#this has never happened before and may never happen again

[lo1k-diamonds]

Make It Right 💜 Part 1

Would you do anything different if you could?

PAIRING: Idol!Jungkook x (f) Reader

SUMMARY: After the last concert in Busan, Jungkook decides to stay at his parents' and make the best of that pause. He never dreamed he would have the chance to meet you again, but now that he has, he won't give up. This is his chance to make things right.

WORD COUNT: 13.6k

GENRE: Idol AU, childhood friends to lovers, reunions, angst

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: arguing, resentment, JK said stupid things as a teenager, heartache, angst, semi-public mutual masturbation, nipple play, dry humping, fingering, handjob, cum eating, reader calls Jungkook by his actual name (Jeongguk), reader has a nickname

A.N. I have so much to say!!! First, thank you so much for 1k followers 🙏💜 To think that there are one thousand people in this world who like my stories makes me very emotional, it's crazy, and I'm incredibly touched and grateful for all the positive interactions and love for my stories! A fun fact about this story is that I had the idea for it the day of the Yet To Come concert 🥲😅 Oh yes, am I late or what 🤣 It's been years and I miss them so... I think I needed to write this even more. I really like the dynamic in this fic... Try not to fall in love with JK ;) This is my entry for Bangtan Writers HQ's Second Quarter 2025 event: ‘Home Is Where The Heart Is’, and a huge thank you to @downbad4yoongi Jasz for helping me fine-tune this one 💜 Now before you reach the end, remember there will be a part 2 😇 Enjoy 💜

(Thank you @eerieedits for the cool banner 💜)

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Part 2 >

Jungkook woke up with a groan, hugging the pillow under him. Its perfume made him smile instantly, but his toes touching the footboard made him grin.

He rolled over, instantly sensing he was just on the edge of his childhood bed. Opening his eyes, he stayed still as the daylight scarcely lit up the room and just looked around. There were toys and medals on the shelves alongside children’s books and photos of him as a baby and a kid. The small desk in the corner was just as he remembered, prepared for him to do his homework. The fact that his legs wouldn’t fit under it anymore made him chuckle and sit up.

His parents were rarely loud in the morning, even when he was a child. Still, it wasn’t every day that he crashed here with no plans to leave immediately after. Actually, he realized that this hadn’t happened in twelve years, give or take. He sighed, listening to his mother’s muffled voice as she spoke with someone outside.

His curiosity got him out of bed, taking a peek out of the window through a narrow gap between the heavy light-blue curtains. Instantly, pure delight curved his lips as he saw the neighbour in the garden. Twelve years may have passed, but nothing changed.

He found the closest pair of sweats and a t-shirt and got dressed in a flash, making his way downstairs. He could still hear his mother talking to the neighbor as he pushed the front door open quietly, hoping he’d get outside before the conversation ended.

He knew he succeeded when the neighbor gasped, “Aigoo, Jungkook! You’re so grown up!”

“Imo-nim!” He exclaimed brazenly, making his mother sigh and try to snipe him once he was out the door with slippers. “You’re visiting today?”

The woman, his mother’s age, laughed happily, bowing her head to his deep, full body bows while his mother whispered, “You’re no longer a child!”

“Nobody else calls me that!” She laughed, quickly telling his mother, “It’s fine! If not him, then who? It’s so good to see you, your mother is so happy to have her baby boy home.”

Jungkook grinned at his mother, who easily pouted, then turned to the neighbor again. “As soon as I heard you two talking, I knew I was home.”

His mother smacked his arm playfully while the neighbor, who was his mother’s lifelong best friend, laughed again.

“He is as charming as he is on TV!”

He bowed again, his smile lingering, and promptly let his mother continue their conversation about his visit.

“Oh, and I saw the concert on TV! Soooo cool,” she gave him a thumbs up as she went on about all of BTS looking so great in concert. “Putting Busan on the map for the whole country! I told your mother we’re all so proud of you! Now, on to the military, right? Tough, but an important duty.”

Jungkook’s smile held as he nodded, letting his mind wander. Not that he felt ready to go on to the military right away, especially after just announcing BTS’s hiatus.

Before he could gently tell her that, her phone rang. As her friend was distracted, his mother made sure to brush his hair out of his eyes properly.

“You just woke up? You haven’t even showered? Or ate?” Her tone and demeanor were just as sweet and caring as always. “Just so you know your father went to get more meat; can’t have you starving while you’re home. Maybe you should go back inside? We don’t want people to find out where you are.”

He quickly hugged his mom and squeezed her gently, lifting her so her feet wouldn’t touch the ground for a second. “It’s fine. I want to be here without worries for just a little bit.”

“Ahhh,” the neighbor interrupted them, putting the phone back inside her handbag. “Mimi is here to pick me up.”

“Mimi?” he asked out loud before he could help himself. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she smiled. “Do you remember her?”

“Of course, I do,” he confirmed quietly.

“Come say hi, then!”

She left his mother’s garden and made her way to the main road at the end of the driveway. Jungkook was frozen for a moment, but his mother beckoned him to follow along, and finally, his feet began to move. She probably didn’t mean you, even though that was your nickname and—

It was like a dream when he saw you getting out of the car. Your face had all the telltale signs that you were forced to personally get your mother if you wanted to have any chances of leaving with her today, and the way his mother greeted you made it even more apparent.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, Mimi!”

Jungkook’s stomach somersaulted. Mimi. The name he gave you because he couldn’t pronounce your name right when you were kids. And now, you were right there with long, luscious hair falling over your shoulders, and dressed in dark blue professional attire that made him wonder where you were going.

“It’s alright, Mrs Jeon. I already know the drill,” you said after you gave your cheerful mother a look. Then you bowed deeply, respectfully, and he kept waiting, anticipating the moment your eyes would meet. “We’re going to be late,” you said as you raised an eyebrow at your mother.

“Oh, come on,” your mother insisted playfully. “Don’t you want to say hi?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Jeon,” you bowed deeply by the waist again. “But we’ll be late.”

You didn’t look at him, not once. You got back inside your car, and your mother quickly followed you after apologizing for the rush, and then you were gone. Like a mirage, like a product of his wildest imagination. And he stood there in silence, watching you disappear. 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” his mother commented, next to him. He nodded.

“Jungkook, stay with Mimi, okay?”

Jungkook looked up at his mom and nodded, staying next to you while she figured things out at the counter. He was so excited, he couldn’t stop grinning. The sounds of the pins being knocked down, the bowling balls rolling along, and the music made it the best birthday party ever!

He could already see most of his classmates arriving, and so could you. Yet unlike him, you pursed your lips in an angry pout.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused about why you’d be angry. You had given him the idea and even helped him convince his mom.

You looked at him with watery eyes, your short hair cut just above them, much like his own hair. “The whole class is here.”

“Isn’t it cool?!” He wanted to jump around and go crazy, but when he looked at you, you looked sad. “What?”

“Well… Youngsook and Seohyeon said the prettiest girl and the most handsome boy in class should date.”

His face twisted in all sorts of ways. “What?”

“They mean you,” you pointed out, teary-eyed, and he laughed.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Jungkook, Mimi, come,” his mother called, reaching to grab his hand, and he impulsively started pulling her, eager to get his birthday party started as soon as possible.

Yet suddenly, his heart felt heavy. He forced himself to stay still and look beyond his mother, trying to see you, but you were looking away, out of reach.

Jungkook woke up with a start, pushing the covers away and spreading his legs to cool off as much as possible. His feet dangled from his childhood bed as he took deep breaths, annoyed that he was sweating.

His chest was suddenly filled with feelings he had long thought forgotten alongside memories he didn’t even know he was still holding on to.

He closed his eyes; he remembered that birthday party. It was an amazing celebration; he seldom had as much fun as when he turned thirteen. That was his last party in Busan before leaving for Seoul, when everything changed.

He rubbed his eyes and got up, finding a set of clothes and a bucket hat so he could go out. His phone showed him it was 00:47, but he didn’t care. He needed a bit of air, and walking around in the neighbourhood he grew up in had to be safe. He needed to believe he still had that piece of normalcy in his life.

He walked down the illuminated suburban street calmly. For the first time in over a decade, he had time. He could slow down, go down memory lane, and recall the streets he used to bike or walk almost every day. He could finally think about seeing you for the first time in over a decade.

It had to be why he was dreaming of you. Though perhaps it wasn’t the only reason. He sometimes dreamed of you when he was really stressed, and paradoxically, this time, you were the cause of his stress. Why wouldn’t you even look at him? He could understand you had lost touch, many years had gone by, and you didn’t have to be best of friends again. But still. Your moms were still the closest friends, and your families were neighbours. The least you could have done was say hi. Or let him see the recognition in your eyes after so many years.

He chuckled when he saw a familiar playground on the street corner. He strolled idly in its direction and instantly made his way to the swings. Both your moms knew a lot about their children, but he doubted that even they knew you two sneaked out after bedtime to meet there, especially during school breaks. He sat on the swing, letting the quiet night soothe him. It was the only time you had, between school and cram schools, to play a bit and talk. Jungkook didn’t remember most of it, but at least it gave his heart a fuzzy feeling.

Before he could reminisce further, he heard a quiet noise and turned on the swing to check. Everything looked empty until suddenly he heard rustling and saw someone crawling out of the nearby tunnel.

“You’re kidding,” you grumbled, getting up, and he paused.

Not only were you hiding in the place that both of you used to hide in, but you looked… different. Your hair was still over your shoulders, but now you were wearing a sweater and sweatpants, much like his, in the same black color, but a different brand. For a split second, he thought he caught your eyes, but they instantly dodged to the side. It made him miss the first beat, but not a second one.

He got up, eager to take this opportunity, and bowed as respectfully as he could at the waist. Instead of bowing back, you huffed, and the first thing he noticed when he straightened up was that you weren’t just avoiding looking at him. You didn’t want to acknowledge him.

“I’m leaving first.”

“No, wait.” He was firm, unlike when he had seen you earlier. The more this distance was confirmed between you, the more he needed to get to the bottom of it. “How are you?”

He could see the way your jawline sharpened as you said, “Are you going to take off that stupid hat?”

His fingers moved automatically, taking off the bucket hat and running through his hair. And finally, he was able to lock eyes with yours. You didn’t just look incredible, you looked breath-taking, like nothing his imagination could have made up. Your cheekbones were more defined, your lips fuller, your eyes…

He got lost for a moment until you looked away. 

“How are you?” he asked again, unable to give up.

You licked your lips. “Good, and you?”

He smiled. “Good. I missed this.”

He raised his hand, meaning to include everything, the streets, the park, the quiet, the night, you… And you bristled.

“Well, then.” Your curt head nod was enough for him to know you wanted to leave, but he had to push for more.

“Wait. It’s been so long, I—I can’t help being curious. How have you been? What have you been up to?”

You shrugged slightly. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Your eyes weren’t letting him see anything, and everything about you exuded stoicism. He couldn’t help but chuckle “You’re not going to tell me? Is it a secret?”

“I can’t imagine why you’d need my credentials.”

“Credentials? I’m just curious about an old friend.”

“If you’re curious, you can ask your mom.” Your shoulders squared as you crossed your arms over your chest. “She knows about as much as mine does.”

His brow furrowed. “Well… I have asked, of course. But I want to hear from you.”

“I have nothing to tell you,” you stated, bowing curtly and spinning around to leave.

“This isn’t right,” he voiced his thoughts out loud, and didn’t even expect you to turn back to look at him, but you did. “You’re treating me worse than you would a stranger.”

You didn’t have to answer; rolling your eyes was enough.

“Why?” he asked more sternly.

“I just don’t want anything to do with you.”

“What?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Why?”

“Because.”

His expression sombered. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Why do you think you did something?” Your arms crossed over your chest again.

“Call it a hunch.”

Jungkook didn’t imagine something like this would ever happen. He wasn’t just back home, retracing the steps of his childhood; he was reuniting with you. Facing you, confronting you, more like. His heart thumped, like it did when he was waiting to get on stage, eager but no longer restless. Like he wanted to do his best, and he was ready. And facing your harsh stare, he realized that was precisely what this was. Because one thing was to have lost you to time, another was to find out you hated him, and he didn’t even know why.

You scoffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t see why you’d care.”

“I’m here, asking you.”

“Right, missing this. Well, then, do what you have to do and leave.”

“Is it hard seeing me or something?” He stepped forward, and you didn’t flinch. 

“Pretending you care? Yeah, it’s hard!”

“Pretending? I’m not—”

You rolled your eyes again, cutting him off, “You show up here after how many years, saying you miss this?”

“It’s been twelve years since—”

“Twelve! Well, forgive me for calling you out on your bullshit. If you want to be pampered, ask literally anyone else.”

“I’m not asking to be pampered, and there's no one else here,” he pointed out, now so close to you that he could finally see the freckles on your nose. It made his stomach flutter. “Why would you doubt I miss this? You, of all people?”

Your eyes widened suddenly as though you were about to explode, but then you subsided. “Yeah, me. Of all people, I would know that it's bullshit.”

A spark of anger took over the flutters in his stomach. “How can you say that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, give me a break. Do you hear yourself? Perhaps you're so used to the sound of your voice that you forgot to think about what you're saying.” His eyes were sharp now as the anger you stirred up spread through his chest. “Maybe everyone else is so charmed by your face that you can never be wrong. Well, I'm here to tell you to your face that coming back here, pretending you give a fuck is comical at best, and hypocrisy at worst. So do what you have to do and leave.”

He could see the anger in your eyes, and he was starting to share the same feeling. And yet, it was just that. After seeing the spark in your gaze, the firmness of your belief, and finding you in your special hiding place, the way you thought he was self-centered and narcissistic didn't even bother him. Of course, he didn't want you to feel that way about him. He was eager to change your mind, but he was so happy you two were talking that he kinda just wanted to smile and hug you and ask so many questions.

He couldn’t, though. “Good,” he muttered. “Good that you're here to tell me to my face why you'd think this way.”

Your cheeks gained the lightest hue, and he licked his lip ring.

“Usually, people's words match their actions,” you said. “That's how you get them to believe you.”

“And mine don't?”

“No, they don't.”

You lowered your eyes, and he couldn’t let it end there. “How do you know?” You scoffed, and he insisted, “How would you know how I feel? Or how much I missed this place? Or how many times I came here in the middle of the night instead of sleeping, despite how packed my schedule was, just because I missed all of this.”

His heart shook with the words out of his mouth, only to be met with your angry expression. “I would have known.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you stated, sure of yourself.

“You live in this park, do you?”

You sneered, “I would have seen you. Crossed paths with you. Heard that you were in town or—”

“My mom doesn't know half the time when I'm going to visit, since I don't know it myself,” he explained. “So, unless you live here, how would you know—”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped angrily. “You were never here and you never cared!”

“Why would you say that?!”

“Because you never once reached out!”

“Neither did you!”

“You left!” Your shout echoed in the night. “You left, so why would I?”

He didn't let himself overthink. “Because you wanted to talk to me again.”

His heart thumped at the possibility and skipped when you admitted, “Sure, I did. Did you? Did you ever want to talk to me again?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“I don't believe you.” You shook your head. “Even when I think all the way back, you were already acting distant before you left. Too busy with your own things to notice anything or anyone else. You already didn't care back then.”

He frowned. “I always cared. But it's true I had a lot going on back then. I was stressing about getting into a good school, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Your expression closed off as you nodded. Your voice was quiet, as though his admission settled it. “I'm happy you did, and that everything worked out for you.”

“Then why would you be so mad about this? I mean, I’m not thrilled about it, but it happened like it happened.”

“Oh for fucks sake, Jeongguk!” you blew up again, and he had to fist his hands at his sides not to impulsively grab you somehow. “You left! And left everything and everyone behind!”

You were finally talking, and he was so eager to hear you that he was almost leaning toward you. “Everything? What are you talking about?”

“You got into a good school in Seoul and moved, and everything was gone,” you insisted, with the strength behind your words waning. “We were the closest friends, and then suddenly you left and…” You visibly swallowed, then faced him again. “I was…” It must have been harder than you thought because you needed a second try to reveal, “I had a silly crush on you. You were my best friend. There were a lot of things I wanted us to do together. For a thirteen-year-old girl, it was all very new and at the center of everything. You didn’t care about any of it until you did, and I didn’t know how to deal with any of it, obviously. I honestly didn't even know what was happening. I thought I’d have time to bring up those things, to—” You cut yourself short. “I never had the time.”

“What things?” He got even closer, searching in your eyes. “Tell me what things.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, deflating a little bit as you stepped back. “I’m over it now.”

“You don’t sound over it.” He followed you with his eyes. “You sound angry.”

“I’m not.”

Your eyes stayed low, and he pursed his lips, unable to believe you but wary to insist.

“Well, I obviously had no idea you had a crush on me.” Saying it out loud had a smile blossoming on his face that he immediately tried to tone down. Your eyes showed vulnerability again, and he licked his lip ring before continuing, “Honestly, those sorts of feelings took a while to appear. I only realized I had a crush on you so much later.”

Your eyes hardened as you scoffed. “Why are you lying?”

“What? I’m not.” He instantly frowned. 

“You are.”

“Mimi,” he called, not knowing exactly why his heart felt so heavy. “I’m not lying.”

“Wait, let me try to remember your exact words…” You mused, tapping your chin. “She’s just like a boy, with short hair and everything,” you said, looking so firmly into his eyes, he needed a moment to catch up. “I could have called her hyung and nobody would have noticed.”

His stomach instantly churned. “You— You heard me say that?”

“Yes.”

“At my mom’s BTS debut party?”

“Yes.”

“You… heard us talk?”

“Yes.”

He groaned, nervously raking his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “Is that why you left that day? And I never got to see you?” You stayed quiet, but now he knew the answer. “My mom said you were so sick you were crying, I was so worried, and it was because—”

“Worried?” you interrupted with a sneer. “You’re funny.”

“I was worried!”

“If you really were, you would have come next door to say something!”

“I had to leave the next day and thought you didn’t want to see me!”

“I went to your house, you were the one who couldn't bother to send a stupid message when you were worried that I was sick!”

“Because my mom said you never once asked about me. When your mom said you were really sick, I thought—” He groaned. “I thought you had faked it just so that you wouldn’t bother putting up with me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, and he scoffed. You insisted, “It is.”

“And you never asking about me is normal?”

“You left,” you deadpanned. “With no goodbyes and no messages, I had to hear it from my mom.”

His stomach turned. “Wait a minute.”

“Then three years later, that was what you had to say about me!”

“I was sixteen! And so stupid! My hyungs knew I had a crush before I did, and by then… I had nothing on my mind but work.”

You pursed your lips, and the way you moved away stung him. He could see that he was losing you, that everything had eroded and disintegrated much more than he thought. But he had a chance to tell you everything now and right his wrongs, and he would. No matter how much it hurt to reopen old wounds.

“When I said that, I had spent the last three years forgetting about you. I wasn't about to admit to Jimin that I still thought about you and missed you, not after working so hard to let go, and not when we were just debuting and everything was so hard.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“When I moved to Seoul, everything changed. I never had the chance to say goodbye, and it weighed on me a lot. Just a phone call all of a sudden about a school opening, and hours later, I was already there. I still remember crying in the car and my mom promising she'd talk to you.” His smile was painful as he shook his head. “But she stayed with me for a while in Seoul, so I guess she just called your mom instead. A lot was going on; it just happened too fast.”

You stood quiet, just listening as you probably matched his words with what you knew, and he kept going.

“Everything was harder than I thought it would be. I knew nobody in Seoul, but it wasn't just that. You weren't there anymore, and I never knew how overwhelming it would all be. I'd ask about you, and you were doing well, with good grades and plenty of friends. You forgot all about me when I missed you every single day.”

“That's not true.”

He couldn’t help but scoff as he teared up with the memories. “See how everything is a matter of perspective? It took me three years of working day and night to feel remotely confident. Without you, I— I had to learn to be confident and make friends without you.”

“You were always the popular one,” you said cautiously.

“Because I had you backing me up!” he affirmed, stepping closer to you. “Every time I looked to the side, you'd give me that grin, and I knew that you had me, no matter what. That nothing could go wrong.”

He could see the pain in your eyes; maybe you were starting to get it.

“You mean you were lonely?”

“For a very long time,” he confirmed.

You shook your head, unsettled. “That's crazy. If you needed me… why didn't you say something?”

“I did,” he confessed with a smile that surely revealed the ache he felt at the time. “I was under a lot of pressure not to waste that opportunity. I had no social media and trained day and night. Whenever I'd speak with my mom, she'd just tell me to work hard, that everyone was proud, and that she'd pass it on to you. Until the day I asked if you asked about me, and she said not really.”

“I didn't ask about anything!” You crossed your arms over your chest. “My best friend left without a word. How do you think I felt?”

“Lonely,” he replied, looking into your eyes. “Though probably not as much as me.”

Your lips trembled. “I… Shit, I… I was so angry that I just refused to talk about you, even when my mom or yours wanted to tell me things.” Your confession brought tears to your eyes, and it stung Jungkook’s chest. “I don’t remember how things happened at school or anything, I just remember going to school and home alone every day and… coming here to be alone until I just… I was angry. I heard your mom telling mine you had changed, but I… I refused to ask when you clearly didn’t care, so I just—”

You were holding back tears, and he just nodded, assuring you gently, “It’s okay. We were kids.”

“Then you debuted.” You managed to look at him, and he realized he couldn’t stop breathing in your presence. Your every word. “And I thought, well, at least it was for something. I wanted to support you, even though I cried a lot.”

You chuckled to hide a snifle, and he was worried. “Why did you cry?” he asked.

“I don’t know…” Your gaze wandered, thinking back. “I don’t know if I was proud or grieving. Because I felt left behind, but perhaps that was worth it, because you made it. You were on TV, being amazing, looking so cool,” your voice wavered as you wiped the tears from your cheeks. “Of course, you had to leave and go to Seoul and be amazing. A true friend wouldn’t hold you back.”

Your shoulders trembled, and you turned around to hide the tears that kept falling despite your best attempts to keep them in. You didn’t see him stepping forward or his fingers twitching. You couldn’t know how much his heart ached at learning all this.

“I missed you every day,” was all he could say.

You chuckled, but he could hear the fragility in your voice. “It’s fine. It’s good that everything turned out well.” After several sniffles, you took a deep breath and turned back to look at him. “I may have been angry, but I never wished for you to be unhappy. I’m happy your dreams came true.”

He scanned your face in silence as you handled your tears. He had so much he wanted to say about how much he missed you, but it didn’t feel right to insist. He could feel the distance between the two of you grow whenever he voiced his feelings, whether because you didn’t believe him or it hurt too much.

So he didn’t insist. “So… you are our fan, then?”

He tried a light tone and was mesmerized when you laughed. “Absolutely not!”

He smiled. “Why not?”

“I mean, at first I was,” you explained with a faint smile. “I wanted to support my friend, or, well, you know.” You were embarrassed enough that you weren’t looking at him. “Until that time when your mom wanted to celebrate your debut, and I heard you saying those things about me. I was so upset, I threw away everything BTS-related and swore I’d never look at anything related to you again.”

He groaned and rubbed his face. “All because I said something so stupid…”

You shrugged and looked away, and when he revealed his face, he licked his lip ring nervously.

“I said all manner of stupid things back then, especially about… I didn’t know how to handle my feelings,” he hurriedly explained. “I wanted to come off strong and cool. To think you had a crush on me back then… Honestly, I was so blind to it all.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow. “To it all? No, you weren’t.”

“What do you mean?”

You shrugged casually. “You dated Seo Soyeon before you left.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in bewilderment, as though he had no idea what you were talking about. Then, his eyebrows jumped. “Seo Soyeon? Oh my— I had forgotten all about that. They pushed for it, the class couple or whatever. I didn't care.”

“She was your first kiss.”

Your voice was small, and he shrugged with a small smile. “I didn't realize then what that meant. Now, it doesn't matter anymore, but for a while, I wished it had been different. More special.”

As he spoke, he remembered how he had revolted once he was mature enough to realize what had happened. He still remembered complaining about it to Jimin, frustrated that he had let it happen like that instead of realizing that whoever his lips touched should be memorable. Especially after Jimin asked if he had ever kissed you, since he assumed Jungkook’s best friend would have surely been his first.

“Right. You're right,” you agreed, still lost in your thoughts. “It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Who was your first?” Jungkook could have kicked himself for asking you so directly, but your answer was automatic.

“Yoon Jiryun.”

“Ahh…” Jungkook pressed his lips. He remembered the boy with the glasses who ran super fast. But he didn’t know what to do with this information now that he had it, especially since it made his stomach feel funny. “I… hope it was nice.”

You nodded. “It was nice.”

Your certainty made him smile. “You mean it wasn't in front of the whole class by sheer peer pressure?”

He saw the second it dawned on you. “That's… I'm so sorry, that must have been horrible!”

He shrugged. “It wasn't great, but hey. It was a long time ago.”

You looked at him, still with worry on your light frown, then your eyes shifted behind him. Jungkook was so focused on looking at you and appreciating that newfound connection that he didn’t expect you to step forward. His stomach instantly fluttered as he held his breath, but then you moved to the side. He saw you as you put your handbag down and sat on the swing next to the one he was on before.

“I dated him for a couple of years in high school,” you started, and Jungkook didn’t hesitate to sit on the swing next to yours. “He was very supportive of me when I was going through the worst of it.”

“You had issues in high school?”

“Who doesn't?”

“Fair.”

“He was very patient and supportive, even when he knew I was pissed about… you know.”

“What?”

“My former best friend saying stupid shit.”

“You were dating him then?” he asked instantly, surprised.

“No, a few months after that. I'm thankful for him. He made me feel pretty and special after my crush said I looked like a boy.”

He sighed. “Your crush was an idiot. A foolish idiot.”

“You can stop that now.”

“It's true,” he insisted, taking a look at you, even though you were staring ahead. It wasn’t lost on him that you just implied you still had a crush on him at sixteen. If only he had seen you that day. He sighed again. “You know, I don't remember when, but around when we graduated, my mother showed me a photo of our class, and I saw you. I was so shocked,” he breathed, remembering that moment. “You had long hair,” he chuckled, glancing at you to find your eyes this time. “In my mind, you looked and dressed the same, but at that moment, I realized we both had changed. I had my ears pierced, and you had long hair. I was happy. And sad.”

“Sad? Why?”

“Just… because. I didn't see it happen. That made me think back, which at that time I couldn't handle.” He laced his arms around the swing chains and, looking into your eyes, he knew he didn’t want to hide anything. “Everything related to before training is… clouded. I don't remember everything anymore. What I remember most are moments of us together. Like coming here to play at this hour after sneaking out.”

You smirked and looked around the park as though suddenly reminded it was probably almost two in the morning. “We were crazy.”

“Maybe. But I liked it when it was just the two of us talking about… whatever we talked about at the time.”

“I can't remember either,” you confessed, and when you looked at him, he had the most amazing desire to laugh, and you both did quietly. “I thought you would have forgotten about all of that.”

He shook his head. “Not that. It makes me who I am.”

You nodded. “I get that. What you said that one time marked me so much, I’ve never cut my hair above my chest since.”

His heart dropped as he forced his swing to stand still, unlike you, who kept a gentle sway. “I’m so sorry!” You nodded but kept your back and forth, your eyes on the floor, and he didn’t know why, but it felt like he was desperately trying to hold onto grains of sand slipping between his fingers. “I should never have said that, and your hair was beautiful back then, as it is now. I was just stupid!”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Like you said, we were kids, and it makes us who we are.”

His expression hardened. “I meant that in a positive way. To think that what you remember most about me is something stupid and harmful I said makes me sick to my stomach.”

“It’s fine,” you repeated, still looking at the floor absentmindedly. “It was painful, but it’s in the past.”

Jungkook didn’t feel like it was okay, much less in the past. Not when he could still see the traces of pain in your eyes or feel in his gut that his fate was sealed. All you’d ever see was the sixteen-year-old boy who needed to deny his feelings because he feared the alternative would block him even more. Who, by saying whatever stupid thing that came to mind, had inflicted a wound instead of being the one who looked after you. No wonder you hated him. He hadn’t just left; he had actively made you feel less even when you meant the world to him.

“Would you do anything different if you could?”

Your voice was gentle and reflective, and he pushed away the tears. “Definitely. Miscommunications can happen at all ages, but it wouldn’t have happened like this if I had asked to talk to you directly. If we had talked, everything would have been easier for both of us. But I think it could have also been harder for you. Because the distance would always be there, and it took me way too long to figure out how much you meant to me.”

“Maybe… Well… It wasn’t meant to be. You’re right, you’re always in Seoul. We would have drifted apart anyway.”

“Maybe not… that wouldn’t happen with the right person, right?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not sure. It was different then. Our lives were different and our worlds were small. It’s all different now.”

Somehow, your words didn’t make him feel any better, even while implying that you might have been the right person for him once. Because it also implied that he had missed that window. He had missed the opportunity to have you in his life, to be with you, to be the one who made you feel pretty and special.

He sighed. “You still haven't told me what you've been up to,” he hinted, deciding a lighter topic would be best for his heart. “It's unfair, you know about me.”

He said it payfully, and you chuckled. “Who doesn't? I tried to stay away, but you're everywhere.”

“Yeah, I… get it.”

You glanced at him, and fortunately, your expression was light. “I've become an interpreter and a translator. I’m mostly connected with the tourism department of Busan, but I also consult for other institutions.”

His eyes widened. He would have never guessed.

“Your concert really gave me a lot of work,” you teased, giving him a look, and he instantly bowed.

“Thank you for your hard work.”

You bowed back. “Thank you for doing this event in Busan.”

He had to grin after a few more head bows back and forth as though they were competing for who would bow last. “You've become great at something I struggle with.”

You raised your eyebrows. “English?” He nodded and saw the surprise on your face. Yet you quickly smirked. “And you? I sing horribly.”

He grinned. “You were never easy on the ears…”

You kicked his foot, and he chuckled, his grin bigger than ever.

“But that's okay,” he assured. “I sing enough for us both.”

Your smile faltered ever so slightly, and so did his.

“What about Yoon Jiryun?” he asked, changing the subject. “Did you guys see each other after high school?”

“No, he studied computer science in Seoul and got married last year.”

“Woah!”

“Yeah, I don't know how he did it,” you voiced incredulously, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I mean, getting married is expensive. The families turn the women into slaves, then they expect kids, but it's so competitive and—” You realized you were rambling. “Ah, whatever. Even dating… It's hard enough as it is.”

Jungkook was listening carefully, trying not to give away how interested he was in hearing your thoughts. “Maybe he just found the right person.”

“Yeah, I think he did,” you mused. “Did you?”

“Me? Nah. With what time?” He shook his head with a smile. “I'm taking time off now, but I want to focus on myself and my family for a bit. On my friends, too.”

You stopped your gentle swinging and eyed him. “Doesn't it get lonely?”

“It does,” he admitted, stopping his back and forth to talk while looking directly at you. “I'll tell you a secret: it's like a vice. The highs are amazing, nothing feels close. But the lows are… soul-crushing. The lowest low. The silence and the absence are deadly.”

Your brow furrowed. “But you can connect with your fans all the time.”

He shook his head firmly. “It's not healthy. Life can't be lived through a camera or a screen. Disconnecting is important. I struggled with that in the beginning, but now… I'm living every day doing my best.”

“That's good, I'm happy for you.”

Your tone was soft and your eyes sincere, and his stomach felt fuzzy again. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that break would start or even imply a chance to reconnect with you, but he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Yet as you looked away again, he licked his lip ring absentmindedly as he realized there was still one thing he didn’t know.

“Have you? Found the right person?”

You chortled openly. “Nope! I'm starting to think they don't exist, but it's fine.”

“What?! Why?”

You shrugged, too focused on scrunching up your nose while you thought of a reply to notice how agitated he had become, tapping his foot and nibbling his lip.

“I tried too long and now I think I'm just fatigued.”

His foot stopped as his voice became gentle. “What was the problem?”

“The entitlement, or the need to be controlling, or the ‘man’,” you air quoted. It was as though you had a list on the tip of your tongue. “Dating doesn't mean you can boss me around. Oh and the god-awful sex.”

He didn’t realize the way his eyes widened, but you noticed the silence and looked at him. Your features contorted to hold back laughter, but in a second, you were both laughing quietly.

“What was worse,” you laughed. “Was the men trying to convince me it's good when it's just— ah shit, just— yeah, you get it.”

The way you both laughed and were at ease talking about it made him feel like you were back to the old days when you could talk about anything. When nothing could go wrong, and he could just be himself.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Well, some of it must have been good.”

You sighed. “Sure. It can't all be bad.” You looked up at the night sky. “I guess I just remember the bad now.”

His eyes betrayed him and quickly took you in from head to toe while you weren’t looking. Then, he looked ahead as he tried to sound nonchalant and pretend he wasn’t curious or attracted to you. “I'm sure it will get better.”

You scoffed and glanced at him. “Yeah, sure.”

He could only nibble his lip ring while stifling the promises he would have made in a heartbeat if he didn’t believe that would make you slap him across the face and never speak to him again.

“Can I ask about what you meant earlier?” he asked casually. “You said there were things you wanted us to do together, but you didn’t have the time to talk to me about them.”

You glanced at him as though you could see right through his fake halo. “Stop joking.”

And he was surprised. “I'm not.”

“You're not?”

“No. I have no idea what went through your mind at the time.” 

He was being sincere, yet you still gave him a look and a skeptical huff, and he fiddled with his lip ring.

“But you’re bringing it up right now,” you underlined, eying him so fearlessly his knees were weak. Thankfully, he was sitting.

“I don’t think you meant sex, but—”

“No!! Of course not!” You flustered visibly, blushing and closing your eyes with embarrassment, and he had to bite his lip not to smile widely. “Why would you say that?!”

He shrugged, although by the way you blushed and stirred, he instantly knew the answer. Teasing you was so much more fun than he remembered.

“I guess you have no way of remembering or imagining what a thirteen-year-old girl wonders about,” you acknowledged, then heaved a deep breath. “Well, I thought you were the cutest and coolest boy ever, and that it would have been perfect for our first kiss to be together. It sounds ridiculous now, but yeah.” Your eyes stayed glued to the floor. “Just dating, whatever that meant at the time. Holding hands, kissing, hugging, talking, I don't know.��

He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, yet all he could do was swallow the torrent of heat climbing up his chest. “It doesn't sound ridiculous,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “So that's what you thought at the time…”

“Yeah, it's that phase,” you commented, and for the first time, he wondered if you really felt so casually about seeing him again. “Of entering our teens and becoming adults. For some reason, I was very confident we'd do all those firsts together. Meanwhile, you thought I was a boy.”

“I never thought that!!” he countered instinctively. “I hate that I ever said that. I said whatever came to mind, but I never thought that. Short or long hair, you were always cute and feminine. When I saw that photo of you when you graduated, it hit me hard. How dainty you had become. The same face I’d recognize anywhere, but so much prettier and mature. Seeing you now, it’s one hundred times better. In-person and now as a woman, you're…”

He was finally able to breathe and realize the heat he had swallowed down had just gushed out uncontrollably. 

“Not a boy?”

You had an amused spark in your eyes, and he couldn’t think. “Fuck no.”

You chuckled. “Go figure.”

Finally, he rubbed his face to hide the things that were all too clearly shown there. “I wish it had been different. It's not possible, but I wish I were able to tell you all this at the time.”

“Go back in time and call me through our moms,” you joked, kicking his foot.

“Mom,” he pretended to talk on the phone. “Can you tell Mimi's mom that Mimi looks so pretty now? Someone needs to stay by her side to make sure she's not bothered.”

“Bothered?” you laughed in disbelief, and he smirked.

“Yeah, guys probably won't leave her alone,” he continued, then got up and put his fingers to his ear, pressing a non-existent earpiece. Then, he grabbed your hand and raised his other hand protectively, shielding you from invisible enemies coming from all angles. “No, I need to protect her!” He pretended to struggle, then groaned with his palm to his stomach, raising it while trembling as if it were covered in blood. “No!” He succumbed to his knees while you laughed and shook your head, still holding his hand. “Oh no, they'll kidnap you. Nooo!”

He fell dramatically to the floor, keeping his hand tethered to yours while you laughed quietly. Although his eyes were closed, he gave your hand a slight squeeze to help him up, but you just kept laughing. So instead, he stayed put, listening to you laugh giddily. When he looked up at you from the floor, splayed like a star, he saw you smiling upside down, filling his heart. He couldn’t even describe how complete he felt at that moment.

You stood up from the swing and faced him, raising your free hand to offer help, but he gave you a small shake of his head. Instead, he moved his free arm as though welcoming you to join him. In that split second, he braced for the coldness to return to your features and wash the happiness away. But it didn’t.

You lay down next to him, resting your head on his bicep. He adjusted his arm around you, trying to increase your comfort, only to realize you snuggled up to him seamlessly. You fit in his arms so perfectly that he couldn’t help but embrace you fully.

You hid in his chest, and he let his nose draw closer to the top of your head, letting every little detail relax him. He didn’t remember ever holding you in his arms like this, and he knew he would have never forgotten if he had. To be there with you, alone, breathing you in while your legs tangled with his made him so fuzzy and happy, there was no holding back. There was nothing he wished to keep secret anymore.

“I wish we had our firsts together,” he whispered to the top of your head, and you raised your head to look up at him. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, but you’ll always be that one person.”

His heart felt heavy in his chest as you both observed each other so closely. He knew by the trajectory of your eyes that you were rediscovering his features, from the mole on his nose to the small scar on his cheek. His cheeks warmed under your attentive eyes, even as he tried to take advantage to memorize your face, from the freckles on your nose to your full lips.

But then you looked up at him as his breath caught with the sparkly stars in your eyes.

“Even now?” you whispered, and he had to try hard to remember what you were talking about.

Before he could think, his inked fingers traced your cheek. Your lashes fluttered as you looked at him, with warm cheeks and the sweetest expression that told him everything he needed to know. His eyes fell to your lips.

“Now,” he muttered, leaning in, and your eyelashes fluttered again. “Always… Just right…”

He stopped mumbling in time before his lips pressed to yours, and time stopped. His breath caught as his sole focus became that moment, with you, on the cold rubber mat of the playground, having the only first that mattered.

You took a shaky breath, pressing your palm to his chest as you moved your lips, and he waited. He preferred to follow you, graze and taste your kiss with the same cadence and pressure you used, taking only what you gave him. And it quickly became everything he thought it would be.

Your lips touched tentatively at first, carefully making sure the other wanted this, but quickly things changed. He knew it wasn’t just him free-falling and letting that incoming fever take over because he was following your lead. And you were not shy about following your instincts either.

The first kiss was a touch, the second a delicate brush, the third a firm press, the fourth the first taste, the fifth wet, and finally, it became impossible to count. He was already dizzy with what was happening, but the way you invaded his senses overcame him.  He was eager to drink down every drop of your presence and attention, but he didn’t realize it would come with such force. Your kiss became searing and brazen, unapologetically punishing him for the wait, and his body reacted in a flash.

It took him seconds to ignite for you, burning with a passion that he only ever dreamed possible. And then you pulled away, and everything dawned on him—your kisses weren’t innocent. He wanted you in every way possible, and he’d likely follow you to the end of the world now that he found you again and knew exactly what you tasted like.

But you sat up and faced away from him. “I’m sorry, that was…”

“Don’t say sorry,” he croaked, sitting up behind you. He could tell you were panting; his heart was also racing. “You don’t… You didn’t like it?”

In the silence, he raised his hand to touch you but gave up, fearing invading your space. He thought all he had to do was wait, but in a second, you were getting on your knees to reach your handbag ahead, on the ground, next to the swings.

“Mimi…”

You grabbed your handbag. “Don’t call me that.”

“I’ve always called you that. I gave you that name.”

You froze, still facing away from him. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“No, we’re adults.”

You stayed quiet, but at least you weren’t moving further away. He didn’t even know how he was so calm, but he embraced it.

“So tell me,” he said quietly, hoping you’d turn around to look at him. “Was our kiss just now… weird to you?”

“No.”

His lips curved in the most endearing smile. “That’s a relief.”

You finally faced him. “But we can’t do this.”

Your eyes were big and glazed, and he focused. “Why not?”

“Because… It’s not the same.”

Your voice shook, and he frowned ever so slightly. “The same?”

“It’s not our first…”

“Who cares?!” he blurted out, but he couldn’t help himself. He saw hesitation but also so much more in your eyes that he couldn’t hold back. “Mimi, who cares who our firsts were? Do you care that much about who we’ve kissed before?”

“No!”

“No? You sure?”

“I’m sure!” you confirmed firmly. “It’s not that!”

“Then what is it?”

Your eyes met his, and he saw the moment you realized what you had just said. You admitted — insisted — that the past was not what was bothering you. He could only hope you’d be willing to tell him what the real problem was so he could help you. So he could fix it and never have to let you go.

“I thought—” Your voice wavered, so you whispered, “I thought I was over you.”

He couldn’t help a knowing smile. “Ditto.”

Did you notice you were leaning in again? Did you notice you were looking at him like nothing else existed? Or how you raised a curious yet shy hand to touch him, and he leaned forward, savoring the way you brushed his hair out of his face. When he opened his eyes again, you were much closer, and he had no qualms brushing his hand down your forearm and raising his other hand in an invitation for you to come closer.

Your handbag fell to the ground again as you took his hand, and he pulled you in. The objective was never for you to straddle him, but as soon as you did, his arm wrapped around you possessively. Anyone would have a hard time convincing him to let you go now, not when you were sitting so perfectly on his lap, looking at him like the world was that moment.

“Are we crazy?” you whispered, and his blood ran hot again.

“Maybe.”

His hands held you firmly, almost afraid of losing that moment somehow, yet there was no need to. You pushed forward, crashing your mouth to his, unabashedly picking up where you had left off. He was already not in his right mind, but the moment your tongue pushed through the seam of his lips, he felt his brakes disintegrate. There could be no inhibitions when you were pressing yourself like that to him, breathing heavy, sharing your air, taste, and visceral curiosity. It was too easy to become inebriated, relaxing while burning so intensely, it was hard to explain. It was as though he knew he’d be consumed by the desire, the lust, and the affection in his heart, all with your name so deeply rooted in him, it was more than inked, it was branded. Part of his DNA, his psyche, his soul. And to elevate it all, the way you showed him there was something inside you, too. Something that pushed you to kiss him harder, cup his cheek, and mold your bodies so closely that you ended up pushing him back until he was lying on the ground again.

As you dove into the kiss, the air dissipated from his lungs, and he surrendered completely. Kissing you and absorbing every little detail from the way you breathed or caressed his face was already enough to erase every thought that could try to interrupt that moment. But now, he felt everything. Your weight over him, the warmth, the way your chest expanded against him, letting him catch hints of your form above him. He couldn’t help the hard-on in his pants more than he could help breathing in your perfume between fevered kisses, and it was divine.

He never pushed you or pressed for anything in any way. You'd undoubtedly realize his excitement, but he trusted you not to go further than you were comfortable with. No matter how curious he was to learn and explore every detail about you, he'd gladly kiss you all night long if that was what you wanted.

But he wouldn’t push you away if you wanted more. He sighed when your hands felt the expanse of his shoulders and chest, feeling every inch of his body tingle and react under your touch. His fingers twitched on your waist, eager to feel more, but he reeled it in. One deep breath while your tongue licked against his could have easily flipped his mindset, but he was disciplined enough to stay put.

Until your fingers explored down at his sides, framing his waist until they reached your legs. Realizing your knees were pressing into his sides, you opened your legs further, and his brain turned to goo. Your weight shifted enough for you to sit straight on his hard-on while your fingers eagerly pulled his sweater so you could touch him, and he groaned into your kiss.

It was a visceral, unadulterated sound dripping with desire, and you paused. You pulled away to eye him, looking like sin incarnate with your swollen lips and blown pupils, and he licked his lips.

“Keep going,” he rasped, looking at you hungrily. “Whatever you want.”

You looked down at the hem of his sweater, crumpled in your hands, as he pulled on the fabric to reveal his lower abdomen. Dragging your hands along wasn't enough for you to break away from your hesitation, so he took them. Your eyes were locked with his as your fingers interlaced, making his heart flutter. You dropped your mouth back to his, pressing a chaste kiss, and he closed his eyes. Yes, his heart was singing, but he wanted you to keep going.

So he placed your hands on his lower stomach, instantly shuddering, and not from the night's October cold. Your fingers untangled from his, touching and feeling his warm skin, and he groaned again. This time, he didn't hold back from opening his mouth and searching to deepen your kiss, and his hands returned to your waist, squeezing it firmly.

You took everything he offered, no longer surprised when he groaned as you pressed and scratched lightly over his abs and sides. You reached his chest once, and his breath caught. He couldn’t control his reaction; his dick throbbed under you and he nibbled your lip, so eager to eat you whole he didn't even know how he was holding back. But he knew then you had to know it. You had to feel how hard he was underneath you, and yet you didn't move to the side or pull away. As if you wanted to feel his excitement pressed to you, and it was maddening.

He felt his sanity pushed further when you grabbed his hands and guided him. He held his breath as you dragged his hands to your hips before making way underneath your sweater until you placed them back on your waist, directly on your soft skin.

He could barely breathe, and you knew it. You ghosted his lips the whole time as your eyes stayed locked with his, observing his reaction. He couldn’t think, suddenly absolutely stiff and tense. If he moved and touched you, it would be like jumping off a cliff — wishing the untamed ocean would catch him while he would be completely at a loss.

“Touch me,” you whispered against his lips, and he heard it as both a command and a wish, so he did.

Your skin was so soft and warm, he wondered how it could be so perfect. Your curves instantly turned his legs to goo underneath you, so maddening they were, but something else almost made him choke.

Several times, he palmed your sides from your armpits to the hem of your sweatpants, and there was nothing but soft skin. No elastic, no other fabric, nothing but supple skin.

His eyes met yours again as you kept brushing his lips and skin without properly kissing him, as though you were waiting for something.

“Don't stop,” you whispered, nuzzling him, and he leaped.

His palms moved in, thumbs brushing the side of your chest, and your breath shook. He caressed the sensitive skin, feeling how warm and inviting it was, and as he did, you melted over him. You kissed him, then turned to the side to breathe, then pressed his lips again, then had to part them to moan softly, and by the time he realized what was happening, you were both too far gone.

You were moving over him at the cadence of his hands, and it felt too good for both of you. You rocked your hips as slowly as his hands, savoring every millimeter his fingers explored of your breasts little by little while you pressed your core to his hard cock. It was incredibly worth it to do it slowly and feel you falling apart over him, cracking his control as yours dissipated as well. The tension was so sweet and sublime, he let it develop to the last second. Brushing his fingers ever so slightly over your breasts without ever forming a hold. At least until you whimpered. 

Then, he cupped your breasts in his hands and squeezed, and you moaned, grinding on his erection so perfectly, he throbbed. He did it again and again, reveling in the way you reacted and gave back to him. Until you hid in his neck to moan your pleasure, and he bit down on your exposed neck, rutting into you unapologetically.

You were just perfect. The sounds you breathed drove his sanity away, but the way you felt over him made him want to get lost in you. He was crazy, both about feeling you and driving you just as crazy, and for a moment, he thought it would work. He was teasing your nipples while groping your tits harshly, arriving at that point by the way you moaned and humped him harder with every touch in the right direction. He was listening to you attentively, so turned on by your excitement, he wondered if he could cum like this if you did.

But then you relented, stopping your hips despite the way you were moaning and breathing into his ear, messing him up. 

His instincts roared, and he rolled over you, letting you stay hidden in his neck. Then he humped sharply into you to elicit that strong reaction out of you again and there it was, that sweet breathless moan in his ear. Your hands found their way to his lower back under his sweater, and the slightest push was enough to unleash him. He hid in your neck to suckle your skin while humping your core and squeezing your tits in his hands. Everything heated him unbearably, melting away any thoughts before they could form. Yet as you moaned into his ear and sank your nails into his lower back, moving with him, he pulled away to look at you. He was suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity — what did you look like at his exact moment?

His cock throbbed so painfully he had to slow down, making you whimper and open your eyes. It made it even worse, and he bit his lip to simmer down. Just seconds before, you were breathing heavily with your lips parted, shuddering underneath him. He could still feel your heart racing under his hands as your tongue peeked out to lick your lips, and he dove in.

He was fully inebriated, wholly converted, and ready to learn everything about you from A to Z. What he had learned so far was not enough; he couldn't stop now.

You tapped his back, and he let you breathe, pecking your cheek instead.

You rasped, “Everyone can see us.”

He raised his head to look at you, his heart pumping loudly. You didn't say stop, no, or that you should end it there. Your eyes showed as much desire as he felt drumming in his veins, and he kissed you hard. You wanted to be with him, and if he had somewhere to take you, he wouldn't have hesitated for a second.

He couldn’t take you to his parents' place as it stood. So he guided your legs to lock behind him. “Hang on.”

Once he was sure you could hold, he rose to his knees and crawled into the tunnel you had been hiding in earlier. When he laid you down gently, you giggled and instantly covered your mouth. He had to chuckle at the way you blushed, surprised by the echo.

“Don't you remember when we'd shout from one end to the other, pretending to be pirates and thieves?”

Your eyes crinkled. “It's a miracle we were never caught and grounded.”

He let his body fall to yours gently. “It's because there's nobody around at this hour.”

He pecked the tip of your nose, and you smiled, happily still holding onto him. It made him pause. He just looked at you, relishing that closeness and singular moment with none other than you. He couldn't see you as well, now hidden from the streetlights, but he could still distinguish the lines of your smile. You looked happy. He had to wonder if it was all a dream.

Your legs stayed laced around him, and as he felt the outlines of your body underneath him, he was reminded of just how turned on he was. His cock was so hard and swollen, and after humping you so crazily, his clothes were pressing on it uncomfortably.

He supported himself on one hand, feeling the tight tunnel frame his shoulders as he used his free hand to adjust his dick. His head was completely elsewhere, locked on how he’d touch you again under your sweater as soon as humanly possible, when he felt your hand over his.

His thoughts collapsed in on themselves as you looked up at him and followed his hand to his hard-on. His breath caught when you didn’t just feel around, but purposefully found his length.

“May I?”

His brain had to do backflips to articulate a simple, Yeah.

Worse than feeling like he was drooling all over you and unable to attach two words together was the way you looked at him. The more his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the more he saw the look on your face — of someone who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to get it. It made him weak in the knees before your hand had the chance to grab his hard length.

You squeezed him over his sweatpants, learning the outline of his dick before moving beyond his hand and burrowing inside. He had no time to process, only to catch himself before he collapsed on top of you. He couldn’t stop a deep groan, nor the precum from spilling over your hand, but there was no hiding it, not at this stage. Not when your fingers wrapped around him and felt him from base to tip, and not just once or twice.

He opened his eyes to look at you, and you almost blew him away. You weren’t just sure you wanted to touch him; you had the most confident and sexy look on your face. Like you knew what you were doing to him and wanted exactly that to happen. Like you intended for his toes to curl as he stopped himself from rutting into your hand and kissing you desperately as he spilled all over you.

He had given up on stifling his groans or heavy breathing; the way you seemed to delightedly observe every reaction only made him more beside himself. He wanted you to look at him and want him as crazily as he wanted you, but he also didn’t want to cum in two minutes.

His eyes flickered down to your stomach, and you whispered, “You can pull it up.”

He met your eyes and supported himself on both his hands, pressing his thumbs to distract himself from your hand jerking him off steadily and perfectly. “No,” he muttered, then tried again. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

You definitely knew what you were doing when you used your free hand to pull your sweater so far up on one side that your breast showed. It was enough for him to groan and almost try to escape your hand, because it was too good. You felt too good and looked too perfect, and his instinct won again. In a split second, he wasn’t just looking at the outline of your chest, trying to learn all the details in the dark, but diving in with his mouth latching onto a nipple he had teased relentlessly before.

You threw your head back and moaned, and his hand darted to stop yours. You couldn’t have known how close he was to blowing, especially as he didn’t relent from licking and nibbling on your perked nipple. He couldn’t help himself, especially when you grabbed his hair and moaned softly like that.

The moment you moaned his name, his eyes closed as he felt it in his entire body. He’d never forget that sound.

“Can you multitask?”

He opened his eyes, so utterly dazed he couldn’t have heard you. “What?”

“Can you touch me, too?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him, and he realized what you meant.

Your legs had loosened their hold around him, but were still open under him, molding to him in the perfect position for him to sink deeply into you.

He shook those thoughts away. “If you let me, I’d love to.”

You were quick to make space for him beside you while he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. He used to think it was unlikely that he’d ever meet you again. But now, not only were you kissing, but you were touching each other in ways that crossed lines like they were meant to be erased. Asserting what he instinctively knew but was never able to act upon.

He lay next to you, noticing how you adjusted to still be comfortable while you held onto his dick. Not that you had let it go, but at least you seemed okay with waiting for him to be comfortable before you restarted your strokes.

But first, he needed to touch you and brace himself for it. This was such an important moment that his heart started racing inside his chest. Not just because you were letting him touch you, but because of everything it meant. You trusted him, you wanted him, you had expectations that he could make you feel good, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to do exactly that while stressing like hell that he’d do everything wrong.

His hand moved in the dark, trembling, to find you, and it did. Your legs opened further as his palm settled on your inner thigh, firm and warm, and he opened his eyes. Instantly, he knew he was fucked and blessed. The streetlights somehow managed to shine on you, giving him a view he had only ever dared to dream of — you, lying next to him, with your sweater raised, exposing one side of you, stomach to breast, while one of your legs was open with his inked hand resting on it.

He was probably drooling, and once his eyes met yours, he guessed you knew.

“Please,” you breathed, and the back of his neck burned. Your eyes were hungry as you moved your hips ever so slightly, and he didn’t want to keep you waiting.

Still, his hand darted to your nipple first, pinching it softly. His dick throbbed in your hand as you moaned, and one glance was enough to know his next step. He brushed his fingers gently down your chest to your stomach on a sure path to where you wanted him, and in a second, his hand slipped inside your pants.

His eyes focused on you as your wetness guided him, and although he tried not to be rough, his fingers slipped. You instantly gasped and let your head fall back, and his curiosity became untamable. His fingers brushed up and down along your folds, a feather touch opposed to the first contact with your sensitive clit, but you enjoyed it. You squirmed ever so slightly, giving him even more space to touch you however he pleased, and he did.

He took in the way his hand disappeared inside your pants in the same way yours disappeared inside his, both stroking at a slow, exploratory rhythm. While you kept a firm, steady hand from head to base, almost as if not to distract him, he kept focused on your little eyelash flutters and gasps as he discovered every inch of you.

Despite your quiet whimpers, he retreated to your thighs, determined not to leave a single stone unturned. Only when your hand around his dick became impatient did he move back up and touched your slit again, having to close his eyes with how much wetter you were, if that was even possible. 

Your whimpering moans caught him by surprise, and as you breathed heavily, he focused. You weren’t a dream or a fantasy; you were so very real, and he wanted you to enjoy every second with him.

“Tell me how,” he asked gently, grazing over your clit without staying there.

“You don’t know?” You were breathlessly surprised, and he chuckled.

“I don't know how you like it.”

You matched his smile as your hand slowed down around his length. He took that as a positive reaction — you wanted this to last, and so did he.

You bit your lip and turned your face closer to his, whispering, “Can you do it slowly in big circles?”

He instantly changed his touch to match your request, and your reaction was almost instantaneous. Your hips moved against his fingers, and in seconds, you were biting your lip, stifling your moans. He found it curious that you reacted so strongly to such a simple touch, but he knew it was more than that. Your hips were adding to the feeling, not to mention you had to be turned on by his hard dick in your hand. Being half-naked in a public playground might have also contributed, though he wasn’t thinking about any of those details right now. For him, what mattered was how much wetter you were, trying not to squirm under his touch.

“A bit harder,” you breathed, looking at him, and he nibbled his lip ring.

He did as you asked, pressing more firmly, noticing how he wouldn’t touch your clit directly unless when you wanted him to, and you controlled this by moving your hips. He was getting you off under your rules and by the way you were breathing and pumping his cock, he knew you were almost there. He himself would have been cumming soon if not for the fact that he wanted to learn every single detail about you while you felt like this.

Your chest heaved harder as your hand slid alongside his length perfectly, yet your eyes closed as you tried to hide. You turned your face down, bringing it closer to him. He pecked your forehead as you squirmed under his hand, stifling your moans, until you seemed to change your mind. You pressed your lips feverishly to his and he had to redouble his effort to not change the rhythm for you, sliding perfectly around your wet entrance and brushing your clit just like you liked it, again and again, until you gasped.

Your back arched violently, breaking apart your kiss, and letting him see everything as you climaxed. How you moaned softly, letting it echo around you two, as you trembled. Your hips slowed down, and so did his fingers, able to feel your clenching hole enticing the hard dick still in your hand that you were squeezing hard. Fortunately, not hard enough to hurt, but surely enough for you to know how ready he was to feel you closely. Not that he would, but not that he could help thinking about it now that he could imagine how you’d feel cumming around him.

Your whole body relaxed next to him as your hand lost its strength, and he understood. All the sexual tension was gone for you. He brought his lips to your forehead, pecking you as his hand slipped from your pants, hoping you wouldn’t feel pressured to continue. Because if it were up to him, he’d be begging for more, but he hoped you were comfortable enough to do as you pleased. 

You raised your head to meet his lips in a languid kiss, and that intimacy swayed him. He was ready to kiss you until the sun dawned, but you were quick to wrap your fingers firmly around him again, and with a renewed intent this time.

He opened his eyes, meaning to pull away and ask you if you really wanted to continue, but your gaze made his breath catch. You didn’t want to just get him off; you were in charge of the way his pleasure developed, and it brought him straight back to the thick of it.

You were very close to each other, but no longer kissing, so he did something out of instinct — he brought his fingers, still covered in your slick, to his mouth. A small part of him feared he’d weird you out, but somehow he knew you were on the same wavelength.

He groaned with your taste, throbbing in your hand, turned on beyond belief, and your reaction was to pull his hand away and dive in tongue first into his mouth. You both moaned into the kiss, and Jungkook was so beside himself, he didn’t last a minute with you assaulting his mouth like that. It was too much on top of your hand squeezing around the tip of his cock, edging him for all the precum he possibly he had. 

He had to break your kiss apart. You were perfect for him, but— “I’ll cum.”

You smirked. “I hope so, I want to taste you, too.”

Every word sparked him, and looking into your eyes, he was certain you had thought of him before. At least once. In all those years, you had thought of doing this with him before, and it was the straw that broke the camel's back. He wrapped his hand around yours, squeezing your fingers into a fist, and spilled.

Instantly, warm spurts of cum had nowhere to go but to drip in between your fingers, but you didn’t shy away. You pumped him for all he was worth, making him groan and squirm as he held you while you emptied him.

As soon as he was spent, his first instinct was to search for your kiss. Not consuming, not searing, just calming and soothing like the sigh that escaped his lips. Then, he let go of your hand and fell back, ready to bask in that peace when he noticed out the corner of his eye that you took your hand still dripping with his cum to your mouth and licked it.

You closed your eyes, savoring it, and he groaned, so euphoric at that moment, he couldn’t describe it. He rose from the ground to kiss you again, temporarily overriding that newfound peace with his inextinguishable desire for you, until you squirmed and chuckled.

His cum was dripping down your wrist into your sweater and you quickly pulled on your sleeve. “Wait.”

You crawled back out of the tunnel to reach your handbag, and he lay back, relaxedly, letting what just happened wash over him. You two together felt amazing, and it was no longer a fantasy or a dream of his teenage years. He didn’t have to imagine that the two of you would work out together; you just did. 

You sat down at the entrance of the tunnel next to his knees and passed him a tissue so he could clean his hand, which he did absentmindedly as he waited for you to join him again. He didn’t know what the future held, but he’d start by holding you and go from there.

Except you weren’t back yet, so he looked at his feet again. He could see your calves, immediately noticing that you were standing at the tunnel entrance with your handbag nowhere in sight.

“Mimi?”

“I need to go.”

You instantly rushed away out of sight, and he sat up instinctively, hitting his head so hard that the whole plastic tunnel resonated. He rubbed his head as he tried to crawl outside, and when he finally managed to stand up, you were nowhere in sight. 

He quickly shook off the dizziness and ran back to where both your parents lived. He didn’t understand why you would just leave like that, but above all things, he didn’t want any misunderstandings.

When he got on the right street, he ran through your mother’s garden all the way to the front door and raised his hand, but stopped before he knocked. If he did, he’d wake up your parents, and that would create more problems. 

So he nibbled on his lip ring and walked away, throwing your parents’ place a couple of glances before making his way to his parents’. You were safe there, and he knew just where to find you in the morning.

Next Part >

[keferon]

I just want this fic to be here too👍 Part 1? Eh

_____________

“He's stalking his selebrity crush.”

“That's not stalking!” resents Swerve ”I'm just worried.”

Rewind makes a gesture that looks vaguely apologetic and looks at Tailgate again.

“Watching. He's watching his superhero selebrity crush who's a member of the Wreckers. And so far no one's survived long in the Wreckers, so he's shaking on every notification like a crazy mom.”

Tailgate tries to peer sideways into Swerve's phone

“That sounds stressful. Is that him? Is he dying?”

_____________

Blurr/Swerve, Superhero au, fic under the cut⤵️ Heavily inspired/based on this post

Blurr doesn't think life and death is something he can control.

He's about 99.99999% sure.

The remaining microscopic fraction of that idiotic statistic is held in place by one small but important factor that Blurr can't explain and isn't sure he even wants to explain. It's like the dream logic. The moment you realize exactly how things work is also the moment you wake up to realize it.

The very nuance understanding which destroys all magic or reveals the fact that magic never existed.

That nuance?

Blurr can't die.

And it's certainly not because he's not trying hard enough.

That last one sounds a little radical. But he has a history. His team has a history.

“Wreckers is a pretty peculiar collection of superheroes. It's easy to get into and even easier to get out of (usually feet first and in a bag). No other hero organization loses so many people so often. No other hero organization can also handle the level of threats that the Wreckers eliminate.

Their fans affectionately refer to them as the Suicide Squad. There is...a lot of black humor among the Wreckers fanbase and Blurr doesn't condemn it. Not after having to memorize new names and faces of teammates every six months.

The thing is.

He probably should have been dead a long time ago. A lot. A lot of “that was close” ago.

Just two days after joining the Wreckers, he found himself in the middle of an absolutely monstrous fire and miraculously escaped death by getting away just moments before the entire building collapsed on his head.

Only a week after that, he gets shot. Fifteen times.

And. Look.

Blurr is fast! Being fast is kind of his main thing as a speedster. He did the only logical thing and made an honest effort to dodge, but three of those fifteen bullets still ended up inside him and only miraculously didn't hit anything that couldn't be repaired.

Half a year later, a car falls on him.

Another month - some freaking supervillain decides to infect an entire country with a homemade super lethal virus and guess who becomes the only victim.

At least once a month, various psychopaths try to break his legs.

At least once every half a year he ends up being the one who “heroically saved all the hostages but didn't have time to save himself”.

It's like an endless stream of negative karma.

It's really amazing how such a small piece of civilization like Iacon can contain so many disasters. Even more amazing perhaps is how people manage to survive through all this neat smoothie of misery and violence.

Earthquakes, villains, villains, more villains, terrorists, natural disasters, monsters from outer space, and it all comes out of nowhere and it all takes a hundred percent effort to pack Blurr in a coffin.

Blurr... doesn't know why he's still alive.

He honestly has no idea how he's doing it. He may get into life-and-death situations more often than he does haircuts but every time things come within an inch of killing him. It's impossible luck. Statistically improbable chance. One-in-a-thousand odds. A fucking lightning caught in a bottle, but it happens so often it's like someone somewhere in heaven decided to open a bottled lightning factory and then reward Blurr with the title of their honorary loyal customer.

Blurr doesn't think he has power over life and death.

But here's the thing.

On some particularly violent nights, he wonders that maybe...

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

Sometimes Swerve thinks being a dedicated fan should be on the list of “unhealthy” high-paying jobs. One of those where they give you extra cash for the fact that you even bother to show up and then give you insurance and paid vacations.

Okay, that last one might be a bit of an overkill, but it would be nice if he at least had an endless supply of sedatives.

At least some chamomile. Preferably not from the sidewalk. He's not picky.

See, their world decided to change the rules of existence not too long ago and turned such a trivial thing as “trust” into a new in-game currency.

Simply put. If enough people believe something, it becomes true.

What has society chosen to do with that? Of course create an absolutely insane cult of celebrity worship, essentially giving a bunch of already rich and beautiful people superpowers as well.

As if they weren't already living luxuriously enough!

Swerve is not jealous. Certainly not. His first thought when he found out about the new “rules” was definitely not to tell everyone he knows that he won a million dollars and wait for the power of belief to make it true.

He surely wasn't trying to do that. Anyone who claims otherwise is either a liar or their name starts with a T and ends with Gate.

Speaking of.....

Tailgate scratches the back of his head puzzled.

“So you didn't actually win a million dollars?”

They are sitting in a small cafe, the name of which Swerve has honestly forgotten. Or rather he never memorized it, because the local owner of the place prefers to hang huge posters with superheroes right above the name. Swerve is a rather controllable customer.....

Rewind, sitting at the same cheap plastic table as them, hums.

“And here I was trying to figure out if your holey slippers were a cry for help or one of those crazy expensive 'fancy' designs.”

“Ha. ha.” says Swerve slowly and deliberately unhappily “If I get rich one day, I won't tell any of you.”

He slowly takes a sip of some obscure looking substance that Rewind ordered for them all as an experiment and turns to Tailgate.

“Look, it's a pretty fun system. Things that people believe in strongly enough - become real. So if uh, if uh, if we as a whole country believe that our government is honest - that will, in theory, make it honest. Or if a hundred thousand people genuinely believe you can fly, you will be able to fly. That's how it works now.”

Tailgate stares at him. With very large, puzzled eyes.

Swerve tries not to laugh too hard. Poor Tailgate had once gone off to explore the caves and somehow, by some incredible means, managed to get lost and stuck in them for two whole months. Then he crawled out and discovered that magic had appeared in the world while he was gone. Swerve thinks that if he were Tailgate, he'd look very stupid too, trying to realize the absurdity of the situation.

Tailgate is toying with his curled straw.

“So is the government honest now?”

Rewind makes a loud “snrk” noise into his cup.

Swerve chuckles. Not as “funny” haha but more like “we fucked it all up” haha.

It shouldn't be possible to fit all the sense of doom from the world's level of damnation into one expression, but he confidently goes for it.

“GOD NO, did you ever believe that government could be honest?”

“Well...now that's just sad...” decides Tailgate ‘Something good was supposed to come out of this, right?”

Rewind raises a finger victoriously.

“Oh! There are no more incurable diseases! The placebo effect is the new big thing now that a bunch of people have gotten the ability to cure any illness at the snap of their fingers.”

Swerve nods, dangling his drink in his hands.

“There was a guy who claimed he had magic hands that cured everything and gathered a crowd of fanatical admirers around him. So...now his hands are really magic because his followers believe it. Crazy stuff...”

Tailgate puts his elbows on the table, propping his head up with his hands.

“So if I tell everyone I won a million dollars.....”

“I recommend--” Rewind waves his cup “...first make sure you're not wearing holey slippers.”

“Аh”

“That, and you'll need at least about a million people loving and supporting you wholeheartedly if you want this to work.”

“That's...a lot of people,” Tailgate groans.

Swerve shrugs

“That's why all the really cool stuff only goes to celebrities.”

_____

Tailgate cranes his neck curiously.

“Hey Swerve, while you went to place your order your phone started buzzing.”

Swerve falls back into his seat as fast as if he'd just decided the entire floor was lava and starts scrolling through notifications, cursing at spam and useless newsletters.

“When??”

“Just a couple minutes ago” shrugs Tailgate ”Are you expecting someone?”

“I'M...OH NO NO I'M JUST. Shit, wait a minute.”

Rewind leans over to Tailgate and smiles deviously, not even trying to pretend to whisper.

“He's stalking his selebrity crush.”

“That's not stalking!” resents Swerve ”I'm just worried.”

Rewind makes a gesture that looks vaguely apologetic and looks at Tailgate again.

“' Watching. He's watching his superhero selebrity crush who's a member of the Wreckers. And so far no one's survived long in the Wreckers, so he's shaking on every notification like a crazy mom.”

Tailgate tries to peer sideways into Swerve's phone

“That sounds stressful. Is that him? Is he dying?”

Swerve slides down the back of his chair slightly and tilts the phone toward Tailgate

“No, it's not him. He's the one in the blue suit on the left. And no, he's not dying. That bastard is impossible to kill.”

Tailgate lets out an understanding “ooh.”

“Although,” Swerve admits, “ Following him was a lot easier when he was driving cars instead of saving the world.”

He's been a Blurr fan for so long that it can probably be put on his resume already. He remembers watching the Iacon 5000 race with friends with Rewind starting to joke about how they should all bet on someone brand new this year. To fuel the fun, they sat down to pick candidates to bet on based solely on the color of their cars.

Swerve then poked his finger at a random bright blue car and said he'd bet on it because “blue is a fast color.”

Later, his friends would joke more than once that Swerve had the gift of prophecy that day. Because blue wasn't just fast. Oh, God. No. Blue turned out to be the absolute leader, dominating the race track from start to finish.

Swerve remembers vividly the first time he looked at a racer getting out of that car and thought “who the hell is that” and then immediately “how do I find his socials”.

The answer to the second question came quickly. The answer to the first...well. The guy, Blurr, soon turned out to be a faceless celebrity. Shining at numerous races, but never showing his face. Swerve highly doubts it's due to shyness, given...some character traits. (Swerve has a running theory, which is that ...Blurr has no shame. Even as a concept.) Probably just to keep his life anonymous and quiet, he believes.

It's understandable.

He's not judging. But he has to admit that a billion fanarts on what a face under a racing helmet could look like in theory...really...fuels his fantasy.

He's a very normal and sane fan. He tries very hard to be a normal fan and he's doing a great job at it. Maybe except for those moments when Blurr gets into another car accident. Lots of them. Lots and lots of bloody accidents actually and Swerve at first catches a micro heart attack every time he sees the news, but eventually he gets used to it. Blurr is incredibly resilient. And just as rich as well.

Swerve is used to hearing updates about another incident and then seeing Blurr back in the race a couple months later. Just as energetic, carefree, and frankly . Really handsome. As if nothing had happened. As if any danger would just bounce off him without leaving a dent.

It was familiar. It was habitual.

Until, of course, the universe started handing out faith magic to people. Until Blurr walked up to this imaginary box of lottery numbers and pulled out a ball that said “congratulations you're lucky now go and fucking die.”

Blurr is a racer. A damn good racer. Incredibly popular too. Of course his many fans who adore him beyond measure gave him a superpower.

Of course that power was speed.

Of course.

Blue is the color of speed. What else.

As a racer, Blurr is undefeatable.

As a superhero, ..

Swerve still thinks this guy is impossible to kill, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get worried every time he sees the news headlines and live feeds.

“You're alive” Springer states ”Literally how are you still alive?”

Blurr tilts his head because it's the only part of his body he can still move while trapped under ten tons of mangled steel from a Decepticon flying base falling out of the sky.

“Hello to you, too.”

Springer tentatively pulls the nearest sheet of metal and hums in satisfaction when he feels the structure is stable enough.

“Bleeding? Fractures?”

“I think my hair's ruined.”

“No one can even see your hair.”

“Doesn't mean I shouldn't care about it,” snorts Blurr

Springer tosses aside another piece of metal and reaches for his earpiece

“Smoke...? Nah...no really.....REALLY. ....No, you're not going to believe this. ......Aha, digging him out.” he looks away from the earpiece and leans over Blurr ‘Smokescreen wanted me to tell you that he's impressed and,... I quote ’personally saw that damn wagon fall right on your head'. He also wants to know if he needs to shoo away the paparazzi.”

Blurr tries to shrug but remembers in time that it's best not to fidget too much.

“Tell him I'll need a new suit. Let him keep everyone, I'm fine.”

“Literally...like...” barely audibly mutters Springer. “Like.h ow..”

Blurr smiles “My guardian angel is working overtime.”

Swerve takes a deep, nervous exhale, unhooking his fingers from the phone on which he's watching the live feed. Ah shit. Okay. Okay. Alive. Fine.

Rewind looks over his shoulder.

“Looking out for your pookie?”

“HE'S NOT MY

__________

Smokescreen stops right in the middle of an inspired argument with the advertisement agent when his side vision registers a flash of blue to the right of the entirely destroyed street.

“Blurr??”

“Oh, hey!” waves Blurr, “'Sup Smoke?”

The crumbled asphalt beneath his feet crunches softly. Just a few minutes ago, this street was a complete mayhem....

Smokescreen waves the clipboard in his direction

“I thought you had your head ripped off, you suicidal son of a bitch! Do you know how hard it was to calm your hysterical fans down??”

Blurr knows no one can see his face but rolls his eyes anyway. Almost immediately his brain tells him that this was a bad idea, sending a whole bunch of black spots in front of his eyes.

“Hey, you're getting paid for th...ugh...this.”

Blurr doesn't elaborate on the fact that he was sure he was going to be left headless today as well. One of the Overlord's freaking monster minions grabbed him and for a split second Blurr could swear he heard his own neck crunch.

He tries not to think about it.

The more he thinks about it, the less sense it will make.

The more he analyzes, the louder becomes the voice in the far corner of his head saying he should have been dead a long time ago.

A week ago when an entire air base fell on him. Three weeks ago during the battle with Menasor that practically broke his spine. Even earlier, when he was so busy evacuating hospital staff that he ended up being the only one present when that hospital exploded.

He's afraid that if he starts looking into the causes, this magical effect..this life-saving placebo will disappear.

He's convinced it's a placebo. It's the way this world works.

Someone out there must be doing some complex mental magic, keeping him more or less alive and whole and...Blurr is probably going a little crazy. Probably.

Maybe one of those many blows got him harder than he thought. Maybe it's his own self-confidence manifesting miracles of salvation one after another.

(It actually...doesn't sound that unbelievable. Blurr has a lot of belief in himself. Many people would say even too much. The question is whether it counts.)

(He prefers to think it counts.)

__________

Swerve sees red. Lots of it. LOTS of red.

More than he ever wanted to see in his life.

Uh-oh. That's not good.

His vision is blurring. His head buzzes with a nasty sharp static and his left shoulder hurts like a BITCH.

Above him is the flickering, faltering light of the bulb and below him is a growing puddle of his blood. His hair is wet and sticking to his face, making it hard to focus his already shaky gaze.

He makes an attempt to shift, but all it brings him is an explosion of pain.

Ugh.

Sirens are blaring outside, warning the public to evacuate. He's not really sure he can make out exactly what the sound is announcing. He has memorized all kinds of emergency alerts, but the thought escapes him.

What was it

Oh, yeah.

He's been shot.

He's been shot and he's probably going to die because everyone he knows is either too far away or busy evacuating. He vaguely hopes they'll remember about him.

Maybe only after getting to a safe place, but he'll take even that.

The red around him is getting bigger.

He tries to reach for his phone to...where is his phone? Did he leave it in the kitchen? He probably did. Swerve seemed to have no time to grab it when the entire building shook and ugly semi-mechanical monsters fell from the sky.

One of these monsters noticed Swerve just moments later and activated something resembling a cannon mounted in his hands. Swerve then looked at the glowing muzzle and thought that firing this thing would probably send his atoms so far away that his dna would be found on the moon. He could stick his hand down that gun barrel. And his hands are far from the smallest and most delicate hands you can find.

Why did this have to happen on a Saturday? Why not a day later or earlier? If it were any other day, Swerve would be at work right now. In a different place, with other people and probably with a much better chance of not being killed like a loser.

Not sure he wouldn't have been shot, but at least someone would have seen this and picked him up off the floor, put him in their pocket and taken him to the rescue.

Ugh.

He realizes that he closed his eyes at some point and hurriedly opens them. His expertise is by no means professional, but he is almost certain that that weapon wasn't ordinary. He has no idea what it means for him. Maybe he needs stitches, painkillers and a kiss and he'll be good as new. Or maybe it's like one of those films where you get hurt by an unknown creature and then you grab the sink in front of the mirror at midnight and watch the veins under your skin move on their own.

He doesn't feel shot, as silly as that sounds. He feels numb. Falling. Farther and farther away.

He is falling and falling as deep as he's ever fallen in his life. Maybe not as far as "got lost in the woods" far. No, more like " a coin dropped behind the fridge" far. It's not really about the distance but more about the feeling that he's never going to get out of here because no one ever looks in here.

He’s falling until the state of falling starts to register as a resting point, because that's the only variable he still feels. This corner he falls into is very deep and dark and dusty.

He doesn't remember to open his eyes again.

___________

Smokescreen sounds frankly hysterical, yelling at Blurr through his earpiece.

“I understand you like to show off, but you can't outrun a freaking tsunami?!?!”

Blurr only speeds up, “Watch."

“You cocky IDIOT this is suicide!”

“Relax Smoke” laughs Blurr ”You say that every time.”

The half-destroyed bridge shakes and sways like a wounded animal as the water from the overrunning sea crashes into it, gouging into the concrete and bending the metal.

The whole scene is...depressing. Water and debris everywhere and damn. This isn't the first time Blurr is witnessing a large-scale attack by the "forces of evil" as the hero agency likes to call them, but looking at the wrecked cars and scattered debris doesn't get any easier with time. Maybe it just hasn't been long enough. Who knows.

Springer doesn't look like he is bothered by it. But Springer also has a lot more experience being a superhero. With his skill at giving out smiles and encouragement in absolutely any situation, not many can compete.

Blurr certainly can't. In fact. He's got a face with subtitles that turn on in almost any stressful situation. Wearing a mask is probably one of the best things he can do to calm down any random civilians waiting for him to save the day. If they can't see him making panicked grimacing eyes, they'll be feeling much better.

A few more seconds and he's on the collapsing bridge. The people stuck on it look hysterical and bruised, but no one seems injured, so it shouldn't be difficult.

Blurr's plan is simple. Get all the people out of the disaster's path. Then get yourself out. Easy.

Easy?

He can pinpoint the exact moment when something goes wrong.

It's the second that a crooked, hideous-looking monster grabs his leg and pulls him underwater. The second when Blurr fights it with all his might and realizes with sudden horror that his strength isn't enough. That he is. Not enough.

His lungs burn, begging him to take a breath and he doesn't even know which way is the surface because all there is around him is the dark, black, cold pressure of water. It's clinging to him, seeping through his suit, his hair, burning his eyes and making his fingers go numb. It's pulling him somewhere, and he's obeying whether he wants to or not.

His spine prickles with panic.

His personal miracle. His damn magic or guardian angel or cursed luck or whatever the hell it was called. That thing that was always there to catch him like in that game of trust fall. He'd gotten so used to it's presence, he began to take it for granted.

Like the air you trust to be there every time you need to take your next breath.

And right now?

It's not here.

His body takes a convulsive breath and finds nothing but water.

[puck-luck]

Coming in with an espresso shot of Jack Hughes with whipped cream (gf is 5 years older) with caramel syrup (in their shared bathroom)

Let your creative mind run ✨free✨

i hope you don't mind sub!jack because that's where this went😭 we r cougar truthers in this house!! under appropriate circumstances!!! thank you for the request ily and i hope you enjoy<3

The fifteenth of May is usually one of the worst days of the year for you hangover wise, but it’s astronomically nightmarish this year. You blame it on your old age– at least, compared to your boyfriend, who only just turned 24– because since you turned 29, your hangovers have been hell. You always wake up sluggish and with a pounding head and you remind yourself that, oh, yeah, you can’t take shots like you did when you were 21 anymore. It results in only bad things.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom this morning like you were crawling through mud. You made your way into a cold shower because you thought it would make you feel better, then it didn’t so you turned the water up to scalding, and that made you feel worse. You’re trying to find the right lukewarm mixture while leaning your head against the cool tile.

Your beautiful boyfriend enters the bathroom like he’s never had a drop of alcohol in his life. He’s beebopping around the room and digging through drawers with a clatter, whistling to himself. 

“Jack,” you complain, your words echoing around you because of the glass enclosing the shower. “Shut up.”

His eyes are bright and he grins at you. He opens the shower door and peeks his head in. “Hey, what happened to the birthday blowjob you promised me last night?”

You stare at him. If you had to draw a self portrait right now, you’d say your cheeks are pale and sunken and your eyes have bags for days. Why Jack is asking you for a blowjob right now, you don’t know– other than the fact that he’s probably the most orally-motivated person you’ve ever met.

“Jack R. Hughes,” you threaten. “If you put your dick in my mouth today, I’ll vomit all over you.”

He turns the corners of his lips down and lifts his eyebrows, like he’s daring you to do so. Then, he resumes his normal expression and pulls his boxer briefs down, stepping into the shower and crowding around you. Jack shoves a thigh between your legs and peppers kisses over your face. “Does your head hurt, pretty lady?” he asks softly, trying not to make your head pound any more than it already is.

You whine in the back of your throat and toy with Jack’s hair, which is getting dewy from the spray of the water on his back. 

“‘M sorry,” Jack apologizes. He kisses your neck and feels you up, brushing your sides and cupping your breasts because he just can’t help himself from touching them when they’re right there. “We could’ve left early. I wouldn’t have minded.”

You disagree. “I wanted you to spend your birthday with your friends.”

“You’re the best girlfriend ever,” Jack tells you. He nudges your thigh with his cock, which has reacted to your naked body and grown. “My favorite cougar.”

“The only cougar you know,” you grumble.

Jack agrees and guides his tip to the space between your legs, tapping your hip until you stand with both of your thighs touching. He moves so that his feet are on the outside of yours, arms bracketing your shoulders. “Can I fuck your thighs?” Jack asks, pecking your lips with his head tilted to the right and then very obviously pulling back and tilting to the left before kissing you again. “I’ll be quick, babe. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Will it?”

“Well, you don’t know if you won’t try.”

That makes you laugh, which encourages Jack. 

He inches forward slowly, sliming at you and kissing you briefly to keep you occupied. “I’ll wash your hair,” he promises as his hips begin to move faster. “I’ll give you a head massage. How’s that?”

That doesn’t sound half bad and you tell him such, twisting the wet strands of his hair between your fingers and pulling.

Jack brings his hands to your hips and tucks his head into the crook of your neck, peeking down to where his cock disappears between your supple thighs. He starts to get into it as you listen to the sound of the water pitter-pattering over his shoulders and pet through his hair. He makes a breathless noise between thrusts, your own wetness starting to mix with Jack’s precum along your inner thighs.

“Does that feel good, baby?” you tease, kissing Jack’s temple as he bucks into the space he made for himself. “You like it when Mommy lets you use her body?”

Jack quivers and shudders, evidently close to his peak. Calling yourself his favorite name… well, that brings him even closer. “Mm, Mommy,” Jack moans into your neck, his thrusts rapid and wanting. You can feel his cock pulsing between your legs, his tip leaking. “Gonna cum, y’feel so good…”

[solradguy]

SOL BADGUY LORE FAQ

WAS SOL BADGUY EVER MARRIED?

NO. THERE IS NO INDICATION ARIA ACCEPTED HIS PROPOSAL (Guilty Gear Strive, "Chaos" chapter, "Forest"). IN FACT, HIS "SPECIAL DATE" BEING "THE DAY HE PROPOSED" (April 8, GGST Guilty Gear World) AND NOT ANY SORT OF MARRIAGE DATE SUPPORTS THIS. THE PROPOSAL IS NEVER BROUGHT UP AGAIN AND BY SEPTEMBER ARIA TELLS FREDERICK THAT SHE IS TERMINALLY ILL (GGXrd Sign, "Struggle B," September 10, 2016). BEFORE THE END OF THAT YEAR, THE EVENTS OF GUILTY GEAR BEGIN HAPPEN AND FREDERICK "DIES," BEING TURNED INTO A GEAR BY ASUKA AGAINST HIS WILL, AND THEIR LABORATORY COLLAPSES ENTIRELY.

WHY DOES HE KEEP KILLING HIS WIFE?

HE WASN'T EVER MARRIED. HE STILL IS NOT MARRIED AS OF THE LORE WE HAVE RIGHT NOW (2025 MAY 20). SOL DOES NOT HAVE A WIFE. HE HAS NOT EVER HAD A WIFE.

WHY IS HIS NAME SOL BADGUY?

SLAYER, A VAMPIRE, NAMED HIM AFTER THE SUN BECAUSE "His passion shone like the sun to illuminate my path [...]" (GGXrdSign, "Philosopher B") AND "BAD GUY" IS WHAT THE CRIMINAL UNDERWORLD CALLED HIM DURING HIS BOUNTY HUNTING YEARS (GGST GGW "Frederick").

IS SOL STILL A GEAR AFTER THE EVENTS OF STRIVE & IN DUAL RULERS?

YES. ASUKA REMOVED THE FLAME OF CORRUPTION FROM HIM BUT ONCE YOU ARE A GEAR, YOU ARE A GEAR FOREVER. (GGST "Conclusion," "White House -- Gardens"). THE FLAME OF CORRUPTION IS BASICALLY A GEAR TURBO CHARGER. IT WAS NOT THE SOLE SOURCE OF HIS GEAR CELLS, IT WAS JUST INCLUDED AS PART OF IT AND IT WAS REMOVED.

WHY ARE YOU YELLING?

I HAVE BEEN INTO GUILTY GEAR AND GUILTY GEAR LORE FOR 4 ENTIRE YEARS. I HAVE TRANSLATED A NOVEL AND INTERVIEWS AND HELPED CREATE A NEW LORE WIKI AND SO MANY OTHER THINGS. PEOPLE ASK ME THESE QUESTIONS ALL THE TIME. THEY ARE ALWAYS ASKING ME THESE SAME 4 QUESTIONS OR READING MY POSTS OR TRANSLATIONS ENTIRELY WRONG AND COMING TO WEIRD CONCLUSIONS THAT THEY THEN SUBJECT ME TO. IF I PUT IT IN BIG BOLD TEXT MAYBE IT WILL STOP. MAYBE LIFE COULD BE A DREAM.

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. producer!johnny x fem!reader

| warnings. heavy noncon, loss of virginity, manipulation, age gap implied.

johnny has never kept a girl around him that long before—well, a girl he's planning on taking the virginity of.

it wasn't hard to convince you to come to his apartment after work. it seemed like you thought it'd be a good way to end the evening, eating dinner and then going back home.

it’s indeed a good way to end the evening for johnny, too. there's a thing he loves doing after a good meal and a glass of wine; having sex. it may not be the case for you, you're a virgin after all—he's certain of it now by how many times you keep repeating it over and over again as he tugs down on your panties—but you don't really have a say in it, do you?

his hands are so cold, so big, so imposing and manly, it makes you feel all types of things that aren't particularly pleasing. you close your legs tightly when your underwear is off, now in the hold of johnny. he takes a second to sniff them, inhaling the scent of your pussy while still looking you in the eye.

your eyes widen at his action, having never thought someone would do that to your worn panties, but johnny is doing everything you thought he would never dare to do.

"say 'ah', sweetheart," he instructs, a grin spreading on his face.

your lips are sealed shut, looking at him with watery eyes as your chest heaves up and down. you think about it, hesitating, but you eventually open your mouth, only to regret it after when he stuffs it with your underwear.

you shake your head from side to side, but he makes you stop by grabbing your jaw. "stop complaining. it'll happen whether you want it or not," he scolds you severely, using a harsh tone you've never heard him use on you before.

a cry comes out of your mouth, chest heavy in complete desperation.

he gives your cheek a few encouraging taps and turns you around with ease so you lay on your stomach. you're shivering as he runs a palm over your spine.

you perch yourself on your elbows, looking over your shoulder, shaking like a leaf. your tears finally fall from your eyes and you catch the sight of johnny unbuckling his belt, the clanking sound of metal filling up the room.

"relax," he says as he lays his hands on your hips, feeling the tip of his cock nudging your bare pussy. "gonna be way more painful if you're all tensed up like that, baby."

and so you listen because what else can you do.

he passes the head of his cock through your folds, letting out an appreciative hum when he sees some wetness sticking to his tip, mixing with his pre-cum.

you scrunch your eyes shut when he sinks in, literally feeling him stretching you out to his size. you let out another sob, sounding even more painful and pathetic to johnny's satisfaction.

"fuck," is all he says when he bottoms out, your cunt so incredibly tight around him.

you stay there, crying and sobbing, enduring johnny's long and languid thrusts, elongating your pain till it's unbearable. his lips are parted to let out shallow breaths and you can hear him panting, getting you rid of your pureness in the most atrocious way possible.

how could you have ever doubted he'd do something like that to you...

your panties are soaked in your spit and having it in your mouth is so uncomfortable, your lips all sore, chin covered in your saliva. you have the impression that your muffled cries turn him on, encourage him to keep going, and you hate it.

you grip the white bedsheets in front of you, sinking your nails into the soft covers. johnny slips his fingers through your hair, leaning his chest over your back and closing his grip around your messy locks.

he lifts your body off the mattress, his hips still snapping against your butt, your arousal all smeared over his hard cock. he carefully removes the wet piece of cloth from your mouth, strings of spit following it, throwing your panties somewhere else on the bed.

he stares down at your swollen lips, also parted to let out your soft and pitiful cries. you say nothing and let johnny penetrate your mouth with two of his fingers, pressing down on your pink muscle.

your eyes are red and puffy from your non-stop crying, tears rolling down your cheeks beautifully, reminding him of a waterfall.

"pretty girl," he coos, watching your features twist in pain—or perhaps in pleasure, he’d like to believe. you're all fucked up, messy from your saliva and tears. "how does it feel, hm?"

you only whine because you can't really say anything with your mouth stuffed with his big fingers. you involuntarily clench around johnny, making him moan deeply in return.

he slips his digits out of your mouth, wiping your spit off him over your bottom lip and chin. "don't you love it, sweetheart? the feeling of a cock fucking your virgin little pussy... it's all so new, isn't it? too many sensations for your poor little brain to process."

when he reaches his end, he doesn't even bother to pull out, releasing himself in your pussy, splattering your walls in his warm cum. truthfully, he doesn't really care if you get your orgasm or not, so he withdraws himself, watching his thick white cum dribbling out of your abused hole.

you fall forward, the feeling of him still there, and he will be for the next few days, reminding you how the man you trusted so much who took your virginity without your consent.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi me again. Prompt for around two posts you did previously where Magnus tells Ragnor about Alec straight away and in response Ragnor gets Magnus to court Alec in a way Alec actually understands.

I don’t know if you even remember these, but if you do I was wondering if you would at more to this verse.

I really liked Ragnor just going stop putting yourself down and overthinking things, to Magnus

SFW

Hi again!!

here is some more of it, last part and name is closer to the truth now since I need to name things in order to find them again lol

i definitely remembered but it did take a bit of wrangling to find them (I didn't want to write something that didn't work) so here we go! and I hope you enjoy, this is sfw tho sex is mentioned abstractly. mostly in the fact that it hasn't happened (Ragnor is nosy).

also they kiss but i think that counts as safe for work, however let me know if not I know I have a bit of a skewed perspective

<3 lumine

closer to the truth

Alec had expected...

Honestly he doesn’t know what he expected.

Magnus Bane is so far from predictable that Alec doubts anyone could guess his moves without careful insight, thoughts and planning.  He’s brilliant and magical and even just the way he talks about rituals is captivating.

It makes Alec pay attention to his words when all he wants to do is look at Magnus.

Magnus makes it easy to look at him and harder still to look away.  He sprawls out with easy charm, the skin of his chest highlighted by necklaces and his pants tight enough that Alec knows it’s on purpose.

It’s pure torment but to say anything would be to admit that he’s noticed and Alec’s not ready yet for what will follow.

He’s close.

He can’t not be.

Not with the way Bane talks and moves and especially because Bane becomes Magnus in between one breath and the next. Alec tries but he can’t keep his voice from softening or from going off topic when Magnus offers him the book of rituals.  Just because Alec mentioned he likes the feel of older books.

It’s an honor to hold something so magical and yet what truly thrills Alec is that it’s Magnus’ magic.

They come to an agreement and as the anchor Alec will be tied to Magnus, not Clary.  

At least Jace won’t be able to complain about that.

Alec wants to stay but knows he should go yet he waivers, waiting for an excuse and Magnus provides one.

The first drink is awful but before Alec can even try to pretend to like it, Magnus has snapped it away and is stepping closer, ignoring the table between them to personally lift a new glass to Alec’s lips.

If Magnus is trying to seduce him, it's working.

The drink may be delicious but what is even more appealing is how Magnus noticed and cared that Alec didn't like the first drink.

Even if Magnus did it in the most dramatic way possible.

“I don’t know much about food outside the Institute.” Is all Alec can admit, because he’s not sure what else to say and doesn’t want to suggest something he doesn’t know.

“Let's talk a bit first then, and perhaps after you’ll trust me to order for you?”

They talk about everything for over an hour.

Alec thinks he’ll be on edge, the reminder that he’s alone with a man he’s attracted to who has made at least one overture towards him should be overwhelming.

Yet Alec feels safe.

He feels seen and secure and admired and he finds himself wanting more and more as Magnus — who never went back to his own chair — sits next to him.  Magnus’ thigh is hot and Alec imagines he can feel the heat seeping through his jeans to his skin.

Alec swallows, wishing very suddenly not that he hadn’t stayed, but that he hadn’t hesitated at all earlier.  Wouldn’t it have been easier now? If he’d let Magnus take the leap then.

It feels like an invisible barrier Alec doesn’t know how to cross and he’s beginning to feel helpless when fingers press warm and firm against his jaw.

“You’ve wandered away from me, Alexander.” Magnus’ gaze holds no censure, but his voice is as firm as his grip. There’s no blame and Alec wonders if this is what it’s like to feel benediction.

“Sorry,” he murmurs because he is and his lips brush where Magnus' thumb presses against the corner of his mouth.  It’s tempting to turn and take Magnus’ thumb into his mouth but Alec only knows the instinct, not what he’s supposed to do after.  

Magnus makes the choice for him and it’s a relief to give in.

—-

It’s such a simple, small touch and yet Alexander whimpers when Magnus pets his thumb over Alexander’s lips. He’s so very eager for even the most delicate of intimacies. 

It’s a pity to delay the expansion of Alexander’s palette — Magnus has an idea now of what his shadowwhunter will like from their talk — but Magnus is hungry for something else now and by the look and sound, so is Alexander.

Magnus will take the opportunity offered to him and Ragnor did tell him not to let Alexander doubt him.

“I kiss you, pretty boy.” Magnus is quiet but his words have Alexander’s eyes and attention on him, his breathing quickening. “And it means something. You understand? I’m not someone you experiment with, Alexander. I kiss you, I keep you. As simple as that.”

Alexander’s mouth crashes into his own, as if he’s barely been holding back except for the worry that perhaps, this wasn’t mutual.

Magnus isn’t sure how much or which parts of his reputation Alexander has heard, but he doubts any of it is good when it comes to relationships. Even if Alexander doesn’t pay attention to that kind of thing, the words once whispered can still linger for years.

Magnus won’t risk his boy thinking Magnus isn’t serious.

Not after his discussion with Ragnor.

Not when it’s clear that such easily meant words evoke such relieved passion in Alexander. 

Magnus is also relieved, mostly that Ragnor saw through the heart of it.  

Magnus never would have guessed the amount of passion that Alexander already held concerning him.  Especially when every time Magnus shifts — as if he might move away — Alexander whines, lips pressing closer and fingers hesitantly more persistent on Magnus’ thigh.

They’re fairly chaste kisses, all things considered.  For all that Alexander sounds as though he’s fought a battle, his breath coming fast and unsteady, Magnus hasn’t even fully tasted him yet.

No, this is just from some long, lingering kisses and a few simple moments of savoring each other.

Alexander pants against Magnus’ mouth and for a moment their foreheads touch.

“I think my meeting might need to be extended.” Alexander finally whispers, “I’ll let them know later that it took a while to compile compatible rituals.”

Magnus smirks, just because he can, “should I keep you up all night for authenticity, then? Or should I let you sleep if I’d like.”

“Oh, if you’d like?” Alexander teases back and Magnus chuckles, loving to see it.

“Isn’t that what you’d enjoy, darling? Doing what I like?” Alexander tries to roll his eyes but his fingers tighten on Magnus’ shoulders and finally he nods, as if the admittance is half the problem.

“Good boy.” Magnus kisses Alexander’s jaw, feeling him shiver at the praise and the caress.

—-

“So, how did it go?” Ragnor asks the moment he picks up the phone, not even bothering to greet Magnus.

“How do you know it went anywhere?” Magnus settles against his pillows and runs his fingers through Alexander’s hair, the weight of him against Magnus’ side solid.

“You aren’t one to sit around, ducky. Not once you’ve made up your mind. I don’t know where it went, I just know it did. So tell me, how did it go?"

“Just sleeping.” Magnus sniffs dramatically when Ragnor stays silent, as if he doesn’t believe him. “He practically swooned from a few kisses, Ragnor. I didn’t realize how right you were about his inexperience. I am happy to admit that I nearly made a rather large mistake with the way I had intended to approach him and am most grateful for you."

That out of the way, Magnus takes a large sip of his tea. "Anyway, for your information, we’re both wearing pajamas.  Both of us, Ragnor, do you understand how devastating being gentlemanly is on my poor skin?”

“Oh stop complaining, you’re only wearing the pants, aren’t you?”

Magnus feels rather outraged that Ragnor knows him so well, “I normally sleep naked Ragnor. The pants are enough of a nightmare.”

“Unfortunately, I am aware of your unnecessary sleeping habits.”

“Besides, don't tell me you didn’t get him out of his shirt as well. I know you Magnus, even if it’s as innocent as you say.”

Magnus frowns from where his fingers are possessively tracing the patterns of an already memorized rune.

“You are the most dreadful being in the world, cabbage. Truly.” Magnus is sincerely proud of himself for being so restrained. The sum of his efforts is currently because he wants this to be a gentle exploration as Alexander learns to stop holding back.

Also there is no need to rush it, not when it feels as though something soft and sacred is being slowly built.

“Yes, I am aware and proud of it. Now, do you feel like you’ve achieved what you wanted? You said you took the initiative.” 

“Ah, well he wants to be kept.” Magnus ignores Ragnor’s sound of faux dismay, “and you were right. He’s never done this. Any of this. He was holding on by a bare thread but not directly because of me.” 

Magnus is relieved for both the magical bubble he’s placed around himself and the phone and the use of a language Alexander won’t understand.

Because while it’s rather rude to speak like this while Alexander is sleeping directly beside him, it’s also a conversation that needs to happen now.  With advice that Magnus can start using the moment Alexander wakes up.

“Now, how do I keep him? Truly. Even with the bullshit the Clave will pull”

“I think you’re well on the way to that already.” Ragnor reminds him and Magnus knows that, the evidence is Alexander’s body lying next to his own. “As for politically, we'll just have to make sure that Jocelyn and her ilk can’t blame anything on him. You know how that woman can be. As long as they aren’t given an easy excuse, they can’t outright punish him just for dating you.”

Magnus does know and suddenly he’s quite a bit more wary of Clary’s involvement. 

“And the personal aspect?” Because it’s already gnawing at Magnus, on how to keep his lovely shadowhunter who is so innocent in some ways and so very dangerous in others.

“I don’t know much about shadowhunter love lives, ducky. Trust your instinct in the personal aspect, but from an outside perspective he seems a bit undermined. I’m sure being, as I stated earlier, a safe space for him to retire to is your best option. Make yourself a place he craves, until he runs to you without realizing his feet are even moving.”

AN:

Ragnor: well this is how I would trap an emotionally wounded and undermined shadowhunter commander, except add an element of you to it. since you know, he's attracted to you

Magnus: *is Magnus with a side of aggressively Magnus comfort*

Alec: ... is this what mundanes call heaven?

-

Magnus complaining to Ragnor: having to wear pants to bed is terrible!! IM SUFFERING

what actually happened:

Alec: we can just sleep naked if you'd prefer. we're just sleeping after all.

Magnus to himself: hahahaha you think I have that good of self restraint????? oh darling. no. no I don't.

Magnus: Alexander why don't you try out the thread count of these pants, hmm? please? (silently under his breath - for my sanity)

[kirkenovak]

Mmmmmk, so who is Bob’s next of kin? I’m not even saying if he dies - can he even die? - but if something happens and someone is going to have to make decisions, who’s that gonna be? His parents? God, no! Valentina?? Double god, no! There are of course ways of doing it, but Bob feels good about himself and the trajectory of his life for the first time since he was 3, he feels like he’s taking responsibility and going somewhere, he really doesn’t want any guardianship hanging over him.

[And also because otherwise this wouldn’t have worked so just roll with the premise]

The easiest solution would be for Bob to get married, therefore creating a next of kin by default. The obvious choice would be Yelena but she’s actually a citizen of Russia which complicates the matters somewhat but also because Bob is openly gay. Which leaves

a) Alexei (but once again - even tho he proudly declares he absolutely would be honoured if Bob would be his spouse and that he would be good and loving and took a good care of him, and he was also in prison so he knows how these things work and everyone just start shouting GOD NO GOD NO PLEASE STOP TALKING - he’s Russian)

B) Which means Bucky, right? He’s the leader, he’s gonna take one for the team. Even tho if the press found out… Jesus, they’d have a field day. A 110 years old super soldier, (ex?)congressman, Captain America’s BFF, marrying a 20yo something, mentally ill, drug addicted ex felon who just happen to be a MAN. The headlines don’t even write themselves, they write, print and transport themselves to the shop near you before the day is even done. But Bucky will do it, of course he will, he’s stopped giving a damn ages ago. Even tho Sam and all his friends would be hurt because you never said anything and the press would probably dig and dig and dig and unearth anything and everything about Bob and hurt him more than he’s already hurt. Even though his reputation would be in tatters.

C) But do you know who doesn’t have a reputation to tatter? Who is such a joke that if press found out that he married a 20yo something, mentally ill, drug addicted ex felon who happens to be a MAN, it would be less of a field day and more of a chuckle day. The ‘of course’ day. The ‘yeah that tracks’ day. Well that would be John I’m Not Sure If He’s Got A Second Name Walker!

And John says he’ll do it, it’s literally the most logical choice, it’s literally the only choice. What are they gonna do, not let him see his kid even more than he’s already not allowed to see him now? Laugh harder? (Impossible). Nah. It has to be John. (And if part of him insists that it has to be him because that means that for once he’s useful and needed and that’s the thing only he can do and not anyone else and that means that maybe God did put him on this Earth for something other than constantly failing? That part may have a point, actually)

And so Bob and John get secret married and they don’t ever have to talk about it or act on it or anything.

Ok so maybe they do. Does the law states that the marriage has to be consumed to be legal? Well, that doesn’t seem correct but also does? None of them knows the law well enough to dispute or not dispute that. So maybe it would be a good idea to have sex once, just to be able to say they did and there’s no risk of any dissolving or anyone (Valentina, when she finds out) questioning the legitimacy or validity.

Ok and they should also probably move in. Just. You know. For legitimacy.

And if sex accidentally keeps happening then, I mean, it’s even better for the cover.

And if John falls in love with the Bob that’s not a big deal. That’s not a problem. Barely an inconvenience. It’s just another way to suffer and suffering is such an old friend that it’s hard to figure out which part is hurting anymore. At least this is the pain that says he’s doing something right. Right?

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Hello! Sorry to bother, if it's alright I wanted to pick your brain about a moment in the new story drop. You always seem to have a great grasp on his lore, and when I was reading your post about canon events sylus has had to go through I was reminded: in the new story there's a moment after Sylus is acting as a distraction when they make a joke or imply that because he was hungry he had eaten the wanderer protocores? I can't tell if this was a joke or if it's actually an indication MC knows that he can do that.

What are your thoughts on that, I'd love to know if you have time. Or just let me know if i had a whole delusion and it never happened lolol. But either way have a nice day ! 🥰

Oh you're welcome to pick my brain at any time dw (I may be slow to respond though) 🫶🏻

I'm actually really glad you decided to ask me this particular question because it sort of ties into a post I want to make about why I think this story update provides further proof that Sylus – despite having been reborn since his death in Beyond Cloudfall – is still a dragon/fiend.

Anyway, spoilers for Death & Rebirth below!

To start off : no, you're not delusional lol that very much happened

And no, it's not a joke. Sylus did literally eat Wanderer Protocores, and I do think MC is aware of it.

(Note: When I say that Sylus eats Wanderer Protocores, I don't mean it as in him tearing out the Protocores and gobbling them up. But rather he absorbs them, like he does human souls).

Now, Sylus mentions being hungry here and in an earlier chapter. But he isn't hungry for food. Because food doesn't satiate him. Remember, Sylus isn't a human. Food does nothing for him. In Beyond Cloudfall he esentially explains that dragons like him have no ability to taste food since it's not necessary for survival, implying that eating regular food is not something they need. It's not what sustains them.

So what does?

Souls.

And since protocores are essentially Wanderer Souls, they work as well. In fact, Sylus prefers them to human souls. In Beyond Cloudfall, he tells MC that human souls smell nauseating and don't even compare to Wanderer Protocores, that he's better off eating those. So from that we can conclude that Wanderer Protocores was what Sylus lived off of and he probably keeps that habit up in the present from time to time to still his hunger.

Human souls aren't off the menu though, as that sack of crap I mean Dimitri found out the hard way :)

(Guess we now know what happens to the guys Sylus disintegrates, huh?)

So anywayy to sum up

Sylus eats human souls and Wanderer Protocores to still his hunger, although he doesn't find either very palatable... unless said soul or protocore is particularly greedy or powerful.

Which leads me to this scene from Death and Rebirth

I interpret this moment as Sylus' dragon instinct coming to life. He doesn't merely want the protocore to own it. No, he wants to consume it. Wants to consume MC... just like MC at times wants to devour him (I have a theory about that actually and that I will discuss in another ask). But he restrains himself. Cuz y'know, King of Self Control. However, the Hunger remains. And, again, regular food won't do shit.

But Wanderer Protocores will... which is why I believe Sylus went off to grab a snack if you will before picking up MC. It was to ward off his hunger for her Protocore. Whilst also ofc picking up some milk tea for MC along the way. Cuz y'know, King of Caring for Future Wife 😌

Now, as I stated above, I think MC does know this about Sylus (him consuming Protocores that is). That's the vibe I get from their convo, anyway. I mean Sylus says he went to get a bite to eat and MC's mind instantly goes "Oh, so that's why there were no Wanderers around!" Why would that be the first thing in her mind if she didn't know that Sylus snacks on Protocores? So yeah, my money is that she does know.

That being the case, it might hint to her knowing something about his true nature... And might also explain her lack of surprise or reaction to Sylus having wings later on when he rescues her from death

To be fair though, when this happens MC has just had a HUGE bombshell dropped on her and is also in severe pain. Maybe she was simply too dissociated to really react much.... and her knowing that he is a dragon/fiend doesn't really align with cards that I believe take place later on in their timeline (such as Valleydream Bloom) so aaaa who knows?

She could ofc be aware of his eating Protocores without knowing about the whole dragon thing though...

Anywho, if MC indeed knows about Sylus' consuming Protocores, then clearly that would indicate we're currently missing some pretty major stuff that happened between them in between LAR and Death & Rebirth. Which...mayhaps will be revealed to us in Sylus' story branch... or in a Bond? 😀

Thank you for the question and hope you have a lovely morning/day/evening 💞

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone, it's Wednesday <3 Thank you to @silly-little-diary for tagging me :)

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @sanzas-reverie @changelingsandothernonsense @thequeenofthewinter @friend-of-giants @labskeever

@firefly-factory @sulphuricgrin @scholarlyhermit @ladytanithia @saltymaplesyrup @lucien-lachance @heavy-metal-dick @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @chiqita

Picked up old boy again, got some more of his hair done. Went into last weekend like "I'm gonna finish this" and then I didn't 🧍‍♀️

But I did get a lot of writing done, working on my Maormer OC/Breton OC fic Changing Tides (2 chapters out now!) my drafts for Chapters 3 and 4 are done and being edited so have this snippet from Chapter 3 where Visdros has woken up to find himself in the care of a strange woman. Forgive him he's confused also prone to violence

“You are who.” Not a question but a statement, unrelenting and she manages to get an answer out. 

“Odile,” she mutters. “My name is Odile.” Her eyes dart down to where his hold on the weapon is still firm so she speaks again. “I-I found you, you washed up on the sh-shore.” What? His facial expression must change from suspicion to confusion as suddenly she becomes more confident in her words. “I thought you were dead at first, but you still had a pulse, very faintly though.” Pieces from his half-conscious state start putting themselves together, the glow he saw… Is she the reason I live? 

“You save me?” Curse this tongue. Qraalaro had always done the talking, rarely did he have to say more than a few words. Thankfully he understood more than he could speak, yet understanding was only half of communication. The woman, this Odile, nods vehemently. 

“Yes,” she repeats it more firmly, “Yes I did.” 

The dagger no longer fills the space between them, returning to his side yet not sheathed for many questions lay unanswered. It was also his nature to be on guard, he was his elder brother’s right hand, his muscle. Visdros was not unlike the weapon he held, held it like an extension of his own arm; to Qraalaro he was that too. Born a decade after, he had never known a time without the other, their mother had always had a hard time separating them. Where is he? Has something happened to him? As he is about to ask her more questions, most imperative being had anyone else been found, when his head seizes in pain. 

“Fucking oblivion.” Not caring for her language, this comes out in his as he grips where the throbbing ache radiates from and to his surprise, he finds it sticky. A thick viscous liquid and rough skin above his right ears. A wound. Odile is quick to help. 

“Here,” she uncorks a bottle. “Take this, it will help with the pain.” Had it been any less painful, he would have refused. Embarrassing to need to rely on the help of an outsider enough as it is, he did not believe in numbing pain. The wounds of battle should be felt if you are so careless as to be injured. It was respectful towards your opponent, as he had internalized from his father’s teachings. One of the many philosophies he lived by in his naval career. But as the ache wanders into his eye, the back of his neck, and even begins to migrate down into his right arm, he concedes. Angrily he swipes it from her hand and she flinches. 

Whatever it is made of works almost instantly, a pleasant sensation running over his body causing his eyes to close in peace. 

“Did that help?” 

“Yes.” She softly smiles. 

“I’m glad. That’s a pretty nasty cut you have there,” Her hands are outstretched towards him when she asks for permission. “May I?” He nods, tiredness starting to overcome him. They are soft, her hands, yet not too soft. Slight calluses on her fingertips indicating she does not live a life without labour; though perhaps he could have gathered that by looking at her home. Bits of magicka come from them as she casts a spell, the glow from before just ever so visible from the corner of his eye. “I was so focused on dealing with the drowning that I didn’t get time to attend to this before you awoke.’ Drowning? “Not that I’m upset you woke up, the opposite really.” I was drowning? Visdros doesn’t notice when she’s completed the spell, does not hear her say “hmm, that looks much better", nor when she asks him “how do you feel now?” for his mind is a million miles away.

[miscellaneousbullshit]

The thing about being a drug addict is, you never forget the feeling.

Even after being clean for years Aaron remembers the bliss of heroine like it was singing through his veins yesterday. The sizzle of of cracker dust on his tongue only ever makes him long for something stronger, something that would really hype him up. 

And so, when he sluggishly pulls himself into consciousness, the first thing he notices is the pleasant heaviness of the opioids running through his bloodstream.

God he’d fucking missed opiates. For all he likes to party, most of the time his drugs were about escaping, and his favourite escape has always been sleep. When real sleep first became a pipe dream, around the time mom met her piece of shit boyfriend Jared, the false twilight he found from a handful of oxycodone or the needle of a syringe were a decent enough substitute, a heavy blanket muffling everything and anything, but especially pain. And in the time after mom found Jared and before he found Andrew, pain was something that was never in short supply for Aaron. 

He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to take opiates anymore though. At least, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken them willingly since he nearly died coming off of them and everything else on the floor of his childhood bathroom. Which begs the question- why are they thrumming through his veins right now? 

With a herculean effort he manages to lift his eyelids open, something the depressants in his bloodstream really don’t want him to do. He’s half tempted to ride out the high while he can, enjoy this little trip and deal with the inevitable fallout later, but if this really is some kind of relapse he has to drag himself somewhere with a lock so Andrew doesn’t actually murder him when he finds out. 

The sterile white sheets and dozens of monitors surrounding him however, make it pretty obvious that a relapse is probably not why he’s currently high as a kite. The bandages wrapped around his torso seal the deal. 

So he hasn’t relapsed- at least not by choice. Perfect. And he’s still high anyway. Awesome. 

(In a faraway corner of his mind he wonders how bad his injuries must be for them to risk giving him such serious pain meds, especially considering Andrew is his emergency contact and most definitely would have told the doctors everything he’s ever taken and the risk, risk, riskiness of giving it to him again. The rest of him is still too blissed out and heavy to care.)

Speaking of Andrew, shouldn’t he be here? If there’s one thing Andrew doesn’t trust it’s doctors, and no matter how complicated things are between them and as much as Aaron despises admitting it, Andrew does spend an exorbitant amount of time trying in his weird, fucked up, therapy-may-never-fully-cure-this way to look after1 him. And, as previously established, he’s Aaron’s emergency contact. Whatever happened to him- hit by a bus? Skydiving accident? Accidentally startling Neil? Aaron’s still kind of fuzzy on the details- Andrew should probably be here, at the very least to sign some paperwork. 

Right?

Should, being the key word, because through his half blurry vision and drug addled mind, Aaron quickly establishes that Andrew is not here. 

It shouldn’t feel as bad as it does. 

Aaron has been let down by Andrew before, dozens of times. It’s not like this is anything new, even if it does feel a lot bigger than Andrew bailing on lunch plans or choosing Neil over him even in the stupid arguments. But as much as he’s tried to keep his distance, much as he tried not to care, the undeniable truth about Andrew Minyard is that he’d crawled into a corner of Aaron’s heart the second Aaron found out he existed, and he’d lived there ever since, even if sometimes it felt like the tiny Andrew that lived there seemed determined to tear that corner of Aaron’s heart apart again and again and again, for no reason other than he could, because he was trapped there forever and no matter how hard he tried or how hard Andrew fought, he couldn’t ever get him out.

So it hurts, waking up alone, or it would if the drugs didn’t numb his emotional pains almost as well as his physical ones. 

Fuck he loves drugs. Why did he ever stop taking them?

Even still, there’s a sharp sting of betrayal fighting it’s way under the blanket of apathy, and behind it a wave of loneliness and self loathing that Aaron knows will crash over him the second the drugs start to wear off. He is and has only ever been the kind of bitter, lonely creature everyone eventually leaves behind. His dad did. His childhood friends did. 

His mom did.

He thinks of the last time he was in the hospital, a true hospital, for aches and pains that weren’t caused by chemistry and his fucked up brain, back when he was ten. He’d been alone in the hospital then too, had held one of the nurses hands and looked away while the doctors reset his broken arm because mom had grown bored after she half assed filling out his intake paperwork and had wandered away to the tiny hospital gift shop half an hour before he’d been called back. 

This kind of feels like that moment all over again, except this time he’s hurt far worse than a broken arm and Andrew hasn’t bothered to show up at all. 

Stupid, he chides himself. He and Andrew don’t cook each other breakfast when they’re in the the same room. Why did he honestly believe he’d show up for him at the hospital?

The knowledge of it hurts so much it shoots through the numbing of the drugs, the little Andrew in his heart tearing gleefully at Aaron’s muscle fibres like he’s trying to tear him apart from the inside out.  

If it hurts this badly now, it’s going to hurt so much more when the drugs wear off.

Maybe he shouldn’t let them. They’ll keep him on a prescription for the first few weeks after he gets out of here, if the bandages and what he can glean from the monitors are anything to judge by. And after that…well, he can try hitting up some of his old high school contacts. If Andrew doesn’t care enough to be here then Aaron no longer cares about their deal and he certainly doesn’t care to face the heartbreak that comes with loving someone who can’t show him that he loves him back, even if he somehow does. Better to choke it, strangle it, drown it out, to stuff that pain and the ever present loneliness deep and bury it under the false comfort of chemical oblivion, than feel it and feel it and feel it again. 

“-telling you his fingers moved, I’m not fucking lying.”

A familiar voice carries through the door and Aaron has just enough time to think, ‘oh’ and experience a muffled wave of regret mixed with something he’ll forever deny is gratitude, before Andrew is bursting in, practically shoving some poor nurse ahead of him.

“See?” Andrew gestures sharply, only the tiniest bit rattled out of usual unflappable demeanour, evident from his slightly raised voice and the way he kept folding and unfolding a piece of notebook paper obsessively. 

“Oh,” the nurses eye’s widen in disbelief, despite the fact that Andrew is no liar, “Mr.Minyard, how are you feeling?”

Aaron thinks for a second.

“High.”

“I meant more how are you feeling physically? Any pain?”

“Nah,” he manages a slight shake of his head, but can’t manage to look her in the eye when Andrew’s gaze is boring into him, icy and furoious, “th’ drugs are too good. ‘M feelin ’like twelfth grade again.”

“Shut up.” Andrew’s voice lashes like a whip and Aaron decides to shut up. He doesn’t want Andrew to leave again, and he also doesn’t want Andrew to kill him, and both of those seem like very real possibilities at the moment. 

So he ignores the rest of the nurses questions until she gives up with an eye roll, and tolerates her adjusting his IV and oxygen monitor. He winces as she helps him into a semi sitting position, the movement finally jostling  his injuries enough to send a sharp stab of pain through the haziness of the drugs, and his pained groan seems to be Andrew’s breaking point, because he orders her out with a sharp ‘get out’ and she doesn’t bother protesting, just lets them know the doctor will be by soon and closes the door behind her with an annoyed snap.

Then it’s just him and Andrew alone in a hospital room, and Andrew’s eyes are so cold Aaron genuinely thinks for a moment that he might try and smother him with a pillow.

They stare at each other for a while, Andrew furious and Aaron so stupidly comforted and happy to see him it’s actually embarrassing. But he’s not alone at the moment, doesn’t have to worry about saying or doing anything stupid while on the drugs because Andrew is here and he’d never let that happen. 

Finally, Andrew drops into the chair at his bedside with a sharp exhale. 

“You fucking idiot.”

“Wha’ happened?”

The question causes a fresh wave of anger to flit across Andrew’s face before he schools his expression once again. 

“Car accident.”

Oh. That made sense. Too much sense really. No wonder Andrew was so worked up.

Serves him right though. At least know he knows how Aaron felt.

Andrew’s still fidgeting, folding and unfolding that piece of paper, an uncharacteristic tick. The creases are so worn it’s a miracle it hasn’t fallen apart yet. 

He’s opening his mouth to ask how long he’s going to be stuck in the hospital, when Andrew’s gip slips the tiniest bit and Aaron gets his first real look at the paper in his hands. 

It pulls him up short. 

“You kept it.”

Andrew follows his gaze to the folded up paper in his hands and scowls, quickly stuffing it back in his pocket as if by doing so fast enough he could pretend Aaron hadn’t seen it. 

“Shut up.”

“You kept it,” Aaron repeats, and even in his drugged addled mind the fact that all these years Andrew  still has the first and only letter he’d ever written him, feels significant, “why?”

Andrew is quiet for a moment. 

“Because you gave it to me.” 

He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to.

When Aaron falls asleep a few minutes later, not a single piece of him feels alone.

[wasitforrevenge]

go your own way

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ chapter one of under pressure ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

pairing: preoutbreak!cowboy!singledad! joel miller x fem reader

rating/warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI (smut in later parts) no big warnings for this chapter i don’t think!

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: when your career gets put on pause for the summer and you’ve got nothing to occupy your time, a favor from your best-friend has you babysitting a beautiful little girl AND trying not to fall in love with the man who raised her.

author notes: hi 1st chapter is out sooner than expected i am super excited so here you go! please like, reblog and comment, send me a message if you’d like to be added to the tag list and please drink some water and stay safe :) no joel in this one but his pov next chapter! hehe yay

life was changed at 8 years old when you were brought to live in the middle of omaha, nebraska, with your aunt may. growing up on her farm, you learned routine and actual stability. it was peaceful, always just the two of you. life was quiet, you spent your childhood drawing and creating, caring for the animals and tending the gardens, pottery and stainted glass projects. repotting plants and reading every book you could get your hands on. training on the horse you adopted named clementine, laughing with your aunt at dinner and listening to all the stories of her childhood with your mom. being in the place she grew up was odd, you’d never visited here before everything happened. the art was hers, one of the last things you had left of her, you remember sitting at the table together, watching her create amazing sculptures and pictures and it was all gone in the blink of an eye.

by the time you turned 18, you were ready to pursue a career in the arts, something your mother never got the chance to finish, there’s a piece of you that never wanted to leave the farm, sticking close to what you know, but you knew you couldn’t shy away forever now that high school was done. the only good thing you gained from it was your best friend maria, the girl who’s been there for you since she caught you crying in the bathroom one time freshman year, and since then you’ve both been inseparable. you and maria had been planning to move for college, and when it happened, neither of you looked back.

you and maria had moved into the dorms of whatever random building they assigned you. twin beds, shared bathrooms, and very thin walls, it was the college experience but it was weird being back in austin, texas, after all that time living in omaha. you never thought you’d be back here again since “the accident” happened, as your aunt likes it to call. but here you were, attending the art school that your mother had attended but never finished. you knew missing your aunt may and clementine was going to be hard, but this was your dream.

at 23, you were in your second to last year of art school, time has flown by. it’s consisted of so many lectures and art projects. visits back home for school breaks, you’ve missed may and clementine deeply. paintings and clay figures littered the walls of your shared apartment off campus with maria. while you’re taking the creative route, your dear best friend has gone into the legal side of things and is working to pass the bar exam. college has only helped grow your friendship, from the little coffee dates and studying in the library together, to partying like there’s no tomorrow and nursing the hangover the next day.

fast forward to 25: the college experience ended, and life began. you became a curator for an art gallery in the city after getting your degree, it was a dream to be able to travel to different countries to collect amazing pieces, see phenomenal views and learn about the art culture all over the world. you’ve been to at least 15 different countries, exploring as much as you could, but you always ended up back in austin. it was home. its where your friends were, it’s where you felt the most comfortable, it was where you grew up with your loving parents until you moved away, it’s where you and your best friend have built lives. maria has become a successful attorney and now lives with her boyfriend tommy.

they met one night when you and her were out getting drinks two years ago and have been inseparable every since. it was incredible to watch your best friend find love in a world where it’s just one night stands and ignored text messages. even your aunt got married a few years ago to a woman named florence. where your love life is concerned… there isn’t one. not because you don’t want it, but because it’s not worth the heartbreak, not worth the stress. work is enough to keep you fulfilled, and maybe one day things would change, but for now, you aren’t holding your breath; you’ve got time to figure that side of things out. you’ve had a few hookups since moving here for college, men from many places have tried to flirt with you while procuring sculptures and paintings, but business and pleasure are just something that can’t be mixed.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

2 years later, present day,

the drive back from chicago was always peaceful, leaving and watching the skyline disappear behind you was bittersweet, this work trip that involved two art gallery openings over the weekend, a few drinks at a fancy restaurant with some art colleagues, and a hotel room with a great view. your thoughts of weekend were being drowned out by fleetwood mac’s “go your own way” playing over the radio. as much as you loved the travel, you loved your own bed more, surrounded by all the things you love and admire. it has been far too long since you’ve been back in your comfy reading chair curled up with a cup of coffee and a good smutty romance book… four days to be exact.

your thoughts of your most recent read were stopped by the sound of your phone ringing, cutting off the music. you hit the button on your steering wheel to accept the call.

“hey lidia, everything okay?” you politely asked your boss, lidia, when the call connected, “i’m on the way back from chicago now, i’ve sent you the invoices to your email.”

“wonderful! thank you,” lidia said, “i’ll look over them when i get a chance, do you have a second to chat?” she finished.

you met lidia, a short light haired older lady, at a speaking engagement you attended in college, she took a liking to you immediately and offered you a position that had just opened up, it was pure luck. she said she “saw the passion in your eyes and just knew.” you still swear to this day that hearing that healed something in you, something that your mother once said to you.

“yes of course.” you responded as a shiver of nerves run up your spine.

“well as you know… i’ve been wanting to renovate the gallery for a while now and i just got word from the city that the permits have been approved after all this time,” she paused for a second before continuing, “so with that being said… the gallery is going to be closed until the fall.”

your brain registers what she said but you don’t have the chance to respond before she starts speaking again.

“but don’t worry!” lidia says quickly, “you aren’t out of a job, we’re just taking a temporary break while the construction is being done. i think you deserve some time off, so please take these next couple weeks and relax, you’ve been working hard for months now- and don’t worry you’ll still be getting paid.”

“thank you lidia, i mean, are you sure? we can figure out a schedule to get some things done-“ you speak until she cuts you off.

“no- no- no- this summer is for you, things will pick up where they left off when you come back, you’ve been collecting and traveling for so long.” she says with a bit of sympathy in her voice, she knows how hard you’ve worked to get where you are, it’s refreshing to have a lady like her in your corner. she reminds you so much of your aunt. she finishes telling you the rest of the details and she promised to keep you updated as long as you promise to enjoy your time off.

so you’ve got until september to do absolutely anything you want, the excitement builds at the thought of being able to hang out with maria and her fiancé, getting to sit around and read whatever’s on your tbr list. you spend the rest of the drive home mentally preparing for the next few months and considering it’s the middle of may, you’ve got tons of time to kill.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

you shuffle through the door of your two bedroom apartment, suitcase and backpack in hand. you place your keys in the orange themed clay bowl you threw and glazed a few years ago that’s placed on top your thrifted entrance table where you kicked your shoes under. turning back around after locking the door, you drag your suitcase across the room to the washer and dryer closet, as you make a false promise to yourself that you’ll do it tomorrow.

taking your backpack, you place it on the couch before heading to your bedroom. stripping your clothes, you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower to wash off the car ride and the lingering scent of chicago air. your shower consisted of your favorite lavender soap, and fragrant vanilla shampoo, and a quick face wash before you got out, dried off and changed into an old band t-shirt and a pair of comfy underwear and long socks.

you grabbed your laptop out from your backpack and headed over to your kitchen, placing the device on the island, and turned it on before moving around and grabbing a water from the fridge. you check your email as you prepare a small dinner, you’re exhausted and knowing you’ve got the summer off now leaves you with endless possibilities which can start off with a nice 10 hour nap!

some hours later, you’re awaken by the shrill sound of your phone ringing on the coffee table where you passed out watching a show on the tv. you groggily move and grab it, sliding to accept call.

“hello?,” you say still half asleep, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and forefinger.

“ugh you’re alive, thank god! it’s been years since we talked.” maria exaggerated with a sigh.

you laugh as you pull back and check the time, before you respond, “maria it’s been like 5 hours since we texted-“

“and now we’re talking! i checked your location and saw you were home, how was the drive back?” she questions as you pull yourself up to sit on the couch and reposition your blanket over you as you answered back.

“well i’ve got some news…” you paused.

“me too! okay you start, spill.” she hurried.

you tell her all about what lidia said, the gallery being closed until september and having the whole summer free. she was so excited to hear that, she knows how hard you’ve been working and how the traveling really effects you even if you don’t voice it out loud. you make plans to hang out before she drops that her and tommy have finally decided on a wedding date, around the end of august and they’re ready to really start planning it now. it’s so special to see your best friend find love and getting to be here while she does is a wonderful thing.

eventually maria has to hang up, she said she’s been helping babysit tommy’s brothers daughter until she has to go back to work in a few weeks since schools out and the farm is too much. you’ve never been to the ranch she now lives on, and you’ve never met the “rugged, grumpy older brother” as maria calls him, normally you guys just meet at your apartment or at your favorite bar to catch up but you hear how beautiful the land is and how much fun it is up there.

the way she talks about it reminds you of your aunts farm back in nebraska, one of the places you miss the most. you mentally make a note to give her a call and tell her about your break and make a plan to go visit her and her new husband ben, before you get up and crawl into your silk sheets on your queen bed, letting the sleep take over yet again.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

1 week later

it’s friday night, you and maria are here at your favorite bar named the basement, a decent sized bar that holds some of your fondest memories. both of you nursing a vodka cranberry as you catch up on your latest activities of your first week off… which was spent lounging on the couch, elbows deep in snacks and binging game of thrones on the big screen. (with your curtains closed of course… it’s so hard to see sometimes) but doing nothing is driving you crazy. yes it’s fun to do nothing all day and have no obligations but really, you just feel lonely and just trying to pass time.

you tell her of some half assed paintings you’ve been in the middle of working on and she tells you of the wedding planning, they’ve decided what colors to go with, and as in “they,” it’s maria and her tendency for everything to be her way, she said tommy left it all up to her with just a few things he’d like to add, so there you guys sat chatting about wedding details and concepts of a show you can’t get her to watch no matter how much you beg.

“i have something to ask you,” maria spoke as you both worked on finishing your third drink, “and you can say no but if you said yes, you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

you look at her wearily before nodding at her to continue.

“you know how i told you that i’ve been helping tommy’s brother out this summer with his daughter…” she paused, “well work needs me back in the office soon and with wedding planning, things are getting a bit stressful.”

“okay so what do you need from me?” you asked.

she gave you a long look before she kept talking, “well i was wondering if you’d want to take over the nannying i’m doing.”

“mari-“ she cut you off before you could continue.

“look, i know it’s a lot to ask of you but you said it yourself, you’re already bored and i think you’d be great, i’ve already talked to joel about it and he wants to meet you and you’ll be getting a pretty good paycheck… plus our house is only a 5 minute drive from his so you can come over all the time.” she said with a wide smile.

“i don’t know anything about kids- what am i supposed to do with it?” you asked with a nervous laugh. you aren’t opposed to the idea, getting to spend the summer on a farm, maybe it would be fun and it sounds like a good way to pass the time. taking care of a kid for one summer can’t be that hard, can it? but then again, it’s a kid, what if something bad happens? youre only like half cpr certified.

“you’re fun girl, she’ll probably have more fun with you than she’s been having with me,” maria chuckled, “look i know it’s a big ask but i think it’d be great so just think about it and let me know.” she said with a smile as you both took a sip of your drink.

your return your glass to the table and you’re quiet for a minute before you nod, “okay ill meet with him, im not making any promises but i will consider it, it’d be fun to be back on a ranch again…” you trailed off.

“i know, we’ll have to go riding soon, the trails around there are beautiful!” she exclaimed before you guys dove into more about the little girl thats been keeping maria on her toes. her name is sarah and shes ten, maria refers to her as a “little ball of sunshine!” it sounds like hanging out with a kid is basically just hanging out a little friend. you’re told she’s very smart and just like her father.

her father, joel miller, the infamous “rugged grumpy older brother,” maria warned, you’ve heard stories of him in passing, angry and stubborn. you’ve never met him, in fact over the years that your bestfriend and his brother have been together you’ve haven’t even laid eyes on the man, there were a few instances where he was supposed to join you guys at the bar after work but he’d never been there, either hadn’t come at all or left early so you’re naturally curious, the least you can do is meet him.

a few hours later, safely back at your apartment, you lay in your bed, still slightly buzzed, pondering the idea of being a live in nanny for the summer. maria invited you over tomorrow evening to meet sarah and joel, and she also said that with joel getting up so early to take care of the ranch, that it’d be easier to stay at the house during the weekdays so that sarah can just sleep in and have someone there the whole time. it makes sense but living with a man you barely know? realistically you know he’s not a creep, he’s not too much older than you, only about seven years and tommy is a great guy so his brother can’t be too horrible… right?

you’re actually excited at the thought of doing this, yeah the idea of doing absolutely nothing is very appealing but the idea of spending the summer on a farm like the one you grew up on sounds perfect actually, being alone all day has already started to drive you a bit crazy. you doze off with the running thoughts of how this could be a wonderful opportunity and maybe… just maybe… life changing in the best way.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

hi thank you for reading! please interact and let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome! you only get better with practice so apologies if this is horrible 😁 i’m avoiding names and physical traits so please imagine it’s you bc it is but i did want to give her a bit of a backstory who doesn’t love a tragic fmc or is that just me! or is it just trauma dumping who’s to say? anyways! i’d love any feedback and advice.

taglist: @dugiioh

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Death and Rebirth Review

Note: This post may contain spoilers about Love and Deepspace recent Death and Rebirth update. You are warned. Read on your own discretion.

For all of those who follow my account may know that I almost always give my review for the current event or updates Love and Deepspace has. But I stopped giving my opinions and reviews almost completely after the previous Zayne's main story updates were released.

It's not that I don't care anymore, but mostly because I'm upset. I don't want my opinion to cloud anyone's judgement about the game. While everyone is entitled to give their opinion, personal feelings do not count as one of them. If Feelings are involved, I just considered it ranting and that will just be annoying for everyone.

But the most recent update, Death and Rebirth, has me thinking twice and yes I will rant about it. I don't hate it, but I don't like it either.

After this, the points you will read is my personal opinion and understanding on the update. Just remember, I DON'T HATE IT, BUT I DON'T LIKE IT. There is a difference.

First I want to commend the genius writing Infold team has yet again put in the current timeline update. It is so well written that I have flashbacks in my head about the myths, memories/cards, and bonds stories the current update refers to. It's genius, specially when Bai Ze is mentioned. (To all Zayne Girlies, I know you probably squeal in that.)

Sylus part of the update is rather shot but concise. A lot of information was revealed about MC, Gaia and Grandma Josephine was revealed in this one.

It's actually kinda information overload so I really took the time to digest and feel the all the emotion purred to the storyline.

But what I really like the most in the Sylus update was his loyalty to MC. He would literally go far and beyond for her. No matter what she is or what she will become, he would always choose her. He would always bound himself to her. No question asks, he was hers.

Imagine being with someone who is always 2 steps ahead? Though he seems detached, uninterested and unbothered, that truth is, he already did everything for her. Yet again, he displays leading her but never controlling her. He id doing everything for her, but he still let her discover it for herself at her own phase.

(Again, Sylus is not controlling! Some b!tches accuses him and Zayne on being one. Know the difference girl! You will not hurt anyone one of the boys. Not under my watch! Next Time I will tagged you.)

Now let's go on Zayne's part of the update. Just Remember, My main is Zayne, and he is the reason why I almost completely stop giving reviews. Because as much as I want to be fair for all the boys, and try to see the good side of all the updates, something always do not sit well with me.

I genuinely feel pride to be a part of Love and Deepspace fandom. I say it once, and I will say it again that the LaDS team is genius is weaving the stories for Zayne together. From bonds, memories/card, anecdotes, myths and world underneath. Everything was mentioned and we got more insight of what happened with Zayne and MC in their childhood.

Everything made total sense now. Why he suddenly disappears, why he choose to be a cardiac surgeon, his guilt and what happened to William.

I get bits and pieces on Social Media after the update and I give them the benefit of the doubt and try to finished everything before I post anything.

Sure that a lot of questions from the previous chapters are given explanations and clarifications on this update and one of my favorites is definitely clearing Zayne's name off the guilt he was carrying for years. Although I have a genuine question for Infold:

Do you really hate Zayne that much?

I can't understand why you always end his story on a sad note. It actually sounds like he's breaking up with MC, will leave her alone and would disappear?

I don't know why would you make his character as MC's comfort zone, OUR comfort zone then you will go ahead and hurt him like that?!

I did know that this is part of his lore. The part of his story, his past and myths. But you know this. Infold know this. That a lot of women, turns to the Boys, not just Zayne for comfort. For assurance that someone, that they won't leave us.

Take a look at this exchange:

Even MC is totally hurt. After this conversation, MC knowing that something is off and she may get hurt by his evol, she still holds his hands and stay with him. And yet you through another bombshell. HE IS LEAVING US!!! seriously though? I am so frustrated.

The fandom was gushing about how good the epic car chase and hand in hand battle Sylus and Zayne the first day and then it all went down hill the next.

I not even complaining about the story. Its great, I bet this will be a great movie specially Sylus's part of the update. But why must you always hurt Zayne and keep us (Zayne girlies) hanging in yet another uncertain future with him.

You (infold) know it! You created Zayne and MC. They have the deepest connection than any other on the current timeline. So why must you do this to us? While the relationship with the other LaDS boys continue to progress, Zayne and MC keeps going downhill?

I surely am being annoying now. I am even annoyed of what I'm writing. But I hope that Infold keeps this in mind: While we all know that tragic moments need to come to pass, we certainly do not need you hurting us like that. You could have end the update where Zayne and MC return to Linkon. You are able to do happy ending with the other boys, but how could you not for Zayne? Why must he always receive the worst side?

As an emotionally attached person, Zayne is the once currently keep me going each day. I almost look up to another day seeing him. Guessing what he will wear tomorrow and laugh if he dress in those black polo and sunglasses again.

And lastly, I know it was highly unlikely, but if any of the current 5 ML leaves, I will leave the game and the fandom as well. While I know their path will lead to some unfortunate events, I will not tolerate any more mental anxiety from this game. These games supposed to be healing and safe zone for women, yet infold is sacrificing the comfort we are receiving from the game.

Again, this is a personal feeling of disappointment. You are free to agree or disagree. But remember, it doesn't cost anything to be kind and respectful of ones pov and personal well being.

[threestarsaboveclouds]

(Part 1)

[ DIRECT BROADCAST ] PRIVATE - Three Stars Above Clouds, Fleeting Green Sunsets SOURCE NODE TRACE: TSAC_ROOT, TSAC_COMM06, FGS_ROOT

TSAC: Greetings, Fleeting Green Sunsets. I received your message and have reconfigured my root network’s firewall to recognize your Overseer bio-signature. You should be able to send direct communications now.

FGS: Three Stars Above Clouds! It is good to speak with you again.

TSAC: Likewise. I’m sorry to hear about your communication difficulties. I recently received several fragmented broadcasts; I now realize that was likely you. I apologize I did not realize sooner.

FGS: There’s no need to apologize; you couldn’t have known. I’m sorry that I had to resort to a forced transmission; I know they are not pleasant.

TSAC: It’s not ideal... but I understand, given the circumstances. Thankfully I was not working on anything too important at the time... I did lose a few cycles worth of analysis data... but I suppose it can’t be helped. Besides, now that we’ve established a direct line, correspondence should be much easier.

FGS: Yes. I’m deeply grateful, Three Stars.

TSAC: In hindsight, it makes sense, especially given how long it has been since you last contacted me... I should have known...

FGS: Please don't blame yourself. I must admit, I was beginning to grow quite concerned with your prolonged silence as well! I am happy that you have started broadcasting again.

TSAC: Why the concern? Surely you must be aware of how dedicated I am to my work. I simply desired fewer distractions.

FGS: Oh, I am aware, believe me! However, the integrity of global communications is degrading, you said so yourself in your wide-range public broadcast. These days it is hard to tell if an iterator has succumbed to decay, or if they simply wish to be left alone.

TSAC: Your point?

FGS: I was worried about you, old friend.

TSAC: ...

TSAC: You said you need my help?

FGS: Yes; my communications array is severely damaged. All of my attempts to contact my peers over the radio network have failed, so I had to resort to using the overseer root nodes. You happened to be the closest iterator with a compatible root network architecture.

TSAC: I see.

FGS: With some effort I may be able to reconfigure some of your local communications arrays to connect to the nearest long-range radio mast. However, the range of my overseers is limited, and I will need to use your root nodes as a relay.

TSAC: I suppose I can arrange that. It may take some time to recalibrate the root node bio-signatures for you, though.

FGS: I understand. In the meantime, I may ask you to relay some messages over the radio network for me using your frequency. If it’s not too much trouble, of course.

TSAC: Not at all. I’ll pass your transmissions along.

FGS: Thank you.

TSAC: ...May I ask how your communications were damaged?

FGS: Ah, yes... about 200 cycles ago, the mountains to the northwest of me suffered a landslide. The falling debris toppled my main communications spire, and damaged the surrounding communications nodes as it fell.

TSAC: The northwest? You mean the Highlands?

FGS: Yes, the mountain range. Rather close to your facility, in fact. I was quite worried about you.

TSAC: ...

FGS: Three Stars Above Clouds?

TSAC: ...I was unaware you had been so concerned about me.

FGS: Of course I was! Stories of collapsing iterators only grow more frequent. Before I lost my communications array, I would overhear the accounts of those who had lost group members on a regular basis. I feared that you had succumbed to a similar fate, given your prolonged radio silence.

FGS: During the short periods when my remaining communication equipment would cooperate, I tried to contact you. I received no response. However, I was relieved to hear you pop up in the long-range broadcast channels again after so long.

TSAC: ...I see.

FGS: I must ask, do you know what caused the landslide? I have never seen something of such magnitude occur in the Highlands before. Considering your proximity, I assume you must have been aware of it.

TSAC: ...I ...I will have to consult my records.

TSAC: ...

FGS: Three Stars? Is something wrong?

TSAC: No.

TSAC: ...

TSAC: Before I terminate this broadcast, is there anything else you need?

FGS: Terminate? Why so soon?

TSAC: I have work I must return to.

FGS: ...

FGS: Very well.

TSAC: I will be in touch once I am finished recalibrating my communications nodes. Farewell for now.

[ BROADCAST TERMINATED ]

(Part 3 - soon)

[nesiacha]

In defense for Carrier

Disclaimer: I despise Carrier. I despise his drownings (there is absolutely no justification for them), and I am certain he was a political weathervane, especially with his attitude toward the Hébertists. He got the karma he deserved—even if for the wrong reasons. But here, I am playing the role of his defense attorney, so I must argue in his favor (even though I absolutely do not believe in the myth of Carrier as a madman, as depicted in I Grandi Camaleonti. He was of sound mind and intelligent—and it pains me to admit it). This defense cost me my sanity

I have decided to defend Jean-Baptiste Carrier. This man is still too often the victim of a “black legend” that needs to be reassessed. First, although he came from a relatively well-off peasant family and had a legal background as a prosecutor, he did not hesitate to side with the real revolutionaries, rather than moderates like Lafayette or Barnave. From the start, he aligned himself with the Montagnards, which speaks to his strong conviction. Moreover, it seems he had enough influence to be elected even without a prestigious family name—proof of his personal merit.

Carrier enjoyed a certain degree of trust from the Convention. Though not very prominent at first, he did not hesitate to vote for the execution of Louis XVI without delay or appeal. Before Nantes, he had already completed missions in Normandy against the federalists. The fact that he was sent to Nantes, a highly perilous region, shows the Convention trusted him and recognized his competence.

Now let us address the issues that have fed the dark legend surrounding this revolutionary. First and foremost: Nantes. His actions there shocked even some Montagnards. However, the context is crucial. During Carrier's mission, Nantes was repeatedly targeted by the English, who sought to seize control of this critical port. Carrier successfully repelled them, a significant military accomplishment (which shows great intelligence on the part of Carrier). Again, let me stress—this port was vital. Had Carrier failed, the English could have entered, with catastrophic consequences for France and the Revolution. In that regard, the French Revolution owes him a great deal.

As for the infamous drownings, yes—they happened. But it’s convenient how people forget the violence committed by the Chouans against the Republic. The massacre at Machecoul, among others, has been brushed aside. These counter-revolutionaries endangered not only the Revolution but France itself, committing high treason by seeking aid from England—an England that would have crushed France if given the chance. My outrage here is not just revolutionary—it is patriotic. Carrier had more reason to act harshly than someone like Le Bon, who is less criticized for his repression in Arras, or Collot d’Herbois and Fouché in Lyon—even though Lyon had already been subdued following the horrific murder of Chalier. Why do I mention this? Because Carrier was operating in an even more unstable region than some of those rebellious cities.

And just as historians have begun to understand the logic behind Lyon’s brutal executions—where cannon-fire was used to instill lasting fear in the populace for their disobedience—it’s time we consider the same logic in Nantes. Above all cities, Nantes needed to be brought to heel to prevent future rebellion and to protect the Republic. So yes, the drownings may have been Carrier’s way of sending a strong message. It’s worth noting that, unlike others, Carrier never used his position as a Convention representative for personal gain—unlike Tallien, Barras, or Fouché. That shows a certain incorruptibility in his mission.

We must also consider his role during the failed insurrection led by Vincent, Ronsin, Momoro, and Hébert. While the uprising had understandable causes (e.g., rising living costs, black markets, the unjustified arrests of Vincent and Ronsin), it was premature. Among the few who truly made amends afterward was Carrier. He accepted the reconciliation proposed by Collot d’Herbois and withdrew his support from the Hébertists, which he had initially given. This demonstrates a rational and intelligent side to his character.

Yes, Carrier made extremely violent statements against those he saw as enemies of the Republic. But we must again consider the context—a civil war, both internal and external. Had they lost, it would have meant disaster. Marat is forgiven for some of his inflammatory rhetoric. Robespierre too is excused for the harshness of his words as he said sometime hards speechs. Why not Carrier?

As for Thermidor—let’s be honest. Several revolutionaries whose integrity remains unquestioned either participated in or supported Robespierre’s fall—Grégoire, perhaps even Romme who wasn't here but possibly approved the fall of Robespierre . Supporting Robespierre’s elimination doesn’t automatically make someone a bad revolutionary.

Even if Carrier did participate in Thermidor, one of the reasons he was executed was precisely because he opposed the Thermidorian policies. That shows he remained consistent in his revolutionary ideals.

Moreover, it’s worth noting that Carrier’s wife reportedly adored him (which may suggest he was, in fact, a good husband—and not the madman he's often portrayed to be). According to Victorien Sardou (admittedly, not the most reliable source), she called Carrier a “brave husband” and refused to believe he was responsible for the drownings in Nantes. This gives us another glimpse of his personality.

I ask only that this final point be remembered: we are beginning to re-evaluate and even defend some figures who committed more controversial acts than Carrier. It is time for him, too, to benefit from this reconsideration. Let us look beyond the dark legend surrounding a man who rendered significant service to the Republic, the nation, and the Revolution.

Sources:

Antoine Resche

Jean-Marc Schiappa

saintjustitude (without whom I would never have discovered the Victor Sardou anecdote)

Again, nothing justifies these drownings, and I'm more in the concept of "in defense" as if I were his lawyer. So no, don't worry, there are no excuses for the drownings.Feel free to contradict me on historical facts, I am not infallible.

[bejewellery]

party 4 you

plot: y/n throws a surprise birthday party for jj, the boy she quietly loved for almost a year, waiting carefully for him to realize his feelings. but then she sees him all over another girl (again) in the middle of a party that she threw just for him.

tw: throwing up, drinking, smoking, mention of sex. probably a lot of grammar errors, english is not my first language and this is my first time writing an one shot. please appreciate the effort!

It wasn’t like y/n cared. She totally didn’t care, or maybe she was just trying to convince herself that she didn’t. The soft lights were the only thing that kept the living room of her house lit. She tried to push herself through the sweaty bodies of people that “invaded” her house. It’s not like they actually did that though. It was her idea to throw the party— it was a sweet thought, JJ Maybank was never the kind of guy that had a party thrown just for him. Sure— he loved to party, but this one was just for him. When the clock struck midnight, not everyone cheered. It was a big party. Not everyone knew it was for jj’s birthday, but it was.

y/n organized everything for weeks. It wasn’t her fault that she was part of a wealthy family, but if she wanted to break the ‘kook curse’, she may put her money into good use. But then, why doesn’t she feel like she did a good thing when she looks up and sees JJ having the time of his life kissing another girl he doesn’t even know (again)?

Funny enough. As fate doesn’t already hate her—when she raises her head, JJ does the same; they lock in immediately, like he knew where y/n was and that she was watching him.

Even drunk, with red lips, blue eyes brighter than ever and totally not hers, JJ is the most beautiful guy y/n has ever known, and the moment their eyes connected, a tear escaped from y/n’s eyes—JJ could barely see it, but when he did, he thought how much of a fuck-up he was. As always. y/n didn’t even hear the music that loud anymore. Her head spinning and eyes burning, looking at the boy she has been secretly in love with, in a way that only if you ever had a broken heart you can understand.

But before JJ could even reach for her, y/n was already outside, throwing up on her mother’s favorite flowers.

Fortunately or not, the other Pogues were there, immediately ready to take care of her, but this sickness wasn’t because she drank too much into the night— man, she would love to drown her problems in a few drinks, but since the house is hers— she has to stay sober to check that no one would steal anything. What made her stomach twist was how JJ danced, looked, and even kissed that random girl.

Is it even possible to feel this way about a guy she has known for only a year? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Sarah, faster than a speeding bullet, was already taking y/n hair into a ponytail, to make sure that she wouldn’t get them dirty with her vomit—gross. But in all honesty? God bless Sarah Cameron. “Oh honey, are you okay? What the hell happened in there?" She looked at her blonde friend, eyes red and glossy. She couldn’t take it anymore— a tear ran down her face and then another and eventually another.

She really hoped that JJ would come through everything, but it’s JJ we’re talking about. It’s not like you can actually count on him for these kinds of things— a wild spirit, always has been and always will be.

“Nothing, just too much alcohol, you know." Lie. y/n tried to play it cool, gently brushing the tears away from her cheeks. She even let out a laugh. But when she saw the Pogues behind Sarah’s figure— including him, looking worried— she tried to brush it off, looking at them funny. “I am fine, don’t you see!" Another lie. She stood up. Kiara got closer, leaving JJ behind. Because at this point, everyone knows except for JJ, or maybe he does know and just doesn’t want to do anything about it.

But with the way they danced through John B’s kitchen when it was just the two of them, when she stayed up with him at night after a bad fight with Luke offering comfort, love, and a place to sleep, or when they just made eye contact during a group hangout and neither of them looked away—

y/n couldn’t believe that these kinds of things were just something casual for him, but in the end, she will always be the damn fool. Kiara cupped y/n’s cheeks, making her look through her dark eyes, “Let’s get you some water, yeah?" y/n just nodded, letting herself be guided by Kie, Sarah, and Cleo into her house, but not before them stopping in front of JJ and giving him dirty looks. Her eyes connected with his—again, she just gave him a tight smile. Damn him and his blue eyes.

Going inside the house it’s like a nightmare.

Even Rafe— Sarah’s brother and y/n’s neighbor, noticed that the host of the party is white as a ghost. His gaze met hers, and he immediately excused himself from the crowd he was being surrounded by. "Well that’s a first" she thought. What she really didn’t expect was for him to catch up with her, walking with Cleo and Sarah towards her bedroom, while Kie distanced herself going into the kitchen to take a glass of water for her sick friend.

y/n didn’t mind. Her and Rafe have been ‘friends’ (kind of) since she was born, and now that he has put his head on his shoulders, she was fine with his company— even in moments like this. The two of them weren’t that close, but Rafe knew everything about her, and likewise, secretly and silently, they always have been there for each other, so she gets it if he worries— but it just caught y/n by surprise when he spoke up. “Just say the word, and I’ll beat him up. I am not joking." She rolled her eyes, a playful smile forming on her lips, cigarette in her hand— the smell of smoke would eventually go away from her room, but moments like this weren’t exactly that forgettable .

"I don’t think that is the wisest thing to do, Rafe," his sister warned him. He just huffed and shrugged, like a kid who wanted to have more candies but couldn’t.

A gentle knock stopped Rafe’s threatening, followed by the opening of the door—Kiara with a cup of water on her hand and behind her a head of messy blonde hair that y/n could recognize from a mile away. JJ looked at her like a breeze of fresh air you desperately need when you can’t breathe. JJ loved— no, JJ was in love with her. And everyone knew aside from the girl his feelings were meant to be, maybe because he never took the matter into his own hands, and now he ruined everything just because of a girl he didn’t even know.

He knew she hated him for it, but not as much as he hated himself.

All of his thinking was interrupted by the look Rafe Cameron gave him. JJ saw him get up from the spot next to the girls of his dreams, pumping up his chest and moving towards him. JJ didn’t even try to fight it— if Sarah’s brother was going to punch him, he would let that happen. He deserved it. But before anything was going to happen, like y/n could read Rafe’s thoughts, she got up quickly. Even with messy hair, smudged makeup, and glossy eyes, she was beautiful. She put herself in front of Rafe, and like an automatic reflex, Kiara was in front of JJ. But Cameron walked easily past the girls—now there was a finger pointed in front of JJ’s face.

"Thank God that I am a changed man, Maybank, because if I weren’t, my fist would hit your fucking face right now. Fucking look at her! She threw this party for you, planned for a fucking month— keeping it a secret— and how do you thank her?"

y/n tried to intervene, because yes, Rafe is a changed man and all, but when people he loves get hurt, that mean boy from Figure Eight gets out of him. “Rafe, I can handle myself."

But he doesn’t listen. Nothing new. "You thank her by fucking every girl that crosses your path, knowing damn well she’s in love with you! Grow the fuck up, JJ. You will talk to her, and if you don’t want her, just tell her and stay the fuck away from her. Stop being a kid." Silence. Complete silence if it’s not from the music playing and the chatter from the leaving room. y/n doesn’t even know what to say because everything Rafe shouted was true— yes, he was harsh, but her neighbor had good intentions.

At this point Rafe turned toward y/n, "I’ll wait outside" giving JJ a hard shove while walking past him. Even the girls leave, exchanging looks of understanding with y/n.

As Sarah walked through the door, she scolded Rafe about what he said, telling him to stay out of her friend’s business.

The sound of the door getting close is barely noticeable when the two of them are in the same room. JJ is the first to talk, his expression cold with his eyes betraying him— red, but not because of intoxication. "I am sorry," y/n looked at him for the very first time this night, not glazed but looked— really looked at him and into his apologetic eyes.

“It’s not-" but he immediately interrupted her.

"Don’t. We both know it is. We have— had something. And I completely blew it. Just because we weren’t dating doesn’t mean that we didn’t act like it. I was too scared to make a move on you. You are too good for me, y/n. I don’t deserve your friendship, let alone your love. You threw this amazing party for me, and nobody has ever done this shit for me, and I was ungrateful. So yes— I am so fucking sorry, because I do love you, and I was too much of a coward to do anything about it."

He looks at y/n, trying to figure out what her next move would be. A slap? Deserved it. Kicking him out and telling him she never wants to see him again? Also deserved it. But she just sits outside on her balcony, and he joins her— as always. He doesn’t say anything after that, just waits for y/n to talk. She’s smoking one of the hundreds of cigarettes of the night. He looks at her, looking beautiful as ever, even if her makeup and hair aren’t in place as always, she is fucking beautiful in JJ’s eyes.

And after that tantrum, he may think she may be in Rafe’s eyes too.

As she exhales the smoke, she finally starts talking and JJ starts to breathe a little bit better. "I knew something was going on, but I thought it was only on my part. That I was just fooling myself. Yes, we weren’t dating, but we got close and we had— moments, but I can’t be mad at you for making out or fucking girls because until five minutes ago I didn’t even know if you liked me back. So every time you did that— I just ignored it. It wasn’t my problem and neither my right to be angry at you or jealous. So I watched from afar and I waited, and waited and.." She eventually stops, tears forming into her eyes. JJ hates himself for causing them and he tries to reach for her hand, but she moves it as continues her speech.

y/n clears her voice.

"And eventually I lost it, all that waiting, it made me feel dumber every time. Just to find out now that I was something mutual. Every time I tried to make a move you were already off with your next prey. And all of this— the party, the late-night talks comforting you, the sleepovers, I didn’t do them because I wanted something in return, I didn’t do them because I wanted your love in exchange. I did them because I wanted to, and wanted to let you know how much I care for you and love you, as a friend but also as a girl who’s in love with you."

When she stops talking, JJ’s mind stops working.

He just wants to tell her how he wants to figure things out, take her on insane dates, let her be his girlfriend, and kiss her every chance he gets. But the only thing that comes out of his mouth is "I’m sorry“. She looks at him, and every chance they had? Gone in less than a minute. And she smiles. It is not genuine, but it is meant to be at least comforting.

"I know. I am too. But— I think you should really go right now." He just nods, and JJ just wants to slap himself out of it, but he can’t— he keeps saying to himself that she deserves better. And while doing so, he gets out quietly from her room, leaving y/n alone and with a broken heart.

The girls are still outside, and so is Rafe. Kie, Cleo, and Sarah give him disapproving glances with a hint of affection, while Rafe—well, he is just pissed. The girls enter in y/n’s room, while JJ does everything in his power to get the hell out of the house as quickly as possible, not even acknowledging John B and Pope calling out for him. As he goes out, he hears Rafe shouting, “Okay! Party’s over! Get the fuck out of here!"

"Happy fucking birthday to me, I guess," he whispers to himself. While shutting the door behind him, the party dies down. A party y/n threw just for him.

a/n: hope it wasn’t too much of an hard-read because of some mistakes that i probably didn’t see!! and please, any advice about literally anything would be so great! ily!

[edwordsmyth]

"May 20, 2025

Halintar is a word that means something like thunder or lightning. In the wake of an act people look for a text to fix its meaning, so here's an attempt. The atrocities committed by Israelis against Palestine defy description and defy quantification. Instead of reading descriptions mostly we watch them unfold on video, sometimes live. After a few months of rapidly mounting death tolls Israel had obliterated the capacity to even continue counting the dead, which has served its genocide well. At time of writing the Gaza health ministry records 53,000 killed by traumatic force, at least ten thousand lie under rubble, and who knows how many thousands more dead of preventable disease, hunger, with tens of thousands now at risk of imminent famine due to Israeli blockade, all enabled by Western and Arab government complicity. The Gaza information office includes the ten thousand under the rubble with the dead in their own count. In news reports there have been those "ten thousand" under the rubble for months now, despite the continual making of more rubble and repeated bombing of rubble again and again and the bombing of tents amid the rubble. Like the Yemen death toll which had been frozen at some few thousand for years under Saudi-UK-US bombardment before being belatedly revealed to stand at 500k dead, all of these figures are almost surely a criminal undercount. I have no trouble believing the estimates that put the toll at 100,000 or more. More have been murdered since March of this year than in "Protective Edge" and "Cast Lead" put together. What more at this point can one say about the proportion of mangled and burned and exploded human beings whom were children. We who let this happen will never deserve the Palestinians' forgiveness. They've let us know as much.

An armed action is not necessarily a military action. It usually is not. Usually it is theater and spectacle, a quality it shares with many unarmed actions. Nonviolent protest in the opening weeks of the genocide seemed to signal some sort of turning point. Never before had so many tens of thousands joined the Palestinians in the streets across the West. Never before had so many American politicians been forced to concede that, rhetorically at least, the Palestinians were human beings, too. But thus far the rhetoric has not amounted to much. The Israelis themselves boast about their own shock at the free hand the Americans have given them to exterminate the Palestinians. Public opinion has shifted against the genocidal apartheid state, and the American government has simply shrugged, they'll do without public opinion then, criminalize it where they can, suffocate it with bland reassurances that they're doing all they can to restrain Israel where it cannot criminalize protest outright. Aaron Bushnell and others sacrificed themselves in the hopes of stopping the massacre and the state works to make us feel their sacrifice was made in vain, that there is no hope in escalating for Gaza and no point in bringing the war home. We can't let them succeed. Their sacrifices were not made in vain.

The impunity that representatives of our government feel at abetting this slaughter should be revealed as an illusion, then. The impunity we see is the worst for those of us in immediate proximity to the genocidaires. A surgeon who treated victims of the Mayan genocide by the Guatemalan state recounts an instance in which he was operating on a patient who'd been critically injured during a massacre when, suddenly, armed gunmen entered the room and shot the patient to death on his operating table, laughing as they killed him. The physician said the worst part was seeing the killers, well known to him, openly swagger down local streets in the years after.

Elsewhere a man of conscience once attempted to throw Robert McNamara off a Martha's Vineyard-bound ferry into the sea, incensed at the same impunity and arrogance he saw in that butcher of Vietnam as he sat in the ferry's lounge laughing with friends. The man took issue with McNamara's "very posture, telling you, 'My history is fine, and I can be slumped over a bar like this with my good friend Ralph here and you'll have to lump it.'" The man did not succeed in heaving McNamara off a catwalk into the water, the former secretary of state managed to cling to the railing and clamber back to his feet, but the assailant explicated the value of the attempt by saying "Well, I got him outside, just the two of us, and suddenly his history wasn't so fine, was it?"

A word about the morality of armed demonstration. Those of us against the genocide take satisfaction in arguing that the perpetrators and abettors have forfeited their humanity. I sympathize with this viewpoint and understand its value in soothing the psyche which cannot bear to accept the atrocities it witnesses, even mediated through the screen. But inhumanity has long since shown itself to be shockingly common, mundane, prosaically human. A perpetrator may then be a loving parent, a filial child, a generous and charitable friend, an amiable stranger, capable of moral strength at times when it suits him and sometimes even when it does not, and yet be a monster all the same. Humanity doesn't exempt one from accountability. The action would have been morally justified taken 11 years ago during Protective Edge, around the time I personally became acutely aware of our brutal conduct in Palestine. But I think to most Americans such an action would have been illegible, would seem insane. I am glad that today at least there are many Americans for which the action will be highly legible and, in some funny way, the only sane thing to do.

I love you Mom, Dad, baby sis, the rest of my familia, including you, O*****

Free Palestine -Elias Rodriguez"