiss, is really something else.

“Fucking date me already, bro,” you mutter under your breath as you nuzzle your face into his chest.

His warm eyes bore imploringly at you and you tense up almost immediately, feeling hot like there is a fire deep in your bones, washing your senses away. The thought of him agreeing to your casual tease crosses your mind as a fleeting thought, but it dies when Jungkook just brushes it off with a chuckle.  

“Only if you pay me.”

“You fucking wish.”

A reciprocal laugh escapes from Jungkook’s lips, but he thinks his heart has just done a pirouette at the sight of your smile.  

“So how was your day?” He whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear even though it doesn’t fall, just because he just likes touching you, because he wants to be near you all the time, “Hope it was as nice as my ass.”

You scoff, but there’s an amused smile on your face, “I actually don’t know if you’re being truly genuine or sarcastic.”

“Well, it depends on whether you think my ass is nice or not.”

“Hmm… Well, it’s not that nice as Taehyung’s… I’ll give it a 6 or 7.”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook gasps out loud dramatically, “Right in front of my salad? Take that back! You’re not allowed to talk about my friend’s ass in front of me.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because I… You just can’t! That’s just… the bro code!” He shakes his head furiously and the little pout starts to form on his lips doesn’t escape your notice.

“That literally doesn’t make sense.”

“Bub... Do you really think his ass is better than mine?”

Despite the crude nature of his question, there’s a certain softness laced in his voice. He clutches your palm, his thumb idly gliding up and down the back of your palm so tenderly that it has the tips of your ears warming.

“Jeon Jungkook, are you jealous right now?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Well, I mean Taehyung does have nice fingers too, but I like yours more.”

“O-Oh, okay,” he mutters under his breath, continuing to rub circles into your palm silently.

A laugh leaves your lips as you pad over, “Dumbass. When I say that you have nice fingers, it means that I want them. In me.”

You’re grinning at him and he feels like his heart has grown fists because his sternum feels like it’s being battered.

“Fuck, your mouth is a sin.”

“You love it though,” you whisper sultrily, before placing your hand dangerously near his crotch and then dragging a finger over the length of his cock through his pants.

“Hell yeah I do.”

It’s whispered, barely louder than a breath and it’s more of a confession than Jungkook ever wants to admit.

Leaning in, his breath brushes over your bottom lip as he curls an arm around your neck to pull you closer. He leans forward, nose brushing against yours before he plants a kiss on your lips.

Your lips continue to dance over each other, heart skipping a beat whenever Jungkook sucks on your bottom lip. It’s a soft kiss, but also a hard fall, like plummeting a million miles an hour through time and space to land straight in the middle of heaven, the gates opening to reveal a beautifully blossoming feeling of unparalleled warmth and joy.

Maybe it’s against Jungkook’s better judgement when he presses another chaste kiss to the space between your eyes. Maybe that in itself is a very poor decision, because his feelings suddenly threaten to consume him completely.

Because in the deep tresses of his mind, he thinks he can hear bells ringing.

You can’t breathe, hands fisted in the front of Jungkook’s shirt, dizzy, lightheaded and hot all over. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, which nearly makes your knees give out, and you barely have time to draw in a ragged breath before he greedily dives into the sensitive part of your neck for more. You tilt your head back, giving him free rein, and grip his bare shoulders so hard that you know it’ll leave red marks on his skin. You strangely like the idea of that.

He begins to nibble the pulse beneath your jaw fervently, eyelashes fluttering against the hinge of your jaw, till he sees a bruise beginning to blossom, his hand sneaking up your skirt. You try to break away from the pursuit of his kisses, but Jungkook is undeterred, planting kisses and nibbles down your jaw and to your breasts, prompting the smouldering lust crackling over your skin to only intensify.

Shuffling to the edge of the bed, his eyes rest on your features as you hover over him. Your fingers reach out to grab at the waistband of his pants and underwear, yanking them so that they pool around his ankles, before taking his dick in your hands.

You’re about to wrap your lips around the head of his cock when Jungkook cuts you off.

“Wait, how do you know that Taehyung’s fingers are nice? Do you stare at them?”

Your actions come to a halt and you let out a loud sigh in annoyance to mask the way your chest fills with so much fondness that it oozes out of every crevice of your body at Jungkook’s confused expression with his big doe eyes.

“Jeon Jungkook, I’m literally about to suck your dick. Does it really matter?”

Something cracks in his demeanour and he snaps after that. You can’t even remember how many times you fuck that night. Right after you suck Jungkook off, he’s hitched you up and pressed you up against the wall and fucked you rough and fast, just the way both of you like it. The second time is slower and less frantic. He’s stripped you of your clothes and thrown you onto the bed and pounded into you, slow and deep, until you’re keening and begging for more.

By the end of the night, you’re sore in so many places, with bruises painted all over your body like an artwork, and Jungkook is knocked out cold next to you, a heavy arm draped across your waist. As you relish in his warmth and weight beside you, the heightened thrum of your pulse continues to be cognisant at the under of your jaw, screaming in the distance.  

Three weeks into discovering GCF’s music, it’s become your life goal to never shut up about him. For someone who is a sworn rap fanatic (which is how you became friends with Yoongi because god, his taste in music is superior and he himself spits fire with no mercy), you’ve strangely become obsessed with GCF’s poignant music and his thematic exploration of love. It’s come to a point where you have every single one of his songs downloaded onto your phone and you visit his Soundcloud page every day without fail to check if he’s uploaded a new track or replied to comments.

There’s just something about his voice that manages to worm its way directly into your chest, where it’s festered into something so captivating that you can’t help but feel a meadowsweet summer warmth clamouring around your heart with giddiness on its heels. His voice has a certain sweetness, a softness that you could sometimes feel in the pit of your belly if you listen to him with your eyes closed.

You’re just a teensy bit butthurt that he hasn’t responded to your comment from last week – your really long and sweet comment about how much you could listen to him sing forever.

It also doesn’t help that Jungkook isn’t supportive of your fangirl antics and he proves it once again with the judgmental look he’s shooting you from your desk, while busying himself with a bowl of cereal at 2am. You’re unsure whether you should be the one judging him but then again, he is Jeon Jungkook after all.

"Why can’t you crush on an idol? You don’t even know how this dude looks like.”

You frown, pressing your lips together, “Stop being a hater. Isn’t that just the beauty of an underground artist?”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook replies with an air of nonchalance, “Okay, but what if he’s a serial killer? Or a 50-year-old creep?”

“Chill dude, he said somewhere that he’s a college kid. That’s why he takes quite long to put out new releases.”

“He said that?”

“I think I read it somewhere in the comments,” you shrug, stealing another mouthful of Jungkook’s cereal just because you can, “Why?”

He ignores your question and snatches back the spoon in faux irritation, “So what else do you know about him?”

You shrug, staring at him a moment longer, “Nothing much, except for the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with someone because his songs are fucking sad and romantic, but you know what? I absolutely dig that aesthetic.”

Jungkook feels like his soul is being looked into, and for a moment there, he genuinely thinks that you’re tricking him into admitting the truth. It scares him to think that he might have been transparent and vulnerable with his feelings. But even if you suspect anything, if you’ve noticed any sort of hints in the way Jungkook acts or the things he says, you don’t show it.

“He is?” He manages to squeak out, eyes glued on his now empty bowl.

“What’s with you questioning everything about him?”

“Nothing… It’s just… this guy seems dodgy. He doesn’t even sing that well. And what does GCF even stand for? Greatest common factor?”

“Oh my god, shut your nerdy trap!” You gasp, mouth agape, “And who are you to say that? You can’t even sing!”

You hit him with your pillow, but Jungkook, being the all-rounded guy he is, deftly catches it with a tight smile, “Remember that time when you tried singing to Justin Bieber – I swear I thought my mirrors were about to shatter!”

This only prompts an eyeroll from him as he’s brought back to the memory of him purposely screeching at the top of his lungs when you blasted Justin Bieber.

He doesn’t like lying to you, but he hasn’t quite decided on how he wanted to break the news to you. Does he simply just confess to you one day about him GCF all along? That all his songs are about you? That the person he’s hopelessly in love with… is you?

He doesn’t know, but he knows that he’s fine with whatever he has with you now. It’s an easy habit, the way you immediately scooch over to your side of the bed to make room for Jungkook. It’s just as much of a habit the way he immediately throws an arm over your waist, sturdy chest against the small of your back and legs entangled for extra heat The cuddle fest resumes, but when Jungkook presses his nose against the exposed skin at the base of your neck and sighs quietly, you realise that something’s off.

“You okay, Pingu?”

“Mmm fine.”

Your eyes are patient, fond, as you turn over to trail your fingers down his face, over the apple of his cheek and the corner of his mouth, brushing gingerly over his lower lip.

“Want to talk about it?”

Closing his eyes, he sighs, “Nah, it’s okay.”

He could not be content with the joyful contemplation of your eyes and your golden heart. Not even for a second could he let this love dwell upon his senses– because he knows he’s going to let you down at the end of the day.

The apartment falls quiet. Within the moment of silence that falls between you two, you think about how you two have shared so many silences, the quiet and steady presence of unwavering and unconditional support – that you no longer feel the need to fill them up with conversation. So you allow yourself to enjoy his sweet presence, the peachy smell of his shampoo, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“What are you thinking about, Pingu?”

There’s a beat of a pause that lingers between you, the gleam in the caramel of his eyes sparkling with something akin to lust as he attacks your neck with a violent raspberry to your neck.

“You.”

Your heart leaps at your throat and you feel warmth simmering under your skin, sitting high on your cheeks.

“What about me?” You ask, skimming your fingertip down Jungkook’s chest.

Shivering slightly at the contact, the smallest of smirks inches into the corner of his mouth, “The number of bad things I want to do to you.”

Your lips curl up, resembling his as you whisper breathily into his ear, “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

“Hmm?”

Your eyes are filled with mirth, a little sinister, mostly playful, inviting him to inch closer and you reach for the crook of his neck, lips coming into contact with his sensitive spot that you’re very familiar with. He moans when he feels the light suck of your teeth and the curve of your evil grin forming against his skin.

“How much I want you to do those bad things to me.”

And Jungkook’s heart stutters in his chest, his head spinning at the propinquity, the intimacy of it all, and the love in his chest blossoming and spreading throughout his body.

Jungkook is well aware of the fact that he is indeed an idiot. Him and feelings? An irreconcilable combination. He’s accepted this. While he’s decent in his grades and talented in many areas, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing with you. His hands have minds of their own whenever you’re near and his mind goes short-circuit. Especially when he sees you with a dude he doesn’t recognise at the study lounge.

Something heavy and uncomfortable settles in the pit of his stomach at the sight. He’s always been mildly aware that you have a life outside of catering to his every whim, but this is the first time he’s been slapped in the face by the fact.

Squinting his eyes, he realises that you’re sharing your earpiece with the unidentified dude and he becomes super vigilant of your little mannerisms – how your face is lit up as you’re laughing and how your shoulders are brushing against the dude’s too much to his liking.

You’re always smiling when you’re with him. He’s not quite sure he’s seen the expression slip from your face, laced in the curve of your mouth and the crinkles of your eyes. It's another little detail, just one from his burgeoning list of things that he finds attractive about you. He wonders if he could be the only reason for your smile. He wants to be, desperately wants to, but he’s not sure if he’s capable of doing so. And he’s angry at himself for not believing that he can do so. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t tie you down, maybe you’d be better off with some other dude.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so selfish.

But he wants to be. When it comes to you, he wants to be selfish. He feels like he’s in a trance, fallen straight into the web you’ve woven around him, and he can’t get out because something in him turns green.

“Pingu!”

You beam at the boy standing awkwardly across the room, totally forgetting to keep your cool when your eyes land on his outfit. You have to stop yourself from drooling at how good he looks in his usual black button-down and dark jeans, the wide planes of his chest and the strong curves of the muscles in his arms.

When he walks over, his cologne wafts through the air and you have to will yourself not to have any dirty thoughts from how well his button-down stretches across his shoulders.

“Hey babe.”

Jungkook’s eyes zero in on your face, vaguely fleeting to the boy’s beside you, and shoots him a quiet seething glare when his eyes land on the proximity of your shoulders. For a split moment, he looks down at your phone and sees that you’re on GCF’s Soundcloud page – listening to his newest single, “Nothing Like Us” and his heart pummels to his stomach, softening a little.

“Boyfriend?” The guy perks up beside you, wariness evident in his tone.

You gently slap him on the shoulder in laughter, “Oh, we’re not together—”

“Yes, we are. Let’s go, bub.”

“Pin—”

Jungkook doesn’t wait up, grabbing your things and shoving them in your bag like you’re in a mad rush. It’s impossible for him to think straight. His mind has become an unrecognisable labyrinth that he has difficulty navigating, sent into a turmoil.

As he pulls you out of the lounge, fingers firmly intertwined with yours, warmth encapsulates your heart and cheeks, like sunlight melting on your skin in molten gold.

“I texted you,” he begins quietly, focusing on the ground and everywhere, except on your face as you desperately search for his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t see. Was busy doing work with Minhyuk.”

At once, Jungkook’s vision flares red, glinting in the smooth obsidian of his eyes, “Don’t say his name.”

“W-What?”

He doesn’t answer and continues to tug you through the hallway.

“J-Jungkook? Where are we going?”

Realisation hits you when he brings you to an empty classroom – you recognise it as the old classroom that nobody ever uses – and a chill runs down your spine when the sound of the door being locked echoes throughout the room.

He pushes you against the wall, hands perched next to your head and you can't stop staring at his biceps, revelling in the way his arms flex whenever he moves.

“Strip,” he orders sternly, nipping at the lobe of your ear.

“H-Here?”

Jungkook has shared his kinks with you and you’ve never pegged him to be one for classroom sex, though you’ve got to admit that you’re turned on as well at the idea of a desperate, quick fuck in a classroom. Something so raw and visceral about it that sends a hot rush of arousal through you.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he quirks his brow and smirks, reaching to unbuckle his belt.  

“Pingu—”

His lips purse before a chuckle leaves him, breathy sound meeting a restless tongue, as he runs it over his lips, “Did I stutter?”

The glint in his eye is dangerous like he has a primal need to claim. It makes you feel even more like a prey put on display, all weak in the knees for him when he slowly traces the dips and curves of your face – your eyelashes that’s fluttering with every breath, that tiny mole below your right eye, and your rosy pink lips. His eyes continue to trail down to the marks painted all over your neck and he feels a strum of possessiveness and satisfaction swell in his chest, knowing that he’s the rightful artist of such masterpiece.

He unbuttons your shirt and tugs it over your head, almost ripping it in the process but refrains himself from doing so at the thought of you screaming at him afterwards.

He plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips and your mouths move in perfect synchronisation, practiced and perfect, but still sloppy with desire, a little too loud, a little too heated. There’s a tangible frantic hunger in the way Jungkook kisses you, a desperate need in how his hands roughly clutch at your waist, like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs.

“All mine,” he whispers, teeth finding the plump of your bottom lip, a gentle gnaw at the flesh. When he tugs at it, it burns an inferno into your chest, imprinting your so deepest desires to the edge of your mind.

“Oh god,” you sob into Jungkook’s mouth, winding your arms around his neck and pressing closer, kissing you through the ache in your jaw, through the ache between your legs.

He doesn’t hesitate to hitch you up and you wind your legs around his waist, sweeping your tongue across his lips. This is far from romance, miles away, but it feels so romantic when it’s this raw and aggressive, tasting so much like teeth and sweat, lips working in precise vigour.

It’s almost impossible to pull away and when you finally break apart, a strand of saliva connects your mouths together. You watch Jungkook’s swollen lips glisten with your own saliva alongside the flecks of gold in his eyes and the very sight sends an electrifying heat down to your arousal.

There's something about kissing Jungkook, the mere act of having his chest pressed against yours and arms wrapped around you that feels natural and right, like you’ve been doing this for years.

When you slot one of your thighs between Jungkook’s and rock your hips forward, he takes this time to trail soft kisses down the column of your throat. Your breath catches in your throat when Jungkook sucks at the underside of your jaw, where your pulse is at and lets his lips linger, mouth leaving the warmth of an invisible mark that makes you rightfully his, even if just for a second.

He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, before trailing his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers, “I’m going to ruin you. Going to fuck your brains out till you can only remember my name.”

His words prompt a gasp to escape your lips and he uses this as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, coaxing another moan from you when he explores the inside of your mouth with his tongue and you let him, wanting him to explore every nook and cranny of your cavern.

“Going to fuck you silly, babe. Just the way we like it.”

It’s the deep timbre of his voice, almost a growl, that sends electricity to course through your veins, making you feel so fucking alive. It’s the way Jungkook’s shoulders barricade your leaner frame, which makes you feel so weak in comparison and dots your body with goosebumps, remembering the time he shoved you against the janitor closet and left a lovely bruise on your lower back and reminded you of the sheer force of his hips even days after.

“On your knees.”

And you comply wordlessly, sinking onto your knees as your hands find themselves holding onto his thighs for support.

He’s so fucking hot with the radiant flush on his face, hair sweaty and dripping onto his neck, shirt clinging like an extra layer of skin. Jeans tight around his thighs and oh, he’s saliently hard.

He tugs his jeans down impatiently, which land with a thud, and you watch with fascination as his thick, angry cock springs up and slaps onto his abdomen, precum already pearling at the tip.

“Open up, love,” he commands.

Before you can even touch his cock, he bends down to meet your eyes. Patting your head, he puckers his lips and spits, coating your tongue with his saliva in one sharp shot. You gasp at his sudden action but swallow, wanting to taste your wetness mixed in with his. His tongue twists against yours as he buries his fingers in between the silky strands of your hair, tugging it backwards, leaving you whimpering with desire.

“You like that, baby?” Jungkook whispers against your lips.

You can only moan again, unable to form coherent sentences, especially when he breaks away and slaps the head of his dick against your cheek, spreading precum there, and then on your tongue before guiding himself to the cavern of your hot mouth.

He curses underneath his breath when you stick out the flat of your tongue to lick around the slit, before kissing the head softly and smearing your lips with his precum.

Desperation peaks hot in the air around you two. This must be what it feels like to be on fire, so consumed by flames of desire. You peak up at him through your eyelashes and you watch as Jungkook’s eyes flash with something so carnal that it makes you want to take his dick deeper. You feel like you might just combust into ashes.

You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning in a slow rhythm, swiping your tongue out as you savour the bitterness of it and sucking hard. Jungkook’s cock rests heavy on your tongue, throbbing at the wet heat of your mouth. Your hands reach forward to cup his balls, massaging them while you continue to suck around his head, eyes peeking upward every so often.

“Going to fuck your throat now, babe. Open wider for me, okay?”

You hum in response, before pulling away from his dick and return to slide back down again till you feel it hit the back of your throat. Jungkook reaches down and threads his fingers into your hair, right down to the base of your scalp. When he pulls tight, your lashes flutter, a breathy noise that sounds a lot like a moan spilling out of your swollen lips.

Jungkook pulls out slightly and you know what’s about to come. Using your mouth with no regards, he incessantly shoves his cock down your throat, satisfied by the disgusting gurgling sounds coming out of you. Your affirmation reeks of desperation, rolling out in ecstatic waves and ripples.

His mind is growing hazy, the sharpness dulling and the only thing he can think about is how good you feel around him. Fuck, no one chokes and slobbers on cock the way you do.

His hips continue to jerk faster desperately, catching and sliding right into the wet, hot vice of your throat, until his dick is buried warmly and snuggly at the back of your throat and the curved point of your nose is pressed against his pubic hair. In his mind, he thinks your mouth looks so fucking pretty stuffed with his cock.

You gag once again, tears forming at the edge of your tears, and it sparks something in Jungkook’s stomach. He wants to take you into bed, eat you out for hours and makes you orgasm till your vision goes black, till you know nothing but him and only him. But you’re not in your room and in fact in an abandoned classroom and as much as he wants to please you, he knows that the table isn’t the most comfortable. With that, he yanks you off him, which comes with a light ‘pop’ and a thread of drivel stretches from your lower lip to the crown of his shaft. You whimper at the loss of his dick, tears trickling down the high flush on your cheeks, and even then, he still thinks you look the prettiest.

Jungkook can barely get his fingers around himself, stroking once, twice, before he comes in thick spurts across your lips and chin.

Reaching behind, he gets a handful of your ass and easily hoists you up on top of the teacher’s desk. There’s a slap to the junction between your ass and your left thigh, the meaty flesh reddening and as much as it hurts, you love it when he’s rough with you. 

For a second, the world is black and then your shirts are tossed on the floor after much pulling and tugging, your bare chest heaving as you try to retrieve the breath that Jungkook seems to have stolen straight from your lungs.

He’s got you lying flat on the teacher’s desk before him, your skirt and underwear hanging carelessly around one of your ankles. His thumb darts right over your nipple, before he drags his tongue over it, sucking on it lightly and circling around it while he kneads the other with his palm and tweaks the bud between his knuckles. But what really sets you off is when he grinds the solid girth of his cock over your glistening centre teasingly. 

“Please don’t tease...” 

As your thighs engulf around him, he leans forward, letting his nose nuzzle at the apex of your cunt, where the scent of your sex is so strong.

You can’t see the lower of his face or mouth, only his nose and tendrils of hair stuck on his forehead, but you can definitely it as his tongue circles around your clit, trailing a fat stripe up your folds playfully and sucking at your wetness. A string of curses fall from your mouth, pleasure hot and sharp shooting through your veins to feed the tightening coil in your abdomen, and a sense of satisfaction hits him square in the chest when he hears his own name in the mix.

He relishes in the shaky gasp he coaxes out of you again when his teeth scrape lightly against the nub before the pearl a harsh suck. There’s nothing sweet or soft about the way he’s eating you out, but that doesn’t stop you from squeezing your thighs in between his head.

It’s a tidal wave, causing even more wetness to pool between your thighs when you feel a finger teasing at your entrance. He rubs you a few times more before easing the digit in, while his tongue continues to flick at your clit lazily as you throw your head back, hitting the desk lightly in the process but it feels so fucking euphoric. His finger is thick, so fucking long and thick and your tightness gladly invites the chafe of his finger, relishing in the way he makes you feel so full. 

“Fuck yeah, so good,” your fingers find themselves tugging in the tufts of his hair, weaving through his hair to push him closer to where you want him to be. Every stroke of his finger sends your cunt into a hot ocean of fuzziness and when he presses his nose flat against your mound, your hips rise off the table, a rampant fire fusing in your abdomen. Your brain is fogged with nothing but utter desire to have his dick right inside you. He doesn’t let up, inserting another finger, curling them against your wall and proceeding to fuck you raw, fast and rough.

“You’re so needy,” he smirks at how pliant you are, how much you crave for him.

He can feel you tightening against his fingers, your walls clenching unimaginably tight around him with every stroke and he pulls out before you can come. You don’t even have time to protest when he grabs his dick and gives it a few pumps, before lining himself in front of your cunt.

The velvet tip first circles around your clit, the feeling sending bolts of sparks through your abdomen and there’s a deep rumble that falls past Jungkook’s lips when he finally pushes his head into your cunt that makes you immediately clench around his shaft, bringing the inklings of stars behind his eyes.

He restrains himself for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the stretch and burn before you wriggle your hips the slightest bit and he knows it’s okay to continue. And then without warning, Jungkook rocks his hips forward, causing you to gag out loud, as his hips continue to roll up, drowning you in a white-hot heat. You keen shamelessly, loving the thickness and girth buried inside you to the hilt.

“Can’t believe the tightest pussy is mine.”

He wants to close his eyes and lose himself in this in the heat of your bodies, but he doesn’t want to look away. There's a shine on your cheeks and the expression on your face is caught in a euphoric bliss that Jungkook feels electric in his blood, the air between you two charged and alive.

“All mine.”

It’s been months since the two of you started this – this downward spiral into a mess of feelings that could never quite be spoken out loud, but understood nonetheless. But sex is always so good and you two are always so needy, so desperate, like you could never get enough of each other. And after all these months you’re supposed to be used to his thickness, you’re supposed to be used to the way his cock buries way too deep inside you, but you always feel like it’s the first time – your every nerve ending is alive and electric beneath your skin, receptive to each of Jungkook’s touches and sounds.

You can feel every drag of Jungkook’s cock inside you, every curve and line sliding against your walls, hitting that little bundle of nerves inside you that has left you babbling nonsense and drool dripping down your chin.

“Whose cunt is this?” His voice is dangerously gentle, but he’s looking into your eyes with eyes that are hooded and sharp by blazed arousal, the usual comets in them diminished and hidden behind the otherwise darkness of his irises, framed prettily by wispy lashes.

Your teeth sink down on the flesh of your bottom lip, red and bloodied in your attempt to somehow distract you from the overbearing stretch his cock tugs at your walls.

“Y-Yours!”

“Whose?” A low groan rumbles from deep in his throat, the sound bordering on animalistic, which sends tremors of desire to thrum through your veins.

He knows how to pry everything from you. How to get you to scream, shake from pleasure, how to get you to claw at his back like an animal and you love that about him.

“Yours, Jungkook. All yours.”

Finally, desire ricochets through his abdomen and the last tendrils of his noisy thoughts drift away, leaving him floating, the only sensation he knows at that moment is pleasure and the feeling of being inside you. He’s so out of breath when you rake angry red lines down his back in return, but he doesn’t mind. 

He wants all the scratches and bruises from you. He wants it all and he wants it hard.

Propping himself on his forearms so they frame your face, he brings up his foot to rest on the table leverage and pushes two fingers into your mouth. 

“Suck my fingers, yeah? You’re doing so good for me, bub. So good.”

You don’t protest, almost submissive under him, eyes obsidian and clouded with lust, sucking his fingers and revelling in the weight and fit of them in your mouth

At the crude sight of you, Jungkook pulls out of your cunt almost all the way, before slamming back into you with sickening precision, finally able to fulfil the primal, animalistic need and urge to act on his feelings and give you the best fuck you’d ever have. A choked moan is drawn from both of you as his length drags against your walls, hitting a spot deep inside you that has your back arching off the table, keening shamelessly as wet squelches and constant snapping of your skins resound the room.

He continues to pound harder into you, driving you into a delirious, babbling mess. Perhaps it’s the angle, but the way his hips snap into you, ploughing into that same sensitive spot over and over and over again, has you clutching desperately at his nape for stability.

You look so good like this. So soft beneath him. So close to him with your pretty tits snug against his chest that it feels like your heartbeats are in sync, falling into an echo of one beat together.

The desk whines under the weight and motion, but he continues pounding into you, bodies rocking to meet each other. Each rock of his hips sends you closer over the edge, the tip of his girth hitting just the cushion of your cervix, bodies rocking to meet each other.

His head dips, capturing your nipple and suckling gently before he nips at it, taking it between his teeth and pulling gently. The moan that tears from your throat is more than desperate and needy as he continues to grab onto your breast for support. 

Having been your sexual partner for months, he knows when it’s getting too much for you. He can tell by the way your eyes quiver and start to roll back and his fingers instinctively intertwine with yours as a way to help you relax as he rocks you through your orgasm, toned thighs and balls hitting against the backs of yours.

“Fuck, give it to me Jungkook. Please!”

A fizzle akin to a firecracker trails down to your legs and you fall back onto your elbow, your other hand firmly interlocked with Jungkook’s as he hike your leg over his shoulder and fucks you with the same vigour, feeling the weight of his cock inside you and his balls, heavy and full slapping against you. You keen at the new angle, feeling so full of him, and when you come, your entire body shakes and Jungkook holds you through it all, whispering love notes into your hair, against the shell of your ear, thumb tracing circles on your hip, soothing and reassuring.

He soon follows, spilling spurts of his warm cum inside you, harder than he ever has, your warmth a comfortable stroke to the ridges of his dick. For a few seconds, all he sees is the murky red of the inside of his eyelids. You’re still pulsing around him, clamping his dick with your warm walls, breath like staccato in your throat while he sucks at your neck, both instinctually trying to stake a claim for the best fuck ever.

The silence between you two is refreshing as you take a moment to catch your breaths.

Jungkook watches as your chest heaves with each breath, looking properly wrecked with a glazed look in your eyes. When he pulls out of you from oversensitivity, his eyes are fixated on his cum that’s dribbling out of you and he registers that nothing could be more enticing and beautiful than seeing your rosy pink pussy swollen and painted with his seed. He wants to come inside you all day. It boggles his mind, how close and intimate he yearns to be with you, how he has surrendered his heart to you on a silver platter.

He raises a hand to your neck, fingers brushing lightly on the florid bruises, his touch soft and longing.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers in a saccharine tone, corners of his pretty lips curving upwards into a grin, “All for me.”

You blush fervently at the sudden change in demeanour, still reeling from all the feelings coursing through you. Jungkook’s back to being the soft, doe-eye bean that you adore.

“And you’re like a dog. So fluffy.”

You squeeze his cheeks until his lips pout out like a fish.

Shoving your hand away, he scrunches up his nose and breaks into a blinding smile, the warmth spreading down to his toes, “Can’t believe you’re calling me a dog after I just had my dick in you. Way to ruin the mood.”

“Can’t believe you dragged me into a classroom because you got jealous.”

The flush on Jungkook’s face only darkens and he’s forced into quiet submission, shaking his head and muttering a quiet fuck you, but he doesn’t deny it.

“Wear this, your shirt looks ruined.”

Jungkook hands his sweater over and you take it gratefully, pulling it on, and for a moment, you let himself take a deep breath, the spell-binding musk of his cologne making you feel warm and safe. You find yourself slipping again into that safe, content state that you always feel whenever you’re with him. And just like this, you’re back to falling into Jungkook and the galaxies collapsed into the coracles of his eyes.

“So, when are you planning on telling her?”

Jungkook hates how straightforward Yoongi is sometimes with no patience for bullshit.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, shoulders drooping low.

“Kid, you know you can’t hide this from her forever. It would be easier if she wasn’t a fan, but she’s obsessed with you and your other alias.”

“I didn’t think she was going to find me… All I wanted was to post my music somewhere. I didn’t think this far.”

“Kook, she’s in love with GCF, your songs, your lyrics – I think she deserves to know.”

Jungkook shakes his head profusely, “It’s not that easy, hyung. When she finds out that all the songs are about her, I’m fucked.”

“Why do you assume that?”

“I just… When she finds out that I’m hopelessly in love with her, she’s going to hate me and whatever we have is going to be ruined.”

Yoongi shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling, praying to god for strength to pull through. He doesn’t know how to deal with his idiot friend and his equally idiot of a crush. It’s pretty common knowledge that Jungkook has a crush on you – if his intense aflame yearning for you could even be labelled as a crush – so big that he has dedicated his entire underground singing career to you in secret. But it’s also common knowledge that Jungkook is dumb – living in his own little bubble with his deteriorating one braincell.

“You think too lowly of yourself, kid.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, distracted by the notification that flashes on his phone.

[you] [14:56] listen to this!!! i love his cover

His heart falls. He is confused. He is beyond confused – he is conflicted, stupefied, disoriented and madly disturbed and even that is an understatement. He feels like he’s falling like a feeble autumn leaf from the gust of wind into a bottomless pit.

Drowning in a whirlpool of emotions he doesn’t even know he had the capability of feeling.

A smothered voice at the back of his mind starts to question your relationship. You two have shared so many words, so many late nights spent talking to each other even when you’re too tired to keep your eyes open, so many afternoons spent laughing over one braincell moments and food and so many instances unravelling each other physically and emotionally.  

He truly questions himself – whether the weightless impossibility that he feels around you could be love. He’s never been in love, like really what is love? What’s the difference between liking and loving someone? Each emotion feels so vivid, from the calm to the happy to the quiet.

He’s not sure if he loves you, or he’s in love with you, but sometimes he thinks that he could be, when he feels the lingering sweetness of your heart on his tongue, tastes the heavy redness of want beneath your teeth, and yearns for the softness of your body when he’s in class.

You’re a faraway planet and Jungkook wishes to settle his arms into their orbit around you.

Still, he wouldn’t risk something so delicately special for a thought that comes and goes fleetingly, in stolen pockets of time when the sky shifts from muted geranium to deep violet.

Even if it is love he has for you, even if this love could be made for movie screens, Jungkook knows that it’ll leave both parties broken. He knows that you deserve better, more than a guy who secretly writes songs about you because he doesn’t have the courage to love you loudly and wholly, like the bells ringing in his ears whenever his eyes land on you.

It doesn’t take a lot for you to realise that Jungkook has resided back into his shell. He’s been avoiding you for the last week and you kind of hate it when he gets like this, closed-off and hard to reach.

The thing about your relationship with Jungkook is that it’s a big nebula. While the two of you fuck around on a daily basis with supposedly no strings attached, Jungkook has also become one of your best friends.

As mischievous as he is charming, endearingly shy and heartbreakingly sweet, he’s just really nice to be with and it makes you falter, knowing how unconditionally Jungkook cares for you and vice versa. When you need someone to talk to, you often find yourself calling him, in which he’ll have no qualms about coming over, even at three in the morning.

This time, you fight the urge to call Jungkook again. The heavy want to hear his sweet, calming voice before you fall asleep is strictly romance territory, and you’re definitely not together with him, but you want to tell him about your day. The new movies you’ve watched, the songs that you’ve discovered, GCF’s new track that reminds you of him. You’ve been sending song recommendations to Jungkook. You want to share all the music you love with him, because they all remind you of him, because all the songs are about love, because they are all about how you feel for him.

But after much radio silence, you’re beginning to wonder if he even gives a shit about you. Deep down, you know that he does – he’s always been treating you a little differently, like you’re someone he holds dear to his heart. At least, when you’re together, just the two of you like this, he makes you feel as if you’re someone special and dear to him. And when another track of GCF plays in the background, you wonder: how nice would it be, if the lyrics reflect how Jungkook feels about you. Maybe this is how galaxies come into a pleasant, mutual collision.

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [2:34] you asleep?

You stare blankly at your phone, your instinct to pick it up and answer him immediately battles with the pettier side of yourself wanting to ignore him. The thought crosses your mind for only a second or two before you dismiss it.

[you] [2:35] nope

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [2:35] can i come over?

[you] [2:36] okie [2:36] i’ll leave the door unlocked for you

As the night transitions into a lighter grey and warmth sinks deep into their skin, Jungkook thinks that you look prettiest like this, sprawled across the mussed up sheets of your bed with the soft moonlight that makes the lilacs around your neck and chest gleam in gold.

“You’re staring,” you accuse, but your eyes crinkle up at the corners.

There’s a momentary hesitation flicker in Jungkook’s eyes and you part your mouth, ready to tease him even further, but your heart gets caught in your throat when he replies.

“How could I not?” He presses you closer to him, making sure there’s as little space between your bodies as he can possibly manage, “I could look at you all day.”

Everything feels a little hazier, a little gentler, a little warmer all at once and it’s not just due to the heat simmering under your skin, tinging your cheeks a translucent pink. It’s also due to the stars in Jungkook’s eyes that come to live, smiling at you with their pristine pearly teeth.

He’s always tender after sex – all soft touches and tender words. It’s always a fight between warm and soft and hot and hard when it comes to Jungkook. And it’s exactly this clashing dichotomy that makes you so attracted to him and the low voice coming from those lips that glisten with a pretty, rosy swell.

“Bub,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

He rests his hand in the dip of your side, fingertips gliding along the grooves of your ribs and raising goosebumps on your skin, as if his small touches are signals that he wants you within his reach, scared that you’ll leave.

“Yeah?”

His tone slips into something softer, “Can you… Can you smile for me?”

“What?”

You turn to look at him with a questioning look, but you’re greeted by the undeniable loneliness that overwhelms the monsoon of his obsidian eyes.

“Smile for me, bub.”

Your eyes narrow at his weird request, but eventually relent anyways, breaking into a soft smile as you run your fingers through his locks out of habit.

Jungkook feels his heart soar to an enchanting level of complete and utter rapture at the sight, feeling as light as he does heavy.

Upon his conflicted expression, the tilt of your lips fades into something more serious, “You okay?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just been a little off these few days. I kinda miss the old Pingu.”

“Sorry… I’m just stressed.”

“About?”

There’s a heavy silence in the moments following your question, hanging between you two.

Jungkook wants to tell you. That he’s currently putting up a full album with the help of Yoongi. He wants to tell you everything, confess to you that all his songs are about you, and he knew he was fucked when you found out about GCF because he never thought that his songs would reach you.

“About school stuff… Nothing important.”

Lies.

You could sense that he’s been wanting to tell you something for the longest time and you’re about to pursue it further, but upon seeing the hard rock expression on his face, you know better than to probe. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

“Okay,” you whisper back, so quietly it would have vanished in the wind and the distant noise of the city, “You have all my support, you know that right?”

Jungkook feels his skin tingle, especially when you slot your head into the crook of his neck, lips resting lightly against his pulse.

“I—” He opens his mouth, “Yeah I know.”

There’s a sheen in your eyes before the air leaves your body in a rush. You lift your hand to brush your fingers against Jungkook’s lips, before shuffling forward to plant a kiss on the corner of his right eye. You linger, breathing like a fresh spring against his face, and then pull back.

As your hands find the courage to explore the soft material of his shirt, you run your fingers over the buttons, curling into him and delicately ghosting over his skin that you yearn to kiss with your lips, lick with your tongue, mark with your teeth and bruise with your nails.

He strokes up and down your side rhythmically, but doesn’t seem to have any motive behind the touch, so you let him despite the goosebumps forming on your skin and the zap of electricity that runs down your spine.

You stay like this for a long while. It feels right, somehow, like this is the universe's plan for you two. Soon, you fall asleep to the rise and fall of his chest, to his steady breaths, to his fingers intertwined with yours. And you know that when you wake up, Jungkook will be here right beside you, like always.

“You two are so domesticated, you know that right?”

You purse your lips at Jiyoon, eyebrows slightly furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“You act like a couple,” she says matter-of-factly and continues at your dumbfounded expression, “Have you seen the way you two act around each other? You might think you’re just fuckbuddies, but dude… anyone can see that you two are fucking whipped for each other.”

You’re not oblivious. You know for one that you’re someone who will go all in on someone, give your 100 fucking per cent and have your heart dangling out on your sleeve just for the taking. You know what it means when your heart jackhammers whenever Jungkook smiles at you with the warmth of a summer day curved in it and when you get a little weak in the knees from his touch. You know what it means when your room smells a little different – when your mind only registers Jungkook’s smell and nobody else’s.

And you know what it means when Jungkook is the only who can affect you like this and he’s the only person who’s ever affected you like this.

The little instances of watching Netflix with Jungkook and doing homework together before fucking till the wee hours of the night – and just simply being together – have stuck with you as kind of romantic and domestic. He’d drop by your apartment at random times of the day, sometimes even before you’re back, already rummaging through your fridge, and you’d just shake your head at his barbarian behaviour and order takeout. These are few and far in between, but they’ve given you a glimpse of what things could be like.

With Jiyoon’s words settling heavily at the back of your mind, a tangle of what ifs and what could bes, you call Jungkook over that night and ask him to fuck you like he means it. You don’t miss the number of times he hesitates to ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t upon seeing your distressed face.

Your relationship with him, without actually having any resemblance of a relationship, is really starting to worry you. You don’t know what Jungkook’s thinking – you’ve never really known what thoughts rush through the waterfall in his mind, but he’s always doing these pseudo-romantic gestures that probably don’t mean anything and it’s scaring you. The way your body reacts to even the slightest touch from him is absolutely terrifying.

The way your body wants and it continues to want – it yearns to be intimately connected with him. Because your mind knows that nothing can ever top the feeling of him being inside you, especially when he eases two of fingers inside of you, sinking all the way down to the knuckles.

A shiver traverses your figure when he pulls out slightly, only to piston his fingers into you again mercilessly at your g-spot. But before he can sink you onto his dick, your stomach growls, as if announcing to the entire world that it has been waiting forever for this exact moment.

“Bub, you hungry?” He bites softly at your earlobe, chuckling lightly.  

“N-No—”

He stares at you with the celestials in his eyes and you know that he’s not simply asking for the sake of doing so, “What do you want to eat? I think we still have ramen left.”

Your heart skips at how he refers to the two of you as we. Technically, he’s not wrong, considering how he’s been getting the groceries for your apartment that don’t just include cereal and milk.

His breath is coming out in warm swathes of air against your collarbones and you glance down to see his eyes, the slow blinks of his heavy lids, each breath laboured and potent with lust. Beyond that, you see utter fondness in each of his little starry friends.  

“You’re seriously asking me what I want to eat when you have your fingers in my vagina? Jeon Jungkook, you are one rare breed.”

He scoffs, planting a kiss on your forehead, and when he pushes himself off the bed, you know that he’s abandoning whatever intention he has of getting off to make a run for the kitchen, “I’m just me.”

And right at this exact moment, you’re utterly defenceless to the slaughter that your heart endures.

“Yeah,” you mumble, gazing at the back of his adorable, round head, your words lingering in the heavy air, “You’re you.”

It’s been ages since you went over to Jungkook’s apartment and you thought it’d be nice to drop him a surprise visit since he hasn’t been coming over. He’s always kept an extra key under his rug (hashtag just Jungkook things) and you’ve conveniently let yourself in, knowing that he’s probably at home because he has Wednesdays off.

Upon entering his apartment, you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice wafting through the walls. You feel like you know the voice by heart. That voice… GCF?

Strange. While you’re an avid fan of the underground Soundcloud singer, you don’t recognise the song and you wonder if he has a new release that you don’t know about. You make a mental reminder to check out his Soundcloud page afterwards.  

“Pingu?” You call out, saunter towards his room that’s left slightly ajar. Easing the door open, you pop your head in and the sight hits you with a pang, drowning your heart in your chest.

“Jungkook…?”

At the sudden voice, the boy twists his head around almost immediately and shock crosses his face, his mouth dropping open slightly when he sees you standing at the door. He didn’t hear you calling for him and he sure didn’t expect you to show up at his apartment.

You stare blankly at his studio – equipment neatly spread across on his desk with a mic stand lowered to his face. You can vaguely make out the different equipment, having frequented Yoongi’s studio. Your eyes slowly shift to the rest of his room – his album covers pasted on his walls come into view and your chest tightens with a disconsolate, stifling feeling. His room looks so foreign as compared to the last time you were over.

How long has he been hiding this from you?

"You—you are…"

The sight of Jungkook’s face of shock (or is it guilt?) punches you straight in the gut. It's like the world's come down to the two of you again, just the two of you, at this moment.

“Bub…” He mumbles, finally finding his voice even though it's hard, especially with you staring at him straight in the face.

Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of the deafening thud of his heartbeat, how his lungs seem to rattle behind his ribs and the unnerving churning in his stomach.

"That explains everything. Oh my god,” you gasp, “Oh my fucking god."

"I—"

You blink a couple of times, looking down at the floor before you slowly lift your eyes back to Jungkook’s again. You hold each other’s gaze for a few quiet seconds and he watches, almost in slow motion, how your lips part to his impending doom, hurt evident in your tone.

"You mean all this while, the Soundcloud singer that I’ve been gushing to you about was… you all along?"

He breaks his gaze from your face and mutters under his breath, “You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“Were you…” you mumble, voice tight, "Were you even planning to tell me at all?"

“Bub…”

"Yes or no?"

He casts his eyes to the ground, chin dropping to his chest, and remains silent.

The quiet plagues the room with heavy stagnancy, swallowing your bodies whole and caging them with its wings. Jungkook shuffles his feet in his seat, thinking about what he got himself into and sighs deeply.

"You wanted to continue to lie to me?"

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he says, the words sounding sugar crystalised and rough in his throat, like the honey that trickled into his lungs from recording earlier has all hardened.

“So you wanted to, huh?” You close your jaw, the familiar stiff creaking adjusted to a sharp snap and you shut your eyes.

Jungkook’s chest rises with a shaky exhale, “I wasn’t ready to tell you.”

“All this time when I was talking about GCF and recommending his songs to you, I was actually talking about you? And you just let me?”

“It’s not like that, I—”

“Jungkook,” you exhale, a tremor laced in your words, “You know… You never want me to know anything about you. I tried so hard to get you to open up and I thought that maybe you’ve finally let me in. Maybe because I’m special to you. But I was wrong this whole time. You don’t trust me. You never did.”

There’s a crack in Jungkook’s armour. Something flickers across his features that look a lot like hurt and he begins to frown, brows pulling taut at the centre, “Maybe you pushed me too much! Why do I need to tell you everything? We’re not even together for fuck’s sake.”

Every syllable from Jungkook’s mouth sends a wave of searing coldness down your spine and echoes throughout the apartment. He closes his mouth instantly, regretting his brash words, and even more at the vacant expression on your face.

For moments and moments, the world seems to hang on a thin gossamer thread, suspended in static.

“Right,” you mutter dejectedly with a shattered expression, mouth parted and chest expanded with a breath that you haven’t let go of, “You’re right. We’re not.”

“I—”

“This was a mistake. Right from the very beginning. Don’t know why I tried. I should have known…”

The words ring in Jungkook’s ears before it's even properly out of your mouth.

“Known what?”

You shoot a glare at him and you hope that he can see the newfound contempt that you have for him blazing in your eyes. Your throat suddenly starts to ache, a ghost of tears already running down the breadth of your oesophagus, setting your entire body on fire.

“That you wouldn’t let me in. That you wouldn’t want my heart if I handed it to you on a silver platter. That I’m fucking stupid for thinking that you’ll actually like me back.”

“Wha—”

You don’t hear him out, turning on your heels. Maybe this is why he doesn’t like you coming over. Maybe that’s why he’s been avoiding you.

When you go to sleep alone that night, every single limb of yours feels heavy with exhaustion, aching with agony. Jungkook’s scent lingers stronger in your pillows and sheets, your mind only registering his scent and nobody else’s, and suddenly your bed feels a little too big, a little too empty.

"I’m not going to say I told you so, but I fucking told you so.”

Yoongi comes stomping into Jungkook’s room in a blaze of anger and indignation, lips pulled back in a snarl and eyes narrowed into slits.

Jungkook flinches at his tone, but looks up from his laptop like nothing's wrong. Nothing’s wrong, besides the headache pulsing between his temples and the fact that he has fucked things up with you beyond repair.

"She called me yesterday. Started crying on the phone.”

“She cried?” Jungkook winces, heart plummeting to the lowest pit of his stomach.  

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, not knowing what else to say.

"You know, to be very honest, you guys make it seem like the world is ending."

"What—"

"It’s not that deep, you know? You write songs for her, she loves listening to them. You’re both in love with each other.”

"We’re not—"

"Don't give me that shit," Yoongi snaps, "You can keep denying, Kook. But I can tell from the way you look at her. The way you act when she’s around. It’s my first time seeing you like this… You’ve never acted like this with anyone.”

Jungkook inhales deeply, holds it, then exhales through his nose. Around him, everything is silent and still.

"And I think you very much know why you hid it from her in the first place.”

"I don’t.”

"You do."

Yoongi’s frown deepens, creasing the smooth skin between his eyebrows, "You’re scared that she’ll get disappointed knowing that you’re GCF all along. The guy who writes beautiful, romantic lyrics, the guy who sings his heart out. You’re scared that you’re not what she hoped you to be.”

Jungkook remains silent.

“But you know what’s ironic here? She’s in love with you. And she’ll love you even more when she realises that you’ve been writing songs about her. All for her.”

Loss comes entangled in love; insisting its way into little spaces in between skin and bone, and once inside, it seals the door and never leaves. It builds a home.

You should have known.

Stringless sex is easy until someone catches feelings – and what’s supposed to be casual and simple turns into something messy. You should have known that you were fucked from the get-go. The two of you have been warm bodies, seeking each other out after long nights and hard weeks, skin to skin, nothing but terrifying and intense, but so, so wonderful.

You should have known that someone like Jeon Jungkook would come whirling into your life, thrashing and maddening like the storm he is, would come sweeping you entirely off your feet, in his own little endearing Jungkook ways.

Endearing. Everything he does is endearing. Weirdly endearing, but still so, so endearing.

He’s the boy who eats cereal at 2am just because he’s hungry, the same dork who barges into your apartment at random times of the day to sleep on your bed and help you with your laundry, the boy who often drops his rice grains on his clothes and doesn’t hesitate to pick them up before shoving them back into his mouth. The boy who snacks on canned tuna directly from the can.

You shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve fallen for him. He’s always been there, ready to take your heart and it makes it so easy – too easy. Falling in love with him and having your heart torn apart by him is nothing like you’ve ever experienced, but it is so easy, like the first snowflake during winter, so light, so at peace, like destiny.  

Your heart soars through the clouds as you let the feeling complete you. It’s as if every inch of your body has been set aflame, but you strangely feel safe, letting yourself drown with his heart that pumps liquid gold through his veins.

Now the memories come flooding through your apartment floors like a movie scene. You think about his small mannerisms, the way he always listens to you, even when he doesn’t give two shits about the topic or looks disinterested, but he’s always listening quietly, and how he always seems to take care of the people around him in his own quiet ways. He cares and loves so fiercely and deeper than you could have ever imagined.

Getting used to Jungkook not being in your life proves to be way harder than it seems. You find yourself with tons of dead, empty hours that feel way too long and insufferable. It’s not the sex you miss, it’s more of the mere presence of him, his smile, the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. It’s the way his chest would rise and fall peacefully beside you, the way he’d share his favourite songs and movies with you, something you’d only convinced him to start doing recently, and the way he would banter with you over the dumbest of things and then make it up to you later on.

No matter how much you tell yourself that you’re upset at him, it doesn’t stop you from getting your hopes up every time your phone buzzes, only to be disappointed when it’s everyone but the boy you yearn to see. If only you could get some closure, but you can’t even bring yourself to initiate a conversation because there’s really nothing to say. It’s impossible to ask for an explanation, because you two were never anything. There was no us, regardless of whatever your heart has fooled you into believing.

Yet, your heart knows one thing: you’ve fallen in love with Jungkook in the quietest and gentlest of ways, almost as gently as the way he strokes your palm with his thumb, as gently as the way he looks at you, so impossibly fond it makes hope flourish in your veins.

And when your phone buzzes that night, you realise that your heart has always been right.

[googie ☁️🍞] [23:48] hey bub i know you probably don’t want to talk to me [23:48] but i’m having my first public performance as GCF this sat and i hope you can come [23:50] i missed you. a lot. you have no idea [23:51] i’m sorry for everything [23:53] really sorry

It takes every ounce of courage in you to leave your apartment that day for the campus music festival. Acts from the various school clubs and student artists are invited to perform, but the highlight of the evening would be the official debut performance of GCF. You’ve even heard that there would be media present to report on it.

You wonder how Jungkook is feeling. He’s probably dying inside, never one for crowds and unwanted attention and you wonder what made him decide to reveal himself. Could it be because of you?

When it’s finally time for GCF’s appearance, Jungkook’s blood fizzles with the sheer energy exuding from every corner of the pit. He glances at the crowd and finds himself dying a little more inside at the sheer amount of people gawking at him, anticipating him, including you, who’s stood rooted to the ground amidst the roaring sea of people.

He finds himself doing a double-take, heart caught in his throat like he’s not quite sure what’s in front of him is real, because there you are, looking as pretty as ever, staring right at him, your eyes slowly widening when you realise that he’s staring right back at you.

When he locks eyes with you, fizzy warmth fills you like a flooded street, a devastating kind that crashes right through you and throws you off-guard. He manages a smile, but his lips have a nervous, crooked curve to them and you watch him tug at the hem of his shirt anxiously.

There’s a love song written for you coursing somewhere through Jungkook’s blood and he breaks into a passionate belt when you offer him a soft smile.

His heart sinks once again. He probably should not be thinking about kissing the pretty curve of your lips when he’s supposed to sing and he fears that he’ll forget his lyrics because you’re here. Right in front of him, waiting for him to spill his heart out.

You’re here.

And that’s all that matters.

You realise that you’ve been holding yourself together by a thin thread and it snaps the moment Jungkook sings to you, for you. He always has this funny way of making you feel so special, looking at you like you’re the only person to exist, even now, when you’re surrounded by an entire crowd. As you listen intently to the lyrics, painful vines start to curl around your throat and thorns prickle over your skin. 

He continues to sing, the air around you two like running pages, his voice capturing you in a daze. He has reigned in the flitter-flutter heartbeats, blowtorched the butterflies in his stomach until there’s nothing but ash left in his chest and it kind of hurts, but right now, he’s going to sing, because this is how he is going to love you loudly and wholly, like the bells ringing in his chest.

The sky is painted with a violet flush hovering above the moon and the streets are quiet and aglow, pools of orange-yellow light being emitted from the lamp posts, distant sounds of the distant city echoing in the air. Everything around you is suspended in radiant city fog, soft in its vibrancy.

Not a word is exchanged between you two, with only the moonlight above your heads as the comfortable silence engulfs you in ellipses.

“Sing for me, Pingu.”

Jungkook’s gaze skims over your features in silent contemplation, “Bub…”

“Please?”

He doesn’t respond and you fear that he’s going to turn down your request, but then he starts singing softly and your heart gnaws at how pretty his voice in the darkness is.

Soft and crystalline, his voice hangs in the moonlight and drifts away with the stars, each word a drop of light, some of them whispered and some flawlessly held. His voice is huskier than you’d remember and its timbre sends shivers raking down your spine. You cannot emphasise how much better this is than listening to his songs on your earpiece.  

When he finishes singing, you ask, “Were you nervous just now?”

He chuckles, as if to ease the tension, “I was actually more nervous about you not showing up.”

“Pingu, of course I came,” you smile softly to yourself, “I wouldn’t miss your performance for anything and you did great – like you always do. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles back at you as gently as the pretty pink sky of a fading summertime day.

“Did you know that I started singing because of you?”

You freeze.

“W-What?”

“It’s quite obvious that all my songs are about you, silly.”

“I—”

“They’re everything that I feel towards you, but couldn’t tell you.”

Your eyes flicker across his visage – he’s biting his lips anxiously and your heart gnaws.  

“D-Did you know?” He slowly begins again, careful with his words, “That I like you?”

“No,” you admit, biting your bottom lip, “but I hoped.”

Jungkook’s eyes become soft crescents on his face and wordlessly inches forward to close the breath of space between you two, cupping your face in his hands like you’re the most delicate flower he’s ever touched. He doesn’t look away from your eyes searching your gaze silently and you watch as the moonlight catches on the flecks of gold in melted brown.

If you went stargazing with him, it’d be pointless because you would spend the entire night staring at the little stars in his eyes and becoming acquainted with each of his starry friends.

“I knew though.”

The whisper is warm and enticing as the words are exhaled onto your lips, leaving trails of electricity to tingle on your skin in the rise of gooseflesh.

“Huh?”

“I knew that I was going to love you.”

At his words, the press of skin to skin is nearly overwhelming. Under the moonlight, the hint of a blush glows effervescently on his cheeks.

“And too much. Far too much,” he adds, the curve of his lips soft.

Heat sits high on your cheeks as his words linger in your ears. It takes awhile for you to fully register his words, though petals are already wildly blossoming between your ribs. He makes you feel like you’ve got an entire universe in you just waiting to happen.

“Y-You love me?”

He nods.

“Listen,” he takes your hand into his, his voice soft, “I don’t know how to define myself without you anymore. You’ve been such a big part of my life and you’re the only person who has such an effect on me. I miss you like crazy when you’re not around and I knew something was up when I kept on wanting to see your face, wanting to see you smile for me and that’s when I knew it wasn’t just sex anymore. It was hardly just sex between us, even from the very start.”

The words come out in a messy tumble, and if you aren’t focusing on his voice, you probably wouldn’t have understood them. Still, the unexpected confession sends you into a mild state of delirium, mind racing a mile a minute.

“But you… You deserve to be loved loudly. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid, who isn’t always fucking up.”

“Pingu,” you begin, enjoying how his nickname rolls pleasantly off your tongue, “I’ve always wanted you from the start. And then things got really messy even though we aren’t together and even now, I’m still scared that I’ll ruin whatever we have.”

The sound of crickets echoes around you two, mixed with the faint rustling of leaves and the melody of a chilly autumn night. Muted in the back of your throat, softly lulling in the back of your mind, loudly screaming from the heart shapes in his eyes, you see love.

“But if you must know, my feelings for you are beyond this universe.”

You take Jungkook’s hand in yours, tracing the lifelines of his palm, the deep crease that represents his mind, the curve of his heart, and the delicate vines that he carries with him.

“You love loudly, Pingu. You love me in every sense of the word in the gentlest and loudest of ways.”

And when he puts his hand on top of yours, it feels like your galaxies have collided and become yoked as one, his starry friends now orbiting your once solitary sun.  

“So…” He starts, rubbing his palm against the nape of his neck, “I was thinking…”

“Wow.”

He lets out a huge puff and attacks you with a fit of tickles, laughter shared in low pre-dawn voices.

“Oh my god, Pingu! Sorry, let me live!”

“You’re so annoying, but so adorable.”

“I could say the same about you.”

So I was thinking…” He repeats, his voice dropping to a soft dulcet whisper, “Hypothetically.”

You hum in response, relishing how Jungkook’s breath tickles warmly on the slope of your nose.

“Maybe we could go out…”

“Like right now? It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” he laughs again, a deep, throaty sound that you can feel under your skin and presses his body even closer to you. His laugh echoes throughout the night and into the city and echoes in your mid.

“As in we could go out for real,” he says slowly, “As boyfriend and girlfriend.”

A dusting of pink blooms on the peaks of his cheeks, crossing the bridge of his nose and spreading over his cheekbones. It snakes furiously down his neck and he searches anxiously for your eyes, catching the light from the lamppost and they illuminate like filaments of copper, while his heart hammers against his chest.

“And maybe you would say yes.”

“Yeah?”

“And I could, you know,” he finds his fingers instinctively winding themselves in your soft strands, smoothing it down rhythmically, “Love you the way you deserve to be loved. Loudly and wholly.”

Your entire body shivers. Grabbing his hand, you smile, “And maybe… I can’t wait for you to do that.”

“Yeah?”

Under the moonlight, Jungkook’s wearing a sun of a smile on his face and there’s a lovely light that reaches his honey eyes whenever his lips stretch and his dimple deepens. Ethereal.

“Yeah.”

At the first brush of his lips, an inferno ignites. Heat blazes through your veins, rendering you molten as you sink into his kiss.

Kissing Jungkook is a lot like coming home. His kisses are as soft as sighs and giggly secrets whispered in the middle of the night; happy, private, comfortable, familiar. In a way, you feel like you’ve been doing this all whole life. And then Jungkook moves closer and traces his tongue over your bottom lip, warm and heavy. Hums spill past your lips each time your tongues brush and you feel a restless fire raging beneath your skin, a meadowsweet summer warmth blossoming in your chest as he swallows every hitch of your breath.

In and of itself, there’s no greater testament to love than love itself. For one, you love how Jungkook seems to always know what your heart wants even when you don’t say anything. You love how gentle his heartbeat is and how it’s become the sound of your universe. You love how he has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped and it loves fiercely and loudly and gently. You love how he’ll always be just there, in every sense and meaning of the word. You love how hearts will be broken and tears will be spilt, but even then, it’ll still be worth it. And you love how fully love wakes between the two of you and perhaps, it is entwined in him that you find absolution.

ta-dah!!!! this is yet another mammoth istg i want to try writing short fics but I Simply Can’t. sorry if the wait was rly long ;; i just want to say that i fucking love jungkook and writing this made me feel so soft for him once again. jungoo is the goodest boi who cares and loves so gently and loudly in his own dorky, endearing ways and i hope you feel the same while reading this! !!

i love the ending,, still waiting for the day i can use the last line for somebody that’s not jungkook because life be like that i just want someone to hold my hand lmao

i probably will disappear again bc i’m going to be taking up a (legit) leadership position in school and i can foresee myself being fking tired,,, but i have plans to start on a hobi postbreakup & volleyball au fic... i won’t promise when it’ll be out because i am horrible at deadlines

once again, thank you so much for reading this and if you enjoyed it, please please hit that like or reblog button or/and hmu in my inbox/dms! ♡ 

[buginateacup]

I barely hit post on the last fic when a new idea came in

----------

The disguise watch was going to be fantastic. Miss Ritchi would never see it coming. He would lure her under the pretence of being one of her coworkers out into the crowded street, reveal himself in a flash of pyrotechnics and smoke bombs, and they would be away in the invisible car before she had the chance to call him an inconsiderate ass for interrupting her workday again.

If she was willing to leave the office for coffee, she should be prepared to suffer the possibility of being kidnapped. She was never gone more than an hour or two anyway. Honestly he didn't see what the problem was.

In the guise of Roxanne's friend and coworker Yumi Nakata, Megamind leaned on the side of the lovely, delightful, charming, witty Roxanne Miss Ritchi's cubicle and cleared his throat, preparing to make the offer of coffee. He'd spend twelve hours watching Yumi's weather reports to make sure he could correctly imitate her cadence and voice. Yumi's tinted shades sat on his nose, disguising the bright green of his eyes

It turns out he needn't have bothered. Roxanne looked up and flashed a smile that stopped him in his tracks. "Nearly done," she sang brightly, typing rapidly without looking at her screen, "Coffee time?"

Megamind nodded dumbly, still blinking away the aftereffects of her smile. Roxanne typed for a moment longer then hit save and shut her laptop triumphantly, grabbing her purse, "Let's go, I'm craving scones."

"Oh I could get those for you Roxaroo," Megamind jumped, he hand't noticed Hal Schtewart sneaking up behind them. Roxanne paused and looked flatly at him, "We're good thanks Hal"

"No seriously, no trouble!"

“Honestly, we’re fine.”

Megamind subtly knocked the 700ml energy drink in the cameraman's hand all over him, "Oh look at that," he cried in a passable attempt at Yumi's soft voice, "You better clean that up before the wasps in the courtyard are attracted by the smell. Their stings are quite painful you know"

Roxanne was fighting back a giggle as Schtewart rushed away yelping that he could feel them coming for him already.

"Yumi, I love you" Roxanne said seriously. She looped her arm through Megamind's and started tugging him downstairs and towards the little hole in the wall coffeeshop around the corner.

Oh. Oops. He thought she would go for the coffee cart that parked out front. That was where Minion was waiting. Hmm. Maybe they were getting takeaway? He could work with that. They would just start the show when they were nearly back to the office.

Roxanne chattered about nothing, sparing a moment to thank Megamind-as-Yumi again for his deft handling of Hal as they walked arm in arm to the tiny cafe. They waved at the barista who nodded and greeted them cheerfully, 

"Morning ladies," he called in a broad Australian accent, "The usual?" Roxanne pushed Megamind into what was clearly a regular booth and headed to the counter, "And scones please Nico"

Megamind fiddled uncertainly with the napkin holder. This hadn't been part of the plan. He didn't know enough of their friendship to fake a conversation. He'd have to let Roxanne lead. Hopefully Yumi wasn't much of a chatterbox.

Roxanne returned with two mugs, pushing a lethal black looking potion in front of Megamind "Be right back, prepare for bitching."

The actual Yumi, stuffed into the top drawer of her work desk, might have appreciated a reprieve from the weekly Roxanne whines about her lack of love life session. But she was also currently a cube so she didn't much in the way of an opinion on the matter. 

 Megamind sipped cautiously at the cup, hid a grimace and dumped eight packets of sugar into the bitter concoction when Roxanne headed back to collect their scones.

"You okay?" Roxanne asked when she returned with a split scone lathered in jam and cream, "You've been quiet,"

Megamind coughed on a sip of coffee, "Just ah..." he gestured at his throat, "Got a tickle, I'm being careful."

That seemed to set her mind at ease, Roxanne relaxed and sipped her coffee. "So I feel like this week will be a giant robot kind of week" she said conspiratorially.

"You think?" Megamind squeaked.

"Maybe," Roxanne shrugged, "I just have that feeling. There's always at least one big one every thee months, I think this will be it."

"Okay" Megamind nodded awkwardly, steam from the coffee fogging Yumi’s glasses. The Centipedinator wasn't really a giant robot so much as a collection of medium to large robots working in tandem. But it was concerning that Miss Ritchi had apparently figured out that he had a pattern he wasn't aware of himself.

Roxanne dumped two sugars into her coffee and stirred viciously before taking a large gulp "I swear to god if I don't get caffeine before that blue alien genius picks me up again..." she trailed off threateningly.

"You forgot incredibly handsome" Megamind said before he could stop himself. Fuck oops, he was really bad at this disguise thing. What help was a mask when you were still the same idiot underneath?

Instead of staring or laughing Roxanne put her hand in her face and groaned, "I know" she cried tragically, "God I'm pathetic."

She is anything but that, apparently Megamind’s expression on Yumi's face was enough to get the message across because Roxanne laughed.

"Will you be scared?" he asked hopefully, maybe he can consider this unexpected coffee session reconnaissance, find out what might actually make her scream.

"Scared of telling him I want to pin him to the control desk and peel him out of all that leather with my teeth maybe" Roxanne sighed.

Megamind spluttered coffee all over the table. What?

Roxanne grinned, handing him a pile of paper napkins "Sorry I shouldn't tease"

Teasing. Right. She was teasing. Evil Gods he is really bad at this disguise thing.

[didanawisgi]

ABSTRACT

Development of new vaccine technology has been plagued with problems in the past. The current RNA based SARS- CoV-2 vaccines were approved in the US using an emergency order without extensive long term safety testing. In this paper the Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine was evaluated for the potential to induce prion-based disease in vaccine recipients. The RNA sequence of the vaccine as well as the spike protein target interaction were analyzed for the potential to convert intracellular RNA binding proteins TAR DNA binding protein (TDP-43) and Fused in Sarcoma (FUS) into their pathologic prion conformations. The results indicate that the vaccine RNA has specific sequences that may induce TDP-43 and FUS to fold into their pathologic prion confirmations. In the current analysis a total of sixteen UG tandem repeats (ΨGΨG) were identified and additional UG (ΨG) rich sequences were identified. Two GGΨA sequences were found. Potential G Quadruplex sequences are possibly present but a more sophisticatedcomputer program is needed to verify these. Furthermore, the spike protein, created by the translation of the vaccine RNA, binds angiotensin converting enzyme 2 (ACE2), a zinc containing enzyme. This interaction has the potential to increase intracellular zinc. Zinc ions have been shown to cause the transformation of TDP-43 to its pathologic prion configuration. The folding of TDP-43 and FUS into their pathologic prion confirmations is known to cause ALS, front temporal lobar degeneration, Alzheimer’s disease and other neurological degenerative diseases. The enclosed finding as well as additional potential risks leads the author to believe that regulatory approval of the RNA based vaccines for SARS-CoV-2 was premature and that the vaccine may cause much more harm than benefit.

Results

Analysis of the Pfizer vaccine against COVID-19 identified two potential risk factors for inducing prion disease is humans. The RNA sequence in the vaccine [3] contains sequences believed to induce TDP-43 and FUS to aggregate in their prion based conformation leading to the development of common neurodegerative diseases. In particular it has been shown that RNA sequences GGUA [4], UG rich sequences [5], UG tandem repeats [6], and G Quadruplex sequences [7], have increased affinity to bind TDP-43 and or FUS and may cause TDP-43 or FUS to take their pathologicconfigurations in the cytoplasm. In the current analysis a total of sixteen UG tandem repeats (ΨGΨG) were identified and additional UG (ΨG) rich sequences were identified. Two GGΨA sequences were found. G Quadruplex sequences are possibly present but sophisticated computer programs are needed to verify these.

The spike protein encoded by the vaccine binds angiotensin converting enzyme 2 (ACE2), an enzyme which contains zinc molecules [8]. The binding of spike protein to ACE2 has the potential to release the zinc molecule, an ion that causes TDP-43 to assume its pathologic prion transformation [9].

Discussion

There is an old saying in medicine that “the cure may be worse than the disease.” The phrase can be applied to vaccines. In the current paper the concern is raised that the RNA based COVID vaccines have the potential to cause more disease than the epidemic of COVID-19. This paper focuses on a novel potential adverse event mechanism causing prion disease which could be even more common and debilitating than the viral infection the vaccine is designed to prevent. While this paper focuses on one potential adverse event there are multiple other potential fatal adverse events as discussed below.

Over the last two decades there has been a concern among certain scientists that prions could be used as bioweapons. More recently there has been a concern that ubiquitous intracellular molecules could be activated to cause prion disease including Alzheimer’s disease, ALS and other neurodegenerative diseases. This concern originates due to potential for misuse of research data on the mechanisms by which certain RNA binding proteins like TDP-43, FUS and others can be activated to form disease causing prions. The fact that this research, which could be used for bioweapons development, is funded by private organizations including the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, and Ellison Medical Foundation [2] without national/international oversight is also a concern. In the past, for example, there were prohibitions for publishing information pertaining to construction of nuclear bombs.

Published data has shown that there are several different factors that can contribute to the conversion of certain RNA binding proteins including TDP-43, FUS and related molecules to their pathologic states. These RNA binding proteins have many functions and are found in both the nucleus and the cytoplasm. These binding proteins have amino acid regions, binding motifs that bind specific RNA sequences. Binding to certain RNA sequences when the proteins are in the cytoplasm is believed to causes the molecules to fold in certain ways leading to pathologic aggregation and prion formation in the cytoplasm [2]. The current analysis indicates Pfizer's RNA based COVID-19 vaccine contains many of these RNA sequences that have been shown to have high affinity for TDP-43 or FUS and have the potential to induce chronic degenerative neurological diseases.

Zinc binding to the RNA recognition motif of TDP-43 is another mechanism leading to formation of amyloid like aggregations [9]. The viral spike protein, coded by the vaccine RNA sequence, binds ACE2 an enzyme containing zinc molecules [8]. This interaction has the potential to increase intracellular zinc levels leading to prion disease. The initial binding could be between spike proteins on the surface of the cell transfected by the vaccine and ACE2 on the surface of an adjacent cell. The resulting complex may become internalized. Alternatively, the interaction could initially take place in the cytoplasm of a cell that makes ACE2 and has been transfected with the vaccine RNA coding for the spike protein. The interaction is quite concerning given the belief that the virus causing COVID-19, SARS-CoV-2, is a bioweapon [10,11] and it is possible that the viral spike protein may have been designed to cause prion disease.

Another related concern is that the Pfizer vaccine uses a unique RNA nucleoside 1-methyl-3'-pseudouridylyl (Ψ). According to FDA briefing documents, this nucleoside was chosen to reduce activation of the innate immune system [12]. RNA molecules containing this nucleoside will undoubtedly have altered binding [13]. Unfortunately, the effect on TDP-43, FUS and other RNA binding proteins is not published. The use of this nucleoside in a vaccine can potentially enhance the binding affinity of RNA sequences capable of causing TDP-43 and FUS to assume toxicconfigurations.

There are many other potential adverse events that can be induced by the novel RNA based vaccines against COVID-19. The vaccine places a novel molecule, spike protein, in/on the surface of host cells. This spike protein is a potential receptor for another possibly novel infectious agent. If those who argue that the COVID-19 is actually a bioweapon are correct, then a second potentially more dangerous virus may be released that binds spike protein found on the host cells of vaccine recipients. Data is not publicly available to provide information on how long the vaccine RNA is translated in the vaccine recipient and how long after translation the spike protein will be present in the recipient’s cells. Such studies pertaining to in vivo expression will be complex and challenging. Genetic diversity protects species from mass casualties caused by infectious agents. One individual may be killed by a virus while another may have no ill effects from the same virus. By placing the identical receptor, the spike protein, on cells of everyone in a population, the genetic diversity for at least one potential receptor disappears. Everyone in the population now becomes potentially susceptible to binding with the same infectious agent.Autoimmunity and the opposing condition, metabolic syndrome, are well know adverse events caused by vaccines [14]. COVID-19 infections are associated with the induction of autoantibodies and autoimmune disease [15,16] making it more than plausible a vaccine could do the same. One author has found amino acid sequences coded by the spike protein to be identical to sequences in human proteins including proteins found in the CNS [17]. Autoimmunity can also be induced by epitope spreading when a foreign antigen, like the spike protein, is presented by an antigen presenting cell that also has self molecules attached to its MHC molecules.Finally, others working in the field have published additional support that COVID-19 vaccines could potentially induce prion disease. Authors [18] found prion related sequences in the COVID-19 spike protein which were not found in related coronaviruses. Others [19] have reported a case of prion disease, Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, initially occurring in a man with COVID-19.Many have raised the warning that the current epidemic of COVID-19 is actually the result of an bioweapons attack released in part by individuals in the United States government [10,11]. Such a theory is not far fetched given that the 2001 anthrax attack in the US originated at Fort Detrick, a US army bioweapon facility. Because the FBI’s anthrax investigation was closed against the advice of the lead FBI agent in the case, there are likely conspirators still working in the US government. In such a scenario the primary focus of stopping a bioweapons attack must be to apprehend the conspirators or the attacks will never cease. Approving a vaccine, utilizing novel RNA technology without extensive testing is extremely dangerous. The vaccine could be a bioweapon and even more dangerous than the original infection.

References

1. Classen JB, Classen DC. Clustering of cases of insulin dependent diabetes (IDDM) occurring three years after Hemophilus influenza B (HiB) immunization support causal relationship between immunization and IDDM. Autoimmunity. 2002; 35: 247-253.

2. King OD, Gitler AD, Shorter J. The tip of the iceberg: RNA- binding proteins with prion-like domains in neurodegenerative disease. Brain Res. 2012; 1462: 61-80.

3. WHO, International Non Proprietary Names Program: 11889. 9/2020.

4. Kapeli K, Pratt GA, Vu AQ, et al. Distinct and shared functions of ALS-associated proteins TDP-43, FUS and TAF15 revealed by multisystem analyses. Nature Communications. 2016; 7: 12143.

5. Kuo P, Chiang C, Wang Y, et al. The crystal structure of TDP- 43 RRM1-DNA complex reveals the specific recognition for UG- and TG-rich nucleic acids. Nucleic Acids Research. 2014; 42: 4712-4722.

6. Tollervey JR, Curk T, Rogelj B, et al. Characterizing the RNA targets and position-dependent splicing regulation by TDP-43; implications for neurodegenerative diseases. Nat Neurosci. 2011; 14: 452-458.

7. Imperatore JA, McAninch DS, Valdez-Sinon AN, et al. FUS recognizes G quadruplex structures within neuronal mRNAs. Frontiers in Molecular Biosciences. 2020; 7: 6.

8. Shang J, Ye G, Shi K, et al. Structural basis of receptor recognition by SARS-CoV-2. Nature. 2020; 581: 221-225.

9. Garnier C, Devred F, Byrne D, et al. Zinc binding to RNA recognition motif of TDP-43 induces the formation of amyloid- like aggregates. Sci Rep. 2017; 7: 6812.

10. Classen JB. COVID-19, MMR vaccine, and bioweapons. Diabetes & its Complications.2020; 4: 1-8.

11. Classen JB. Evidence supporting the hypothesis that the 2019 epidemic of E-vaping acute lung injury (EVALI) was caused in part by COVID-19. Diabetes & Complications. 2020; 4: 1-2.

12. Pfizer-Biotech: COVID-19 Vaccine (BNT162, PF-07302048), Vaccines and Related Biological Products Advisory Committee Briefing Document. Meeting Date: 10 December 2020.

13. Roundtree IA, Evans ME, Pan, et al. Dynamic RNA modifications in gene expression regulation. Cell. 2017; 169: 1187-1200.

14. Classen JB. Review of Vaccine Induced Immune Overload and the Resulting Epidemics of Type 1 Diabetes and Metabolic Syndrome, Emphasis on Explaining the Recent accelerations in the Risk of Prediabetes and other Immune Mediated Diseases. J Mol Genet Med. 2014; S1: 025.

15. Amiral J. Can COVID-19 Induce an autoimmune disease associated with long- lasting symptoms and delayed complications? Ann Clin Immunol Microbiol. 2020; 2: 1014.

16. Wang EY, Mao T, Klein J, et al. Diverse functional autoantibodies in patients with COVID-19. medRxiv preprint. 2020.

17. Lyons-Weiler J. Pathogenic priming likely contributes to serious and critical illness and mortality in COVID-19 via autoimmunity. Journal of Translational Autoimmunity. 2020; 3: 100051.

18. Tetz G, Tetz V. SARS-CoV-2 prion-like domains in spike proteins enable higher affinity to ACE2. Preprint. 2020.

19. Young MJ, O’Hare M, Matiello M, et al. Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease in a man with COVID-19: SARS-CoV-2-accelerated neuro degeneration? Brain, Behavior, and Immunity. 2020; 89: 601-603.

[internal-ethics]

did anyone notice tobirama's tandem paper bomb explosions take the exact same form and could be as enormous in size as hashirama's shinshu senju kanon?

[akatsukinojutsu]

𝐼 𝑅𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 - Pain (Yahiko)

That vibrant orange hair... that face. The last time you saw Yahiko, he died as he fell into Nagato and flat onto the ground as the rain cascaded down on his lifeless body. So, why was he here? Now? [originally posted on my ao3 and based off of my oc]

You cried in the rain as you felt your stomach growl with hunger. The Second Shinobi War left you an orphan.. just a child left to fend for yourself and no adult to care for you. You found yourself digging in dumpsters and stealing food from local restaurants. Your stomach rumbled loudly as you eyed a bowl of rice sitting on the bar of a struggling shop in the heart of Amegakure. You hid behind a bush in the pouring rain as you staked out the establishment, making sure that the owner wouldn't come around and catch you.

When you decided the time was right, you swallowed your fear and took off in a quiet, quick sprint. Quickly you performed a variety of hand signs, "Uma, Tora, U, Tatsu, Saru, Mi." Right eye changing from your typical [E/C] to a shade of deep magenta. Thankfully your seismic ninjutsu techniques aided in your tasks of thieving. You were able to perform jutsus that utilized the vibrations in the Earth and air, giving you the ability to perceive the environment far beyond basic sight. Using a variance of spatial perception, you scanned the area to further ensure no one was around. People appeared like echolocation, their beings displaying like sonar. Threats appeared as red and allies as blue, typically you found yourself sensing those with red, malicious echoes.

A country torn by war and people ravaged by a thirst for blood would do that... threatening even a child if it meant to be a source of release for the anguish. You fought against those who tried to harm you, killing your first human at a young age. Just a kid. You quickly and quietly made your way to the bowl of rice. When your fingers wrapped around the ceramic yet they met another pair. "What the-?!" you yelled out, your gaze meeting that of a set of brown eyes. "Hey, back off. I was here first." a boy with spikey orange hair growled, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah right," you snarled in return and yanked the bowl away, sucking in your lower lip with a gleam.

The orange hair boy leaped toward you but you jumped away and he fell down flat onto his face. You giggled as he pushed himself up and brushed off his knees. But the look in his eyes was the same that you had seen in your own. You could tell he was tired and hungry, just the same as you. However, he barked insults at you, waving his fist in the air wildly.

You sighed in defeat, 'I'm probably gonna regret this...' you thought to yourself. "Look, why don't we share it?" you held the bowl out and it sat in your open palms. His eyes widened as he stopped his yammering and you could sense his guard lowered, his lips turning from hard pressed to a small smile and then into a cheeky grin. His white teeth were the brightest thing in the gloomy atmosphere. Years passed. Jiraiya trained the four orphans that were your group from Amegakure -- Konan, Yahiko, Nagato, and yourself.

The four of your dreamed for a world of peace. Your feelings for Yahiko blossomed since the first troublesome meeting. The two of you shared tender moments, like your first kiss. However, Konan also admired the orange leader of the foursome -- this caused jealous feelings to arise in you.

This caused friction in your relationship with the blue haired kunoichi. She was tender and sweet, her appearance was like that of a doll. You loved her, she was your sister. But you couldn't help but feel envy. Nagato tried to intervene as he wished to keep the peace between the two of you. Konan was aware of the closeness between the orange haired orphan and yourself -- despite feeling envious herself, she wished only the best for her adopted siblings.

The tribulations the four of you endured would last the test of time...

But that kiss, that tender moment... it would outlast any pain.

Yahiko took you out on a scouting mission to get a detailed record of the surrounding landscape of Amegakure for the newly formed Akatsuki. Your orange haired companion practiced sparring with you. He managed to knock you several yards with his Wild Water Wave, coating you in mud and barbs. You yelled loudly in anger and annoyance, shaking your fist. "Yahiko, you asshole!!" you wiped thick mud away from your forehead.

The male ruptured in a fit of laughter, doubling over and holding his side. Your face grew red with embarrassment and you took off in a sprint away from him. His laughter halted immediately when he noticed you had taken off in a fit. You rushed to the bank of the large lake that surrounded the area and stripped yourself from your cloak.

Only dressed in your mesh bodysuit, you quickly dipped into the cool river and began washing yourself of the thick mud. Splashing the water into your face and plucking the burrs from your hair, frustration boiling over -- curse words flowing from your lips like a geyser. Sounds of footsteps caused you to cease your blabbering and turn around quickly.

"Ooooh, Yahiko, you pervert! Quit peeping on me and just leave me alone, damnit!" you shook a fist in the air wildly before dropping it when you noticed a flower being held up to you.

"No pervert, just admiring." he held the flower out further, "Here." You hesitated, your face growing warm with a blush.

You took the flower, it was Baby's Breath, your favorite. Despite the constant raining of Amegakure, the little white flowers grew well beside this specific bank. Yahiko rubbed the back of his head nervously, his face taking on an embarrassed look. "Sorry, [Y/N]." his eyes closed for an awkward grin but you took this opportunity to embrace him. You tightly wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your lower waist.

The two of you stood in the drizzling rain in silence, just embracing the moment for what it was. You pulled away and stared deeply into his brown eyes. He stared back, you pursed your lips and placed a small kiss on his lips. You could feel Yahiko shudder for a moment which caused you to pull away to try and take a step back, however, he reeled you back in. He cupped your face in his calloused fingers, his eyes examined your face as his irises darted around your features. He closed his eyes and pulled your face to his, then he kissed you deeply. It was a moment that lasted a lifetime. However, That dreaded day...dreaded night... it forever haunted your memories and soul.

The other Akatsuki members which included yourself but not Konan, Nagato, and Yahiko were all asleep after a relaxing afternoon of drinks and food. Kyusuke woke you with a yell, yammering loudly about where Yahiko and Nagato had gone off to. The entire group and yourself sprung into action to rush to their aid. However, two adversaries stood in your way and didn't allow any to pass. "[Y/N]! Go!" Kyusuke cried out as he was willing to sacrifice himself to allow you to aid your friends.

You hesitated but he insisted, you performed the hand signs for your environmental vibration melding. With an intense concentration of chakra in your core, you can meld into the vibrations that occurred in the air or water. Evaporating into nothingness and able to traverse the battlefield in invisibility. You were exhausted by the time you reached the trio, Konan was being held by Hanzo up on top of a cliff.

You took off in a sprint and nearly tripped over your feet on the slick ground in a desperate attempt to reach Nagato and Yahiko. But you were too late. You watched as if it happened in slow motion...Yahiko thrust himself into the kunai that Nagato had in his grasp. Your knees buckled and you fell in tandem with Yahiko's lifeless body, screaming out his name. You fled from the two remaining orphans and decided to travel the world; made the decision to run from the pain versus do something about it.

You wanted peace and for a world without war and pain but the pain you felt inside overpowered any pride. You found yourself lodging in Konohagakure for several months, to keep a low profile. Attention was the last thing you wanted. You had committed your fair share of crimes in each village, just to try and feel something again.

It seemed fruitless and it crossed your mind often how long you could continue on like this. Even after meeting a handsome Konoha Tokubetsu Jonin named Genma, it was hard to get close because you just feared the pain. The Jonin was willing to share the pain with you but you refused to allow him to dig deep enough to know the truth of Yahiko and the other two Ame kin. Just when you were ready to call it an end.. An unlikely visitor appeared at your lodge's window late one evening...

Tap, tap, tap... Tap, tap, tap...

A light tapping at your window drew your attention and you pushed yourself up from lying down, then slowly walked toward it, noticing a white paper origami dog. "Hmm.." there was only one thing you could think of when you opened the window to grab the object. "Impossible." you whispered, remembering your blue haired female compatriot. You held the origami dog in your palm, bringing it closer to your face as you studied and examined it; it looked like her work, her jutsu. A faint sound of hissing came from the paper and you realized what it really was. A paper bomb.

You cursed loudly as you attempted to throw it out of the open window and into the city below. But you were too late and flew backward from the force of the explosion. The windows exploded and glass flew like shrapnel into the room. You shielded your face with your right arm, shards of glass embedding their sharp edges into your skin. As you lowered your arm, you noticed two figures now standing in front of you but their identities were concealed by the white smoke. Once it cleared and you recognized the two, your heart skipped several beats. You could feel each thump in your head as the world around you grew still.

Blue haired female. Orange haired male. It couldn't be. No. Impossible!

Your eyes blinked several times quickly as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. "Konan? Y-Yahiko?"

"Hello, [Y/N]. It has been a long time." Konan spoke, her voice sounded the same but more mature. You remained on the floor, motionless. It was as if you were seeing ghosts. To her right was a face that you could and would never forget but he was different. His face was littered with black piercings, studs and spikes. He too has matured but it was still the face of the one you admired. However, his eyes were no longer those of the warm brown but that of the Rinnegan. Nagato.. he had those eyes.. where was he?

Maybe he was dead and gifted Yahiko them as you've heard of the process before. You wished to see the red haired boy again but you needed to focus on the two that were here now. "[Y/N]." Yahiko's voice was deep and modulated, not the silvery voice of his younger days. "I-I watched you die," you sobbed as your eyes welled with tears but you hurriedly wiped them away to avoid your weakness being shown.

"There is much to discuss, we may assess it later." he lent out his right hand down to you. His fingernails were painted mahogany, his thumb had a white ring. You hesitated to accept his offer but nonetheless you did with a shaky hand; he took it with a firm grip. "Yahiko, I-," he raised his free hand to interrupt you, "Pain." Hmm, odd. Things were odd and not exactly adding up in your head but you chose to put that thought into a different place.

Your mind was scattered with hundreds of thoughts and sensory overload was imminent. You looked over to Konan who gave you a small smile, placing her hand on your shoulder. Paper surrounded the three of you and then you were gone. It felt almost nauseating to feel the rain of Amegakure again. It had been longer than you realized since you been in your homeland. You fled soon after the "death" of Yahiko. Defecting from the Village Hidden in the Rain and becoming known as a missing-nin.

As you traveled between villages, you met shinobi from all walks of life. Little did you know you would see some of them later in your travels and become well acquainted. You came to know each village fairly well as you spent several months in each, under a different guise each time. Konohagakure being your favorite -- Sunagakure was your least. (it made using your ninjutsu difficult as the sand on the ground and in the air made everything "fuzzy")

But home was indeed home, the rainy village felt as nostalgic as it did sickening. Konan used her paper jutsu to whisk the three of you away and dropped off at Pain's Tower. The location was his base of operations and where he and Konan resided on off hours. You stood before a massive tower that dominated over the already tall buildings of the industrialized village. You looked up to try and see its point but the rain dripped into your eyes. You hadn't realized that Pain was not with you and it was just you and Konan.

She touched your shoulder, "Come." her arm dropped from your shoulder and she silently led you into the metal skyscraper. It was dark inside. Long hallways stretched in different directions. "Pain wishes to speak to you," she pointed up, "Atop of the tower." She turned away and walked into the darkness, leaving yo to travel the halls yourself. Gee, thanks. Of course it had to be all the way up there. You hated heights and winced at the thought of traveling to the top of the massive building. It took some time making your way to the top; you stumbled across more locked doors than unlocked. Finally an archway led to a flight of stairs which spiraled upward. 

Your stomach turned as you could feel yourself ascending higher and higher. 'Damn those two...' They always found a way to get you to do things you were afraid of as a way to better yourself. Some things really never change - even if the people themselves seem to. You could hear the rain pouring as you reached the final door. Taking a deep breath, you slowly pushed it open to see Pain sitting at the edge of a tongue that was part of the massive face sculpture which decorated the skyscraper. "Pain..." it felt strange calling him by that "name".

His head turned to the right as he acknowledged your presence. You took a step out the door, closed it but remained pressed against the wood firmly. "Are you afraid?" he asked. You chuckled quietly, your tone taut, "Heights aren't exactly my favorite. Remember?" He hummed as he recalled times you were petrified of traversing a mountainside. He urged you to continue on then and he would now. He pushed himself up and stood, his gaze not leaving the horizon of the urbanized sprawl. Pain teleported from his original spot to directly in front of you. His presence felt intimidating.

You trembled for a moment as you could see his chest rise and fall from beneath the black cloak decorated with red clouds. He raised his hands and rested them on your shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. Your gaze raised from his chest to meet the Rinnegan eyes that he now possessed. They studied you, irises dilated and constricted as he processed his thoughts in silence. It was as if he could sense the insecurity that you felt. It was like you were in the grasp of a stranger. He pulled you into an embrace and his arms felt powerful as they held you. No longer that headstrong teenager.

But an established man with an ambition -- and a man of great power. It took several moments before you embraced him as well. You wrapped your arms around his sturdy frame and breathed him in, hoping that it wasn't just a dream. You closed your eyes and a smile formed on your lips, a small tear forming in the corner of your right eye. A swift brush of wind stirred you from your brief moment of delight. Your eyes opened as you were now facing downward and over the edge of the building.

You couldn't see the ground as it was hidden underneath a blanket of fog from the downpouring rain. But the only thing that kept you from plummeting to your death was Pain's grip on the back of your shirt. He was dangling you over the edge and one slip of the hand would mean your end. You swallowed your scream but fear still coursed through your veins as your breaths turned shallow and quick. "Do you trust me?" Pain asked.

Nonsense sputtered from your lips as the ground seemed to warp in and out. Just when you thought it was going to be all over, you felt yourself being reeled back up and onto the solid platform landing. "No." you barked as you wiped your face of the rain. He hummed in amusement which you reacted to with a shove. His body did not budge from where he stood. You continued with the shoves as frustration built up and was starting to be released. Several times you spat out insults as to how could he be alive the entire time and not try to find you or give you a sign.

You summoned your chakra in your palms, the seismic blasts pushed Pain back and slammed him into the wall. Konan felt the rumble from inside the building and looked up, curious as to what was going on but refrained from interfering. She knew it needed to stay between the two of you. The man shrugged off the blast as if were like a prod from a child and pushed himself out of the impression created in the wall. He brushed off some debris from his cloak and huffed in annoyance, "I can sense that. But I assure you, [Y/N]. I waited for a reason. I need you to trust me." There was a moment of silence before he continued, "I wish to continue our need for peace but no longer by the means of prior philosophies." he paused as he took several steps in your direction, "Only by means such as direct experiences of anguish would anyone truly want and strive for peace." 

"That is why I dangled you over the edge. Only direct action gives honest results. Often the ones we do not wish to hear." His hands touched your shoulders again and his thumbs rubbed the skin of your chin, "I wished to hear you do trust me, however, that is not realistic at the time." Pain stretched a hand out and swept it along the skyline of Amegakure. "I am a God. No longer a man. My words and thoughts have become absolute." The hand still on your body grasped your chin lightly and his gaze returned to you, "I wish to have you aid me in this conquest. World domination. And there is no other that I wish to have by my side.. than you, [Y/N]." A shocked expression displayed on your face and your pupils dilated at his speech. 

"This world shall know pain. As you and I have both felt." Pain pressed his forehead against yours, the cool metal of his forehead protector brought goosebumps to your skin. His Rinnegan burned through your eyes as you processed his words. "I knew I needed you now and not then. I will make it up in the future, I promise. But only if you wish to be my kin once again, [Y/N]." 

You raised your right hand to his cheek, your thumb brushing against the cool metal of his labret piercing. "Yes."

[crowleyellestair]

The Point- Witcher Lambert OS

Warnings: mention of blood, injury and swearing

Summary: Y/n wakes up after suffering a wound in the heat of battle, and her lover, Lambert hadn’t been handling it well

 AN// Welcome to the idea of a 3 am, sleep deprived brain

When Y/n woke up, it wasn’t a jostling scene. At first, she blinked softly, then rubbed her eyes as she usually did when she woke up. The last thing she remembered was crystal clear, though she was highly aware that much time has passed. She knew moving wasn’t going to be easy, as her last thoughts had only been about Lambert and how lucky she was to have enough adrenaline to not feel the gaping hole through her chest.

The room she was in was quite familiar, as it was the one she shared with Lambert at Kaer Morhen. When she had first made a home with him there, the room had been bare. Eskel had stacks of books, practically making a labyrinth of text, never knowing how to get to his bed. Geralt had small trophies and nick-knacks from grateful contractors who didn’t necessarily have enough to pay, yet were still grateful. The young witcher had said it was because he had never wanted to have to lug items around till winter, though she knew it was deeper than that. When she had moved in, he had a single item that showed life was present, and it was a small plant near the window. He had said it was to make the place ‘lively’ so she would feel comfortable. There still wasn’t much in it, but there had been notebooks on the new desk he had built, and clothes usually disorganized throughout the closet. One plant had become three, and there were portraits amateurly hung over the mantle of the small fireplace.

Now, all of those small things that made it their own, were strewn everywhere. Two of the smaller plants had their pots smashed and the leaves wilting. The fireplace had charred stains outlining the hearth, as if someone continuously casted Igni into it. The papers where strewn everywhere, laying on the floor next to the clothes that seemed to be hastily ripped from the closet. There was a chair next to the bed, blankets layered over the back.

Worry and comfort both flooded through her as she knew Lambert was the chair’s previous occupant. The questions though, that sent ice through her veins, pertained to where he was and why their room is in such a state.  While knowing that a larger amount of time had passed, it was hard to approximate. The leaves were wilting, which meant Lambert probably hadn’t watered them since their return. If the plants, happily named Sir Green Leaf and Planty, had only wilted, it seems she might not have been out long.

The woman’s eyes dart to the opposite end of the room where the door opens. She had yet to see who was behind the door, but she knew by the lack of rush that no one knew she was awake. Eskel walked through the door, putting the broom he had in hand down, and propped against the wall. His hands fly over the papers and journals on the ground, being gentle, yet quick enough as to not be able to read anything. It brought a small smile to Y/n, knowing that Eskel wouldn’t break their trust, even if now would seem like the most opportune time. The witcher straightened his back, placing what he had collected back onto the desk.

“Not snooping?” She had a grin and a sarcastic tone, but both were wiped away after she heard how gravelly and rough it was. Eskel’s head snapped to look at her, and a smile spread over him. He swiftly made it to the bed, grabbing the waterskin on the floor.

“Through your stuff? The only info I’d have to gain from that is theories on medicine.” Despite her voice, she was excited to see her brother.

“At least I have some. I know Dandelion loved the place, but those medical professors are doing Jack-all to try and fight terminal illnesses. I mean, really, we already have headache medication, we don’t need a new strain.” Eskel’s smile never fell, and only grew when his hand fell to her shoulder.

“This is why I didn’t snoop to begin with.” Y/n smiled back, then looked to herself. Her favorite fur had been thrown over her torso, so she had yet to see the damage. Her eyes flicked back to the witcher she had considered a big brother since falling in love with the youngest in the wolf pack.

“Would you mind helping me sit?” Eskel’s face fell, and his brow scrunched. His hand flew over his scars, immediately telling her how uneasy he truly was with it.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Y/n’s hand grasped the fur, holding it up to peak at herself. If anyone could decide her state, it could be her as a medical professional.

Her shirt had been rolled up to rest just under her breast, giving her a great view of the wound on her lower abdomen. She remembered being with Lambert when he had to fight with some Giant centipedes. One time, he had thrown the bomb and it landed right into the hole the worm receded into, and the explosion was massive. Dirt debris flew everywhere, and it was much like how her wound looked. There was the initial puncture wound of the large lance that had flew through her like butter. Then, there seemed to be a second cut made, presumably when the handle broke while the weapon was still lodged in her side. It seemed that there were extra cuts made from the initial wound, probably due to whoever operated on her. The edge to every cut made was ragged and there were remnants of stitches from before the new set she now dawned. The impact was on her lower right side, but bruising painted her whole chest. The cuts were red and puffy, but it seemed that there was a very watchful eye on it, and the stiches were beautifully done to allow some movement.

“It will be fine. It’s doing nicely.” Eskel let out a shaky breath, but placed a hand on her lower back and upper chest, trying to force her to keep herself straight as she sat. Once he helped her slide, and rest against the headboard, he looked to the door.

“I should go tell Lambert. He’ll be upset I didn’t rush to get him sooner.” The medic rolled her eyes and huffed.

“He won’t have a chance to. Planty and Sir Green Leaf deserve an apology first.” Eskel’s lip twitched, but the grin didn’t last.

“The room was an accident, by the way. Geralt had been worried about him, and it had been about a week since Lambert truly left this room. He dragged him out of here only an hour ago, and he didn’t go without a fight. Though, I’m sure you’ll be grateful,” his smile finally returning. “As he smelled worse than the stables after Dandelion forgot to clean it last year.” Now it was Y/n failing to return the smile. Her hand gently reached out and grasped his, giving a small squeeze. The action carried a lot from thanks to worry.

“Would you mind getting him for me?” He gave a nod and headed to the door. Her hands flew to the wound feeling a small ache. She knew she had a numbing agent on it, or she would be in immense pain, but it seems that shifting started a reaction and her body started to release fluids. Gently, she called out knowing the brunette would still hear even in the hall. “Would you also bring a bowl of water and fresh bandages, please?”

One would be alarmed by how calm Y/n has been. Though, Y/n was above all grateful to have opened her eyes, and could see no reason to make a big deal of it. There had been an attack on the fort. The witchers and some allies had to migrate back to Kaer Morhen in early autumn to try and help Dandelion. There had been a large price on his head, and the poet was apart of the family, no one was to harm him. A large militia of hired swordsman had attacked, though had been defeated. Y/n, despite being told to stay by Triss and Yen, decided she wouldn’t leave Lambert’s side. She had walked the path with him for years, and the two fought in tandem. There had been a group that flooded the back path where the two had been held, and she noticed the lancer before him. Knowing the casting time of Quen, she knew Lambert wouldn’t be able to throw it in time. Y/n hastily threw herself against the witcher, who casted the shield as he felt her body. It had been too late, and he knew it the moment he felt the tip of a lance on his hip. The weapon had speared through her so far that it still scathed the man. The shield had broken the handle, splintering the lance, and making her would worse. In that moment, Y/n had decided that Lambert was more important than she was, though she knew it was also selfish, as she wouldn’t be able to live without him. Being awake new has just been a blessing.

Fast footfalls could be heard bouncing off the halls. There had been a moment where the sounds had faltered, and a loud curse followed. The running started back up, and moments later, Lambert slid into the room, out of breath. It seems that he had just been in the hot spring, only a pair of unlaced trousers being donned. Steam rolled off of his skin, and his hair dripped everywhere. He had been panting, and his eyes were frantic- more frantic than she had ever seen them. Large bags fell under his eyes and his lips looked pale, and those were the only attributes she could use to tell how he hadn’t been treating himself properly.

He pushed himself to the bed once they had made eye contact, though he stopped himself moments before wrapping himself around her. His hands flew to hers, pulling both to his mouth, his eye closing, and letting out a shaky breath.

“Lambert.” He let out another breath, but his eyes remained closed. Her fingers griped his, pulling his hands closer. Y/n dropped her tone to a whisper, and seeing him so broken started to affect her. “Lambert, look at me.” Eyes that she knew were made of the sun peered up at her, glass covering the relieved gaze. “Please hold me.” The young witcher’s gaze flew to her stomach and he gave a small shake of his head.

“I don’t think that’s-.”

“You can either hold me, or I can start lecturing you on how you haven’t been taking care of yourself.” His brow raised and she gave a fond sigh. “I’ve been resting. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how to read you, and trust me, I have a few words.”

“A few words, huh?”

“Yes.” Lambert huffed, yet he still crowed her into the headboard. Only their shoulders were pressed together, but his arms tightened themselves as much as he thought was safe. His nose pressed itself into its usual spot under her ear, and that’s where he remained as his body started to shake. She could feel the wetness of his tears start prickling her skin.

“I actually have a few fucking words, Y/n.” She could feel him start to fist her rolled shirt.

“I-.”

“No. What you did was unforgivable.” There was a long moment where nothing was said, and the only movement was the man’s sharp intakes of breath and Y/n’s thumb moving in small circles.

“Letting you get hurt would be unforgivable.”

“I would have been fine. You, on the other hand, have been laying here. There were times…” He took a long breath. His tone hardened, but was still quiet. “Y/n, there were times where I thought your heart stopped. Hell, I think it did the second day.”

“My heart would have stopped if yours did.”

“And what would I have done?” His voice grew in volume, and his arms held on just a little tighter. “Centuries? Without you?”

“You wouldn’t be without me. You have my heart and soul.”

“And you have mine. Don’t you get that? I can’t live without you here. You are the only thing in this world that keeps me going.”

“That’s not true. You have the rest of our family here.”

“What was the thing you said before I asked you to move in?” Y/n smiled at the memory.

“You mean told me to move in.”

“What was it?” Lambert pulled away, his hands moving to cup her neck. His eyes were torn between sorrow and love.

“What’s the point of going on if you can’t enjoy it.”

[janetfraiserdeservedbetter]

Alien Soup For The Soul

Beta: @gaymalcolmreed

Rating: G

Words: 1357

Fandom: Stargate

Pairing: Sam/Janet fluff

Notes: I wrote this about a million years ago and only just found it to publish!

Summary: Sam is sick. It's the end of the world. If she has to watch one more MacGyver rerun, she might just lose it. But then her family come to the rescue.

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Sam was pretty sure the dog was going to get sick of their one-sided conversations soon. Of all the times some alien parasite or disease had infected her, even the worst had nothing on the flu. Janet had assured her that it was harmless, a human illness that she must have caught from someone on the base. Still, she was put on leave until the doctor cleared her. In a week or so, she’d be back on duty.  

For now, she was holed up in her bed, sulking. On the bedside table was a box of tissues, already half empty ,  and the biggest water bottle she could find. She was home alone today; Cassie was at school and Janet was at work. SG1 were on standby ,  and no doubt the boys were enjoying their time off from doing work - related stuff.  

Having the house to herself left Sam and Homer to curl up watching some reruns of MacGyver. Her head felt as if it were full of c4 so she didn’t even have the energy to mock the ‘science’ in the show.  

Relief came at noon that day; she was eating some rice crackers and waiting for death when she heard the front door open. She heard the men before she saw them because there wasn’t anything subtler than, ‘Ow, Danny! Watch where you’re going with that thing!’  

‘Quiet ,  Jack! She could be sleeping. I’m not sure I want to face the wrath of a sick, over - exhausted Sam.’  

Teal’c responded with an ‘Indeed , ’ and she felt herself smile a little.  

“If I was sleeping,” she called out through the open bedroom door after Homer, “I’m not now.”  She heard another hushed argument erupt between her friends as she pulled on some sweat pants and slouched out into the living room. Jack was helping himself to the fridge as Daniel set down a box that seemed to be overflowing with papers. Teal’c stood by the couch and bowed his head when he saw his friend approach.  

“Major Carter, you are not looking well. Doctor Fraiser said you were on bed rest.”  

She smiled at his concern and patted his arm as she found a spot on the sofa by the dog. The others joined them, Jack having found nothing of interest in the kitchen and he smirked at her as he took a seat.  

“What Teal’c means to say, Major, is that we just swung by to see how you were doing and if there was anything we could do for you...” A sudden look of worry crossed his face. “You’re not contagious, are ya?”  

Sam took that moment to sneeze, earning herself a suspicious glare from Jack and a raised brow from Teal’c. Daniel just handed her a tissue.  

“No ,  sir,” she sniffled miserably after she wiped her nose, pulling her legs to her chest. “Not contagious ,  sir. You can’t catch death.”  

Daniel grinned at her dramatics. “Well, I know Janet said no work, but I also know you’re bored out of your mind right now, so I brought you some things to work on.” The archaeologist nodded to the box and Sam wished she had the energy to get up and examine the files right then and there  

“And I brought you some soup, Major Carter. It is a stew my mother once made for me when I was a child. It brought me great comfort when I was ill,” Teal’c added with a nod.  

No doubt it was the flu's fault, but Sam felt herself getting a little too emotional at the thought of her friends coming by to comfort her.  

All eyes were on Jack then, who was fiddling with a knickknack that had been perched on the coffee table. He looked up, blinking with those big brown eyes ,  and Daniel snickered.  

“I uh… I drove. That counts for something right?” As much as Daniel made fun of the man for his lack of input, Sam had to admit that it did count for something. She knew none of them were social butterflies, but it was rare that the team got several days off in a row. Instead of going off to have fun without her, they’d ventured over to keep her entertained.  

Still, after an hour of their company (and the ongoing bickering between the resident space monkey and the fly-boy), Sam was in desperate need of another nap. Teal’c seemed to notice her waning energy and attention span and promptly, and very gently, indicated to the other men that it was time to leave. 

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The silence that followed was both heaven and torture at the same time. In the end, she opted for more crap TV. She fell asleep during a particularly thrilling episode (in which Mac was building a bomb out of chewing gum) ,  and when she awoke, Homer was whining by the back door. Janet was standing beside the sofa, tray in hand ,  and she smiled warmly when she saw Sam’s eyes open.  

“Hey, sweetheart,” she cooed – Sam was reminded how much she loved Janet’s empathetic doctor voice – and Janet set the tray down, smoothing a hand over Sam’s forehead. The blonde leaned into the touch and hummed softly, the touch cool against her warm skin. She stifled a yawn and opened her eyes to Janet again. “How’re you feeling?”  

“Like I’ve been ‘zatted’ and shoved down a flight of stairs.”  

“You've traveled the universe and all you get is this lousy cold,” Janet smirked. She perched on the edge of the couch beside her lover and patted her leg. “Well the good news is, I’m not on call until Sunday now ,  so you’re stuck with me.”  

Despite the pressure throbbing through her skull, Sam smiled and kissed the doctor’s palm as it came to rest on her cheek. “Thanks… though I can’t promise I’ll be any good company.”  

“Not to worry. I’m sure MacGyver can keep me entertained. He’s so dreamy, after all…” That earned her a half - assed glare from the astrophysicist that she quickly disarmed with food. The soup that Teal’c had brought was life - changing ,  and ,  knowing that he had probably substituted some ingredients from the original recipe, she couldn’t imagine how amazing his mother ’ s would have been. It was almost like a pea and ham soup but with enough of a kick to get her nose running and…was that cinnamon? Whatever it was, Sam almost felt better after one bite. Almost.  

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The next day was no better. Janet had noticed that her fever was still persistent, though not dangerous, and work was still out of the question. Thank god for Saturdays though because it meant that Cassie and Janet were both home and that meant some rare family time.  

Late in the afternoon, Sam ended up sandwiched between her girls, her head in her girlfriend’s lap and her feet in their daughter’s. Homer was sulking on the floor, apparently upset that he wasn’t involved in the cuddle pile. Out of pity – because really, Janet would never have chosen it on her own – the trio were watching Star Trek (and Janet for the life of her couldn’t tell which one it was). She knew her lover was still sick when the woman barely muttered at the use of ‘Reverse the polarity.’ Janet’s fingers combed through Sam’s hair, and the touch had Sam nodding off again, finding comfort in the warmth of her two favourite girls. Cassie was busy with some homework but kept Sam’s feet warm between her book and her lap.

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The days passed too quickly and before Sam knew it, she was feeling a whole lot better; that’s what alien soup and cuddles will do for you. It felt good to be suiting up again, readying herself for their mission to P2C-934. She straightened her cap as she stepped up to the ramp, her boys by her side, and General Hammond watching from behind the glass. Everything was right in the world again.  

“SG-1, you have a --” Hammond was cut off as Colonel O’Neill and Teal’c sneezed in tandem. They shared a look and then turned to Sam. “SG-1, stand down and report to the infirmary.”   

[aion-rsa]

The Sopranos’ Funniest Moments

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The Sopranos’ genius was in telling structured stories with well-established themes, while still aping life in all its dirty, disorganised, contradictory, open-ended glory. The show wasn’t a drama, or a comedy, or a tragedy, or a farce. It was all of them. It was none of them. It was life.

Creator David Chase and his crack team of writers never lost sight of the essential truth that no matter how cruel, harrowing or horrid life becomes, it’s always laced through with laughs: oftentimes the laughter and the horror rise in tandem.

Here, then, are some of The Sopranos’ funniest moments, most of them enmeshed with the macabre, the monstrous and the melancholy. 

South of the Border

S1, E9 ‘Boca’

In the machismo-drenched world of the mafia, even going down on your girlfriend is seen as a sign of sexual weakness, and quite possibly – in the non-PC words of Uncle Junior himself – ‘a sign that you’re a fanouk.’

Apparently, ‘they’ think ‘if you’ll suck p***y, you’ll suck anything.’

Whoever ‘they’ are.

News of Uncle Junior’s oral talents reaches Tony from a gossip chain, the final link in which is Carmella. Tony’s reaction, and the way in which he baits Uncle Junior with the intel on the golf course (culminating in Tony singing ‘South of the Border, down Mexico way’) is equal parts childish to hilarious – but funniest of all is how this schoolboy teasing serves as the pre-cursor to a Mafia war.

As Tony later tells Carmella: ‘Cunnilingus and psychiatry brought us to this.’     

Guess Whose Back?

S1, E10 ‘A Hit is a Hit’

Christopher sets Adrianna up in a recording studio to help realise her dream of becoming a music mogul. Things don’t go well. Her new band – the woeful Visiting Day – is ready to walk after a long and soul-sapping session during which they’ve produced nothing of worth. Christopher wastes no time taking up the mantle of manager to convince them that the show must go on. It’s fair to say that being motivational doesn’t come naturally to Christopher. Or, rather, it does, it’s just that his methods of motivation are rather more violent than most. First, Christopher throws the ex-addict lead singer a bag of crystal meth and orders him to take it. When that doesn’t work, he takes the only reasonable course of action left open to him and smashes a guitar over the man’s back.

There’s No Place Like Home

S2,E4 ‘Commendatori’

Paulie is incredibly excited to be visiting the motherland, and arrives full of romantic notions about Italy. All of these are systematically stamped out, mostly by Paulie himself, of whom an Italian gangster remarks at dinner, after Paulie requests tomato ketchup for his spaghetti:  ‘And you thought the Germans were classless pieces of shit.’

Paulie’s beatific little smile as he drinks in the squalor of New Jersey on the ride home from the airport is pitch perfect.

It’s the Jaaaccckkeett!

S2,E8 ‘Full Leather Jacket’

From the moment Richie Aprile is released from prison he’s on a collision course with Tony. In classic Sopranos’ style, though, the torch paper isn’t lit by Richie shacking up with Tony’s sister, or paralysing their mutual friend Beansie, but by the fall-out from a spurned jacket. Not just any jacket, though: ‘the’ jacket; the one Richie took off Rocco di Meo after an adolescent scrap.

‘Cocksucker had the toughest reputation in Essex County, but he never came back after I got through with him,’ Richie tells Tony, as he gifts him the infamous garment.

‘He later died of Alzheimer’s,’ adds Junior.

The look on Tony’s face as he tries to look grateful for ‘the jacket’ is almost as funny as the look Richie later wears in Carmella’s kitchen when he  notices the sainted jacket hanging from the shoulders of the maid’s husband.

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

S2, E9 ‘From Where to Eternity’

When Christopher briefly dies on the operating table after an assassination attempt, he returns from the brink of death with visions and dispatches from the afterlife. Paulie takes these reports to heart, divining in them a supernatural threat. Not only does Christopher tell Paulie that the souls of his many victims still follow him everywhere he goes, he also brings back an oblique warning: ‘Three o’clock’.

This cryptic curse has Paulie slamming bolt upright in his bed each night with a scream on his lips. First he visits Tony, who tries to lead Paulie back to sanity.

‘You eat steak?’ Tony asks.

‘What the fuck you talkin’ about?’

‘If you were in India, you would go to hell for that.’ 

‘I’m not in India,’ says Paulie. ‘What do I give a fuck?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. None of this shit means a goddamn thing.’

Unconvinced, Paulie visits a spiritualist psychic, who ‘confirms’ that Paulie is being stalked by ghosts. ‘That’s satanic black magic!’ rails a terrified Paulie, ‘Sick shit’, before hurling a chair at the ‘ghosts’ and screaming ‘Fuckin’ qu***s!’ at them. Finally, he visits his priest to tell him he’s cutting off his donations to the church on the grounds that he should’ve been protected from hauntings. I defy you not to chuckle at the baleful glare Paulie gives the Virgin Mary on his way out of the church.  

A Very Un-woke Wake

S3, E2 ‘Proshai , Livushka’

Livia Soprano – Tony’s murderously manipulative mother – proved just as divisive in death as she was in life, her demise precipitating a wake that was as awkward and corrosive for the characters experiencing it as it was rich and funny for us schmucks at home.

Tony never wanted any of Janice’s ‘California Bullshit’ at the gathering he and Carmella hosted at their home (or ‘that house, up on that hill’, as Livia would have called it). Janice being Janice, though, vetoes her brother’s ruling. She asks each of the assembled guests to share a thought, a memory of their mother, which – given that Livia was a sharp-tongued, anti-social harridan – doesn’t produce heart-warming results. No wonder the unknown man descending the stairs in the background behind them all decides to about-turn and get the hell out of there.

‘She never minced words,’ says Hesch, trying his hardest to accentuate the positive, ‘Between… brain and mouth… there was no interlocutor.’

Read more

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The Sopranos: saluting the greatest TV drama ever made

By Jamie Andrew

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The Sopranos: Explaining the Final Scene

By Jamie Andrew

Christopher’s rambling, drug-fuelled, ad lib on the nature of existence, rebirth and doppelgangers is a treat, the sort of new-age snash David Brent might have conjured up while fully sober. The silence doesn’t last for long, though, not least because Carmella has spent the duration of the tense memorial knocking back booze like a cooze-hound on Spring Break, and is ready to unleash hell. 

Merry Stressmas

S3, E10 ‘…To Save Us All from Satan’s Power’

In the absence of Big Pussy Bonpensiero – taken on a long boat-ride to oblivion – the amply proportioned Bobby Baccala is the natural choice to become the new Satriales’ Santa. Except he doesn’t want to do it. He’s too shy.

‘The fucking boss of this family told you you’re gonna be Santa Claus,’ Paulie tells Bobby menacingly. ‘You’re Santa Claus. So shut the fuck up about it!’

The surly and reluctant Bobby proves a lacklustre substitute, an observation that’s articulated perfectly by Paulie when he says, ‘Fuckin’ ho hum if you ask me.’

It’s not just Bobby’s mafia colleagues that like to drop the F-bomb at Xmas. Even a little boy, unimpressed by Bobby’s schtick, issues a heart-felt: ‘Fuck you, Santa.’

God bless us. Every one. 

Two Assholes Lost in the Woods

S3, E11 ‘Pine Barrens’

The Pine Barrens was the episode that cleaved most closely to all-out comedy, pitting hot-headed anti-survivalists Christopher and Paulie against a runaway Russian they’d failed to kill. The darkly comic shit-show unfolded in the unforgiving, snow-filled foliage of the eponymous Pine Barrens, where Tony and Bobby were eventually summoned to rescue the hapless pair.

It’s hard to pick a comedy highlight from this episode, as it’s chock-full of them, but highlights include Tony losing it at the sight of Bobby Baccala’s hunting attire (if James Gandolfini’s laughter seems particularly genuine here, try googling some behind-the-scenes facts – you won’t be disappointed); Chris and Paulie noshing down on sauce sachets like they were a gourmet meal, and the following misunderstanding between Paulie, Chris and Tony thanks to poor mobile reception:

Tony: (garbled, on phone) It’s a bad connection, so I’m gonna talk fast. The guy you’re looking for is an ex-commando! He killed sixteen Chechen rebels single-handed.

Paulie: Get the fuck outta here.

Tony: Yeah, nice, huh? He was with the Interior Ministry.  Guy’s some kind of Russian green beret. This guy cannot come back to tell this story. You understand?

[line breaks]

Paulie: (to Christopher) You’re not gonna believe this. He killed sixteen Czechoslovakians. The guy was an interior decorator.

Chris: His house looked like shit.

You Talkin’ To Me?

S4, E6 ‘Everybody Hurts’

Artie Bucco, Tony’s boyhood best pal, is a regular, hard-working chef. Even so, he’s frequently seduced by the luxurious criminal lifestyle he sees lapping around the fringes of his wonder-bread world. When a business deal to promote ‘the new French vodka’ goes awry and Artie finds himself $50k out of pocket to a swindling huckster he decides to channel his inner Mafioso and get his money back the Soprano way. Unfortunately, his inner Mafioso is no more ferocious than that possessed by any average member of the show’s audience – as much as proximity to Tony might convince us otherwise – and he gets the crap kicked out of him. Before that, though, his little Taxi Driver moment in the mirror, complete with mid-life crisis ear-ring and mobster posturing (‘Fucking shoes you’re wearing. What are they? Designer?’) is at once endearing, pathetic and very, very funny.

The mirror is no accident. He’s looking at us, looking at him, looking at ourselves.     

Telephone Tough Guy

S4, E9 ‘Whoever Did This’

While Ralph Cifaretto is probably most widely remembered as a sort-of gangster Loki – a mirth-wracked trickster with a penchant for mayhem – most of his misdeeds were so loathsome that even the wider mafia disapproved: cheating on his grieving partner, beating a young pregnant girl to death, burning a horse alive (come on, of course that was him). Still, he did make us laugh, though, didn’t he?

No more so than when he pranked Paulie’s dopey-yet-adorable old mother in her nursing home (‘It’s a retirement community!’), announcing himself as Detective Mike Hunt, Beaver Falls, from the Pennsylvania police department. Not only did Ralph claim that Paulie had been caught pleasuring a cub scout in a public bathroom, but also that a small rodent had been discovered in Paulie’s rectal passage. ‘A gerbil, ma’am’.

Ralph laughed his head off.

Tony later removed it.  

A Truth Injection

S4, E10 ‘The Strong, Silent Type’

Drug interventions are worthy and solemn rituals – they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny – but there’s something delicious about a room full of self-involved sociopaths with no impulse control and an insatiable appetite for pleasure assembling to pass judgement on Christopher essentially for having no impulse control and an insatiable appetite for pleasure. Christopher is at least self-aware enough to lobby this back in the faces of his supposed rescuers, pointing out that Silvio likes to sample his sex-workers; that Paulie’s hot-head almost dragged the Newark family into war with the Russian mob, and that Tony’s epicurean compulsions will probably kill him more quickly than Christopher’s drugs.

From the moment a bewildered Christopher emerges from his bedroom to find both families – blood and work – camped out in his living room, the laughs just keep coming, all the way through to the (inevitable) explosion of violence at the scene’s climax.

Christopher instantly recognises the host of the intervention, Dominic Paladino, as ‘the guy who broke into Stew Leonards that time and stole all those pork loins.’

‘Yes,’ replies a sheepish Dominic. ‘But… that’s not why I’m here today.’  

Especial mirth-based mentions must go to Silvio and Paulie (the latter’s reaction to Christopher’s narcotic-related manhood problems is priceless), and their refusal to play along with the ‘care-frontation’. 

‘When I came to open up one morning, there you were with your head half in the toilet. Your hair was in the toilet water. Disgusting,’ says Silvio, reading awkwardly from what is possibly the most unnecessary aide de memoire ever written.

Leave it to Paulie to lay the smackdown on this particular brand of ‘California bullshit’: ‘I don’t write nothing down,’ he says, ‘so I’ll keep this short and sweet. You’re weak. You’re out of control. And you’re becoming an embarrassment to yourself and everybody else.’

Drugs are bad. Mmmkay?

Dead Good Food

S5, E7 ‘In Camelot’

When Junior realises he can get respite from his house arrest through attending family funerals he starts to exaggerate and exploit ever more spurious links to get him out of the house for a few hours. While all around him are wracked with grief, his is the only face with a smile on it, enjoying the change of scenery, enjoying the food, wondering why everyone has to be so maudlin.

In a darkly funny scene he happily extols the virtues of the spread while attending the wake of a teenage boy. ‘Chicken’s nice and spicy, huh?’ he beams at a fellow mourner.

A Grave Error

S5, E9 ‘Unidentified Black Males’

When Tony agrees to pick up the tab for the headstone of a New York soldier who was slain, unbeknownst to him, by his own cousin, his men manage to add insult to injury.

We see the headstone. At the graveside. During the funeral service. And it says:

Peeps.

‘Peeps?’ spits Tony. ‘It’s a fuckin’ nickname! His family name is Pepperelli!’

Silvio hunkers down into full middle-management mode. ‘They’re gonna re-do it. Fuckin’ J.C. He’s dyslexic.’

 ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ asks an incredulous Tony. 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

You could fill a book with The Sopranos’ funniest moments – Paulie’s rant about shoelaces, Bobby B botching a publicity shooting, Silvio’s poker-table tantrum, Little Carmine’s malapropisms, to name but a handful – so by necessity we’ve had to leave a lot out. What are some of yours?

The post The Sopranos’ Funniest Moments appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[dustofinsanity]

aesthetic tag ✨

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold

tagged by: The one and only!! The wonderful!! The amazing!! The talented and  incomparable PAPA!! Also known as @defgyus 💜

tagging: no one but, if you wanna do it, just say I tagged you.

soft

baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night

dark academia

neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story

edgy

closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks

seventies

colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | diy-ing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding

preppy casual

collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy-lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

cinanamon - steph

gold jewelry | slowdancing in the kitchen with a lover | sun on skin | red-tinted lip balm | lazy mornings | getting lost in foreign cities | scent of bakeries | high-waisted jeans | kissing someone’s neck | writing reminders on your wrist | sleeping in braids to have waves in the morning | growing an herb garden | gentle touches | sketches tucked between pages | flushed cheeks | tandem bikes, floating in a pool | vintage gold hand-mirror | deer grazing | softly singing while doing chores

jaesmintea - dia

oversized everything | painted nails | fairy lights | dozing off in the middle of class | tying hair up into a ponytail | round glasses | laughing so hard you can’t breathe | late night study sessions | tender hand holding | impromptu photoshoots | drowning in moondust | bathing in the light of the sunset | strawberry flavored lollipops | polaroid pictures | eagerly tugging someone down the street | handwritten love letters | smell of coffee | living with reckless abandon | crinkled pages of a journal | replaying the same part in a song over and over

naptimetea - helena

everything black | rewearing your favorite outfit | drawing late into the night | rewatching favorite shows | the bread isle | minty lip balm | falling asleep anywhere and everywhere | making green tea | useless questions when it’s 2 am | forehead kisses | sleeping in till the afternoon | love of pink | staying up to watch the sunrise | dancing in the bathroom | messy handwriting | pile of sketchbooks | talking for hours about interest | old sentimental stuff animals | hanging out on the bed and doing nothing | thick fluffy blankets

jeonginks

the thrill of leaning your body way over a balcony’s edge | the suffocating feeling when the strong wind blows down your lungs | tip-toeing barefoot | hair ruffling and cheek pinching | hugging a body pillow at night | facing the sky with closed eyes | the whimsical silence when it’s past midnight and you’re the only person awake | when you can physically feel your eyes soften when you look at someone | dancing alone with only an oversized shirt | when your sweater falls over your thighs as you stand up | humming scary but memorable lullabies | vivid imagination | w-sitting with a mini skirt and thigh high socks | heated laptop on your lap | cereal at 3 am | gliding your fingers across your thighs | bittersweet melancholy | withdrawn and distant eyes | very tight belts | wanting love but not believing in it | not cruel but not kind

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha - sav!

split-dye hair | female rappers | staying up until 6am and sleeping until 1pm | taking notes on an ipad | middle school emo music | mini skirts | late night drives | rain on the ocean | flirting with people when you’re bored | doc martens | eating ramen in the pot | afraid of being looked at | fishnets | getting joy out of making people laugh | small tattoos | crying yourself to sleep | peppermint everything | desperate for freedom | chipped black nail polish

lveletters

well-worn converse | ginger ice cream | farmers’ markets | amaretto in coffee | the sound of pen on paper | empty mountain trails | black and white photographs | vintage bicycles | roads trips with no destination | overfilled bookcases | a shoebox full of ticket stubs | granny smith apples | orange gerbera daisies | cardigan sweaters | games that tell a story | red wine in a mason jar | succulent gardens | tattoos of birds | fresh-baked muffins | a favorite pair of jeans

dnceracha - sydni

black chelsea boots | chapped lips | browline glasses | losing yourself in video games | impressionist art | pink peonies | writing down anything you need to remember | the smell of gasoline | business goth style | dangly earrings | florals | ballet flats | cuffed jeans | liking the villain | a stack of journals | generous amounts of highlighter | knives | rain on a tin roof | heavy footsteps | small-town diners

bamshine - sae

chunky black boots | not realizing you’ve been writing for hours | soft dog fur under your hand | the loud gathering of friends after an exhausting dance class | bubble tea | casual touches between friends | beach trips | airports late at night or early in the morning | coming home from travel and finally being in your own bed | leaves crunching under your foot | shopping for groceries with christmas music on the radio | loud family gatherings over a pizza | succulents | goofy singing and dancing with friends | getting so into a book you do nothing else all day except read | cool summer evenings around a bonfire | apple cider | the scent of vanilla | selfies with friends | the sting of a new tattoo

jjinyounf - cres

ocean breezes | moonlight/sunlight through clouds | sweatpants and baggy tees | empty journals | stud earrings | messy bedroom | thought-provoking movies | apple cinnamon | hot, but not sticky weather | chill big dogs | mixing flavoured vodka with ice cream | playing songs at full blast in the shower | quiet corners | the sound of bacon while it cooks | loud thoughts but quiet words | staying in bed until the absolute last second | mid-calf boots in the winter, flip flops in the summer, sneakers every other time | mental breakdowns doing anything academic-related | madras shawls | the colour combo of red, black, gold, and white

flowerbeom - kat

polaroids | saying hello to the moon | buying more books that you can read | lo-fi playlists to fill the emptiness | baking bread of saturdays | playing the same song over and over until you learn the lyrics/vocal runs perfectly | milk tea | booping your cat’s nose with your nose | keeping a stash of that one perfect pen | being the quiet listener in conversation but always has a great story to tell | sneakers over everything | watching the sunrise through cracked open blinds | leather and patchouli candles | freshly cooked rice | finding the perfect word to describe something | the crunch and squeak of walking on freshly fallen snow | writing “hello” on foggy windows | strolling through ancient forests and feeling small | kissed on bare shoulders | falling asleep to the sound of rain

focusgyeom - leena

wishes at 11:11 | leather jackets | hoop earrings | making playlists for friends | seasonal candles | bath bombs | pink drinks | late night drives | crystals | ripped jeans | starry nights & full moons | writing out your emotions instead of talking about them | loves the thought of being in love, but too scared to fall in love | black clothes | staying up till 3am writing | lip gloss | fall & winter | vampires books & shows | keeping a journal on you at all times | gel pens | sunflowers

defgyus - val

feeling at home in museums | color coordinating everything | feeling the warmth of the sun on your face | owning lots of stationery | aesthetic pinterest boards | period drama | coffee and tea are always a good idea | big windows overlooking a big city | neutral tones and muted pink | keeping a journal with your favorite quotes | fashion magazines | disney films | movie scores and lofi playlists | daydreaming in public transport | learning languages | laughing out loud watching comedy sketches | drawing on procreate | chunky sweaters and jeans | neck kisses | loving hard

defnabeom - nauan

shapped sunglasses | silver jewelry | the laugh of the people you love | this particular voice you could hear for hours | veins | ripped clothes | grungy style | cats lover | collecting everything | organized mess | cigarettes and a glass of whiskey | the feeling of being afraid to bother | old cartoons | spikes | men perfumes | noisy pictures | bucket hats | a simple touch of color in a black outfit | wine red eyeshadows and matte lipstick | the loner who needs love

[soldiermanes]

Safe Haven

Prompt: hey! so I absolutely adored the skateboarding fic that you wrote for them! it was adorable and so good and your writing is amazing! if you want to, could you please maybe write something about Alex being afraid of thunderstorms, maybe because they remind him of his time at war? no worries if not! have a good day!!                 

            It’s the rain that wakes him first; the soft pitter patter of it against the cabin’s windows, that grows to a roar, and pulls him from the already fitful sleep he’d found himself in. The beagle at his feet alerts to his movement almost immediately, perking her head up and letting out a small whine.               

           “I’m fine, Soka,” he reassures the dog, even as she gets to her feet and comes trodding over to burrow herself between Alex and the still sleeping figure beside him. Her nose nudges at his hand until he gets the hint and raises it to pet gentle strokes across the top of her head. Ahsoka had been a suggestion from his therapist, and when he’d protested the idea at first, not wanting to add another thing to care for on his ever growing list, she’d given him a stack of papers that consisted of an information packet and an application for a support dog. So now, here he was, with a beagle that constantly demanded attention and an irrationally dumb fear of storms.                 

           Thunder booms outside with enough force to rattle the windows. Even as he tries to fight it, he can’t help the way his body stiffens and his breath lodges itself in his throat. Distantly, he can hear the whistle of bullets and the screams that seem to play on a constant loop in his subconscious.                

           Ahsoka whines again, moving to prod her wet nose at his arm, he focuses on the coolness of the touch until the world around him begins to sharpen; Michael’s quiet snores, the rattle of the radiator that he’d yet to fix, these are the sounds he zeros in on. When he’d got back from his first tour, the nightmares had been fresh, and violent, so that he’d become paralyzed with the fear of them. His breath would come in quick short bursts and all he could do was lie in an empty bed and wait for it all to be over. Now, he knows better. He knows to find something that grounds him to reality, how to count to ten in his head until his breathing resumes its normal, steady, pace; all things that seem so simple until he’s faced with actually putting them to use.                 

           Another boom of thunder, this time accompanied with a flash of lightening that casts the room in shadows, is enough to shake the whole house. He inhales sharply as the world twists into fire and smoke, and he feels the phantom pressure of the rubble that had buried him. When he blinks again, it’s gone, replaced by the solid wood walls of the cabin and the plushness of the mattress beneath him. Ahsoka paws at his arm until he looks at her and resumes petting behind her ears.                 

          “It’s fine,” he says again, either to the dog or himself he’s not sure, but even as he says the words they sound hollow.                 

           War had broken something inside him, something even his father hadn’t been able to touch, and now he couldn’t help the unreasonable fear that ran cold through his veins every time a storm rolled through town or a firework lit up the night sky. It made him angry sometimes, how easily he lost control of himself when the terror set it. Right now, it was just making him hurt, his whole body aching with the realization that there was always going to be a missing part of him. A part that would stay lost, trapped underneath concrete and rebar right alongside the rest of his leg,                

           Once, he had loved storms like these. They’d roll into town with a force more powerful than his father’s fists and for a moment he was granted sanctuary. He’d vanish into the tool shed, unbothered by the leaking roof and wind that howled through the cracks in the old wood. Curling up in a ratty blanket his mother used to tuck around him each night, he’d grab his notebook or guitar, and scribble nonsense lyrics or strum half together tunes. In those moments, he was able to carve out a space for himself. The storm would rage outside, and he would stay safely tucked away in his own little haven. Alex didn’t miss the shed, but he did miss the feeling of freedom that would come along with it. And he missed hearing the sound of thunder without the memory of bombs and war zones that now accompanied it.                 

           Beside him, Michael shifts, his snores fading as consciousness comes back to him.                 

           Alex hadn’t meant to wake him, he’d dealt with these attacks alone before, and he knew how to handle them. But he’s not exactly disappointed when the man turns to face him, looking at him with sleep filled confusion. His brows furrow underneath wild curls that fall across his forehead and his mouth twists into a frown.                 

           “Alex?” he mutters, and when he speaks his voice is gravel thick, “why’re you up?”                 

           Before Alex can answer, thunder rolls in the distance. He tenses at the sound, his hand stalling its movement across Soka’s fur. For a moment, he can feel the glass shards and concrete wreckage digging into his back, a large slab of ceiling resting solidly on his torso, and a metal beam stabbing straight through his right leg. The pain doesn’t register until he tries to move, then white hot bolts of agony shoot through him. Another bomb lands somewhere nearby, rocking the already unstable foundation he’s trapped in. There’s gunfire coming from somewhere, though he can’t pinpoint the exact location; someone’s screaming, it takes him longer than it should to realize it’s him.                 

           The cabin comes back to him just as suddenly as the flashback had, and he finds himself yanked back to reality with a choked gasp that dies in his throat when he sees Michael hovering above him. Ahsoka is barking, short yips that grate on his ears, but replace the sounds that had surrounded him only moments earlier. He taps her, light and quick to let her know he’s okay and she goes silent, laying back down beside him and resting her head on his leg.      

           “Hey,” Michael breathes, his hand just above Alex. He’d learned pretty quickly that touching him during one of these attacks without permission always made things worse. If Alex couldn’t see Michael coming, couldn’t prepare for the touch, he would mistake it for enemy hands or more rubble falling on him, trapping him further. Now though, he lifts his head just enough to press his cheek against Michael’s hand and the contact is enough to help his breath come easier.          

           “You’re okay,” Michael soothes, “you’re safe.”                   

           Alex nods, breath trembling when he exhales. This time when the thunder comes he’s able to ground himself in Michael’s gaze, and the war stays at his periphery.                 

          “It’s the thunder,” he explains, his hand, that had been resting atop Ahsoka’s head, coming up to wrap around Michael’s wrist; he finds the man’s heartbeat, a steady thrum just beneath his skin.                  

           “I figured.”                

           “It-. It’s too loud.”                 

           The storm, though still strong enough to send gusts of wind against the windows, has begun to calm down, as if tied to Alex’s emotions. Ahsoka seems to think she’s done her job well enough and moves to lie back down at Alex’s feet, resting close enough to him that he can feel her small frame expand each time she breathes. With her no longer between them, he can move closer to Michael, shifting until his whole left side is pressed against the man.                 

         Michael hums down at him, moving his hand so he can run it through Alex’s tangled hair, brushing loose strands back from his forehead. Alex leans into the touch, a soft sound escaping him.                 

         "You want to talk about it?”                 

          Alex considers it, thinking back to the multiple sessions in which his therapist has told him he needs to tell someone, if only to help relieve some of the pressure in his chest that consumes him each time he thinks of the war. But with the fear still in his bloodstream and the storm not quite finished, he doesn’t trust himself to speak without being sucked back into the visceral images that wait for him every time he closes his eyes.                 

          “No, not now,” he says, “I just want to be here.”                 

           Michael doesn’t press the issue, seeming to understand Alex in a way that no other person has been able to, and he’s grateful for that. Sometimes it’s easy to forget just how much Michael loves him, until moments like these, when the man’s looking down at him with an expression that’s reserved only for him; soft and warm in a way that only he ever gets to see. He revels in that look, clings to it with a desperation that he can only possess when it comes to the man who has held his heart for the last ten years. Even through all the trauma, the loss, and the pain, they still found each other and that has to count for something.       

            As he lies there, breathing beginning to align with Michael’s, their hearts beating in tandem, he can feel himself slipping into the safety of it all; his eyelids growing heavy.                 

           Michael stalls his fingers that had been tracing gentle tracks through Alex’s hair, “Tired?”                

           Alex makes a sound of affirmation in response and the soft laugh that Michael huffs out at the noise is enough to chase off the last dregs of gunfire that seemed intent on haunting him. In the silence, he draws in a deep breath and curls closer to Michael, his arm snaking around the man’s waist.              

          Michael shifts, sinking further onto the bed, resting his chin atop Alex’s head. His hand find its way to Alex’s back, where he draws circles across the tan skin with his fingers.                 

           As rain continues to fall outside, and the world rumbles around them, he lets himself be drawn in further by the warmth of the room. The radiator still rattles, and the windows still shake with every outside intervention. But, Where the tool shed had cracking wood and a collapsing roof, the cabin stands steady. Here, he doesn’t have to hide notebooks and secrets under a faded blanket. He can have parts of himself out in the open and not have to worry about being attacked for them. There’s a framed picture of him and Michael on his nightstand, their clothes mixed together in an overflowing laundry hamper by the door, two scratched and dented guitars placed along the wall, all things that seem so simple but had once been regarded as impossible. His father may have succeeded at cracking him, the war had broken him further, but he’d still come out the other end alive and perhaps more whole than when he had started. He’d shouldered past every obstacle that tried to stop him and ended up with a new, sturdier, haven.                

           This was one he was determined to keep.  

A/N: So, if you don’t know, Ahsoka is a character from Star Wars: the Clone Wars, and the idea of nerdy Alex with his obsession for all things space related is kind of my biggest weakness. Also, I just really wanted him to have his beagle. 

Thank you @evansdiaz for the prompt!