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yieldtotemptation · 4 months ago

Text

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck. Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

#kpop smut #natty smut #kiss of life smut #male reader

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danyyytarggg · 6 months ago

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HOTD is just a complete mess of a story with such abysmal writing that it’s actually mind-boggling to me that the writers really saw no issue with it.

there is no consistency or continuity to the show, and events seem to happen just to happen with no real impact on the story. examples: why did team green exist before viserys’ death if their motivation was going to be watered down to “viserys named aegon heir”? the show tried to beat in that alicent’s children were not safe under rhaenyra’s rule, further emphasized and solidified by aemond losing his eye; this was supposed to be the main motivation for putting aegon on the throne and the scenes on driftmark were perfect in showcasing the validity in alicent’s fears as well as solidifying alicent’s motivations for aegon. then, it’s all PROMPTLY forgotten in favor of a lame misunderstanding being the reason for aegon taking the throne. so really, what was the point in all that? another example, making aegon such a despicable person in season 1. really, what was the point in that if there was to be no continuity or impact or rhyme or reason for making aegon that way? none of it is ever mentioned again, none of his actions had any sort of impact, etc. no continuity or impact whatsoever, so what was the reason for having such triggering content in season 1? tasteless and disgusting. also, the deaths in this show serve NO impact and are forgotten from the minds of the characters so quickly: visenya, lucerys, jaehaerys, rhaenys, sunfyre (maybe?), the almost-death of aegon - there’s a lack of continuity in emotion and impact. the deaths happen, the characters react somewhat appropriately or not at all, and then they move on to the next episode and everything before is forgotten. ESPECIALLY emphasized by the fact that rhaenyra demanded a son for a son as if jaehaerys wasn’t dead for that exact reason. or helaena urging daemon on in his vision as if he’s NOT the man responsible? aemond caring for, at the very least, his mother and sister? gone. alicent caring for her children so much so that she tried to attack lucerys for aemond and stepped in front of a dragon for aegon? gone. aegon being forced on the throne when he never wanted it? gone and now is being given up by the woman who put him there. daemon being supportive of rhaenyra’s rule by the end of season 1? gone. there also seems to be no impact from the larys x alicent scene from season 1, so WHAT was the point of that?

the characters make absolutely no sense to me at this point. aemond, who cared for alicent and helaena, now cold, callous, power hungry, does not care for family. aemond cares more about his actions against lucerys than his actions against anyone in team green. alicent, who is driven by duty, honor, responsibility, religion and cares for her family, though has trouble showing it due to her trauma - sells out all her family members with the exception of helaena to rhaenyra? then asks rhaenyra to run away with her? huh? also, for the same reasons above, having alicent x criston cole makes no sense without showing us their progression. it just doesn’t make sense for alicent’s character to have a lover without showing us exactly how it all came to be instead of just showing us that it happened. and then for her to casually just bring it up to rhaenyra? alicent would NEVER. helaena attempting to help daemon despite the fact that he’s responsible for the murder of her son. even the sudden shift in helaena’s personality/character in the very last episode gave me whiplash and i’ve been wanting her to have a more substantial role in the plot. baela is continuously used as female reinforcement for everything rhaenyra says or does and as jace’s emotional support (that being said, i LOVE jacela, but baela’s character deserves more than just these two roles). rhaena is given like two or three talking scenes and then the rest is her just chasing after a dragon, leaving behind her younger siblings btw. which, i think having her character find strength and power without having a dragon would have done wonders but okay. aegon, i can’t even take seriously bc of his season 1 actions. same goes for larys. corlys forgetting that rhaena exists as an option for heir of driftmark, as if she isn’t the most deserving of that title.

EVERYTHING being boiled down to pro-rhaenyra. rhaenyra can never be in the wrong about anything. even jace’s very legitimate concerns, baela swooped in to convince him why he’s wrong in feeling the way that he does. rhaenyra imposes a blockade on king’s landing, a known fact, the people starve, she sends food - “rhaenyra remembers us even now!” daemon seeing a vision of rhaenyra on the throne, helaena urging daemon to do what’s right, alicent turning herself in to rhaenyra then asking rhaenyra to run away w her. one of her councilman voicing his concerns to daemon and whether rhaenyra is right for the throne because rhaenyra hasn’t done a single thing, does not attend council meetings, is not protecting her allies, refuses any sort of action at all - then demonizing said councilman even though his concerns are entirely founded. even making team green’s motivation for putting aegon on the throne being from a misunderstanding is inherently pro-rhaenyra. bc if their entire motivation is based on “viserys named aegon heir,” which we know is a misunderstanding, then OBJECTIVELY, team green is in the wrong. rather than going with the safety/protection motivation for team green, which wouldn’t have left them being so objectively in the wrong. and for all the love the show writers give to being pro-rhaenyra, they can’t even write rhaenyra well. she’s indecisive, takes no actions, just continuously begs off to go fight, doesn’t attend council meetings, cannot make a single plan on her own (all of her plans and wins have come from either mysaria or jace), is overall, not a strong or competent leader. after all this, they girlbossify her at the end when, after a whole season of doing basically nothing, she acquires three more dragons (which ALSO wasn’t an entirely smart move).

which can i also complain about the lack of strategy, diplomacy, and wits in the show? everything gets watered down to DRAGONS, which is also why rhaena’s arc is so disappointing imo.

additionally hate the lack of development and depth team black members get. it just all goes to rhaenyra and daemon (and SOMEWHAT jace), and that isn’t even done right. then you have team green who the writers TRY to give depth and development to but completely and utterly fail at creating anything truly meaningful.

lastly, i truly believe rhaenyra x alicent was a mistake, ONLY because the writers don’t know how to write it correctly. i really did enjoy the concept in season 1 until they made their relationship hijack the entire show. because of this, we didn’t get to see rhaenyra vs aegon at their full potential at ALL. it was replaced in favor for rhaenyra x alicent. i also believe this relationship is what screwed over the motivation of team green in the show because alicent needed a “just” reason to betray rhaenyra, therefore giving us the dumb misunderstanding trope. it also keeps either of the characters from diving into the potential their characters both have! it keeps them from engaging in war to its fullest extent! not to mention, having alicent throw away her entire family for rhaenyra is CRAZY. then to have her ask rhaenyra to run away with her? after everything? please. if they didn’t know how to write it in a well-written way, they shouldn’t have done rhaenyra x alicent at all bc i fully believe that it is a large reason as to why the show got so epically ruined with bad writing.

oh also, helaena and alys just spoiling major dance of the dragons plot points? i’m really not a fan of that, personally. and i really don’t know how the show is going to build off of this. it also takes away the impact that these scenes would have left on viewers if never spoiled onscreen.

oh last points promise - jaehaerys and jaehaera continuously NOT being called by their names and instead being called “the boy,” “the girl,” “the child,” angers me so much and is crazy minimization of their characters - probably to lessen the blow and impact of blood and cheese? and gwayne confronting criston cole about him sleeping with his sister, the dowager queen, in public, in front of everyone, with everyone watching? so poorly written and read like a badly written fanfiction on wattpad. the show writers forgetting that alicent x criston cole is very much not allowed in westeros and could get both in such crazy trouble by having that gwayne scene and alicent casually admitting to having a lover to rhaenyra is just bonkers.

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slttygeto · 1 year ago

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HEART TO HEART : GOJO SATORU

what is heart to heart? a show in which we bring two people who have history together to ask them a couple of interesting, heartbreaking questions.

today's episode: 27 year old Gojo Satoru broke up with his girlfriend 4 years ago, yet he cannot move on. does she feel the same? and does a person really not move on even after four years?

note: i started this…without a second thought. i dont know where its going or if its gonna do well. but i enjoyed it very much

a cold room, a white set, two chairs and a table—satoru gojo knew that the point of this very simple and minimalistic set was to make him feel vulnerable and uncomfortable, but a tiny vase would’ve been appreciated.

“why did you two break up?”

the ivory haired man leans back in his chair with a dry chuckle, fingers drumming along the surface of the wooden table.

“I was insecure,” he admits rather bitterly. “I just had a lot of things to work on, and letting go of her seemed like the right thing to do.”

“do you miss her?”

“oh, absolutely,” there’s a smile on his face when he says that, and sits up straight with his hands clasped together (an indicator that he was most likely anxious to be asked such vulnerable question). he goes on to squeeze his hands a bit and his lips are sealed shut for a bit before opening them again. “I thought to myself that I wouldn’t find love for a while after her—but it’s been four years, and I cannot get myself to move on.”

“has she moved on?”

“maybe? I’m not sure,” he lets out a nervous laugh and looks away from the camera before holding his head in his hands, there was a mental battle going on inside his head—before he finally decides to speak again. “I actually stalked her instagram account last week through a mutual friend and… I didn’t see a man on any of the pictures. she could just be super private.”

“was she private about being with you?”

“she would post pictures here and there, we didn’t like to keep our relationship a secret.”

gojo is handed a blindfold and he neatly wraps it around his eyes and waits, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

when you were asked by a friend if you would do this interview, a part of you was a bit hesitant just because you weren’t sure if you wanted to air out your love life like this and have to deal with the consequences of a potential future lover being upset about it—but when you were told that it was gojo satoru, your ex-boyfriend whom you dated for 3 years and were planning on building a future with—that is until it abruptly ended with no warnings whatsoever. perhaps you ignored the tornado warnings? were there even any to begin with? you will never know because you blocked him everywhere on social media. from instagram to his phone number. you couldn’t deal with the fact that he existed around you, near you yet you couldn’t have him.

four long years of not having seen him took a toll on your heart, as it sure gets excited the moment you spot white strands on top of a head that is laid out on the table. his sense of style is still so casual and laid back, but not in a cocky way. satoru has always been about feeling comfortable in your clothes but you notice his tense shoulders and his foot tapping and can immediately tell that he is anxious.

you silently pull the chair back facing him and he lifts his head off of the table. your hands rest on top of the surface and the producer finally asks gojo to take off the blindfold.

when he does and you two lock eyes, you both start smiling big but you can’t help the little tremble to your lips before you look away from the camera to wipe a few emotional tears.

“sorry,” you whisper but your mic was able to pick it up. almost on instinct, satoru reaches towards you and squeezes your arm reassuringly.

“when was the last time you spoke to one another?”

“four years ago.” you are the one to answer the questions now and you keep avoiding satoru’s big blue eyes.

“was it hard having to walk away from a long term relationship?”

“It’s always hard when you thought there was a connection,” your emphasis on the word “thought” makes gojo look down at his lap almost in shame. he had no time to explain himself or what he did, yet he couldn’t help but feel that this interview was going to be like a second chance to explain himself and perhaps give a proper apology.

“you had no closure?”

“nope.” you both answer at the same time and it feels as though feelings of resentment are starting to resurface as your demeanor grows cold around him and you pull your hands away from the table.

“why do you think you broke up?”

“you said you couldn’t really see us together anymore,” you were now speaking to satoru directly and he gladly took the heat of your words. “you said…that us being together was just a waste of time and that one of us has to walk away,” you were clearly hurt by his words, even four years later. the breakup took a toll on you both physically and emotionally. you were incapable of going on dates for a painfully long period of time that your friends had to drag you outside to meet some potential new partners—but none of them felt like satoru. you resented him for crawling into your heart and finding a safe space there, for settling down and building a warm house inside only to tear it down and leave as quickly as he came.

“I wasn’t… sure what I wanted to do at the time, I was confused about my future,” satoru admits for the first time ever. “I thought it was so unfair to drag you down that hole with me when it was so clear to you that you had a plan in mind—a secure one so I just-“

“left.” you finish the sentence for him and he lets out a pained laugh.

“yeah, I left. and when I realized that you had blocked me, I knew that there was no going back and that I actually did it. yknow, like, it wasn’t this bad dream where I would wake up and you were still beside me—you were actually gone, I made you leave.”

there was a long silence after this and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not after that confession.

“did you miss me?” gojo takes the initiative to ask this question instead of the producer but they don’t complain, watching carefully as you look back at your ex partner.

“I did,” you say again in a whisper, almost scared that you coming to terms with this horrible realization was going to hurt you further.

“do you think that…we could’ve worked out had I been honest at the time?”

“satoru, I would’ve never left you as easily as you did,” you knew that it wasn’t easy for him, but you want him to know that your love for him was bigger than he ever thought.

“would you like to try again?”

you two stare at each other for a bit and you sneak your hand towards his huge palm, resting your index finger there and tracing soft circles.

“yeah… I want to. do you?” you look up at him through your eyelashes and gojo’s heart feels as though it is about to burst.

“I would love to.”

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

—💭 if you like this, leave me a tip!

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo

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royboyfanpage · 11 months ago

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Okay, let's talk about Ollie's experience with fatherhood.

I'm an Oliver Queen apologist forever, but I think that there's a tendency in fandom to go one of two ways- "absolutely perfect dad, no flaws whatsoever" or "evil abuser who shouldn't be within six miles of a child". This isn't an Ollie exclusive phenomenon, a lot of characters and topics do fall into that black-and-white mindset. But the thing is- Ollie doesn't have to be either extreme. Particularly with Roy, who most of the debate centres around, Ollie wasn't perfect! I think there's such a rich discussion point in terms of young Roy's relationship with Ollie, so much more than just That Panel. Because, in my interpretation, Ollie absolutely cared about him, absolutely saw him as a son, but also the idea of being a father is something that deeply terrified him. The idea that this literal child being dependent on him made it feel more real, if that makes sense. Coming to terms with the fact that he was responsible for another person's life was difficult for him, and so he put up this wall- hero and sidekick. A conceptual dynamic, one that's not based in reality. He can keep that distance between himself and Roy and decide what that means, he doesn't have to be a father because that word has so many strong connotations, but he can still express that he cares about Roy, in his own way. That's why he always calls Roy 'Speedy' even out of costume, that's why his first thought is that Roy's undercover in Snowbirds. He can focus on being a good mentor to Speedy, which will have a trickle-down effect to being a good guardian to Roy, right?

Unfortunately, kids' brains don't work like that! Especially not a kid who's already lost two fathers. Roy needed a stability in his teenage years that Ollie just wasn't able to give at that time. He didn't see "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy because he loves me and doesn't know how to show it", he saw "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy, which means I'm only good as Speedy". This, at least in my opinion, is a major factor in Roy’s later self-esteem issues. Roy’s constantly underestimating himself as a hero, constantly comparing himself to Dick, and pushing himself 24/7 to improve because he internalised the idea that if he’s good, if he’s the perfect hero, then he’ll be loveable. He can’t be bad, he can’t fail, he can’t back down because if he does, he’s nothing.

It’s absolutely not Roy’s fault, but also this doesn’t mean that Ollie’s an evil neglecting abuser, either. Even the best parents fuck up, and Ollie was by no means the best parent. He took in Roy as a sidekick, as a buddy, and then never really found a way to combine the ideas of sidekick and son. He assumed that Roy would be able to interpret meanings behind gestures, which is something that Roy seems to struggle with even into adulthood. I’ve talked about it a fair bit, Roy’s absolutely someone who relies on the explicit, but he’s also not someone who’ll ask for clarification, which has caused conflict in his relationships time and time again. And while it's something he has gotten better at as he's gotten older, a 12-18 year old Roy would absolutely not be able to read Ollie's motives.

And Ollie's fear of fatherhood isn't something exclusive to Roy, either. Sure, he'd gotten better at it by the time Connor and Mia entered the picture (speaking as an oldest child myself, we are the guinea pigs of parenting, I was my mum's sibling), he absolutely still expresses this with them. I mean, just look at his face when he finds out Connor's his son.

That's the face of a man who's just had the crushing weight of parenthood slammed down onto him again, the moment Connor stopped being an ally and started being his responsibility. He's scared, because Ollie absolutely does not see himself as a good father for someone to have. This was very much present during Roy's teenage years, but particularly since this is post-Snowbirds. Both in terms of Roy developing a drug addiction and in terms of Ollie's own initial reaction to it, he immediately spirals. And, since we've already established he does not know how to process things, he lashes out at Connor.

And as for Mia, he's definitely matured significantly by the time she comes into the picture, and compared to with Roy he's a lot more open with his feelings. However!

He still won't explicitly accept the responsibility of fatherhood! Despite acting like a father to Mia in every way through his actions, he still won't use his words! Even though in the issue following, he expresses a paternal protectiveness over her.

And I think Mia's HIV diagnosis is maybe one of the biggest examples of his distancing himself and hiding his feelings, particularly when Connor asks him how he's feeling about it.

He's so fine, so totally fine, trust him when he says he's fine, totally not freaking out. He's absolutely not terrified for his not-daughter, no way.

Ollie has this fear that if he gets too attached to his kids, he's gonna end up failing them. If he keeps a distance from them, then he can't blame himself when they get hurt. Is this good parenting? No! Absolutely not! But this is also the man who dresses up as Robin Hood and who chose to die rather than lose his arm. This is not a healthy man.

But he tries, he tries so hard, even if it's in his own way. And he recognises when he fucks up! And he tries his best to mend it later on!

He's not the best at showing his kids that he loves them, but he's so proud of Roy when he becomes Red Arrow. He comes back to life to save Connor. He stands by Mia's side when she gets diagnosed and becomes Speedy. He's not a great dad, but goddamnit he's trying to be.

In conclusion, no, Ollie is not the perfect father. He's deeply flawed, and his own emotional incompetency has been and always will be a point of conflict between him and his kids. But he's not some uncaring abuser, either. He's trying.

#oliver queen #green arrow #connor hawke #roy harper #red arrow #arsenal #speedy #mia dearden #arrowfam #dc comics

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ghost-bxrd · 6 months ago

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Been mulling over Titans Tower and it's really interesting to me how it's treated in Fanon as compared to how the events transpired in canon. it's a really fun topic! Honestly, the original writing in canon is DOGSHITE but not for the usual reasons people cite.

Here's what does make sense in canon but is largely ignored (this is using canon characterisations at the time): First, it's all about the whole Titans team, not just Tim. They really downplay his death a lot, did not put up his statue or honour him whatsoever. Plus the hero community tends to victim-blame him a fuckton. Jason is showing that his death could've happened to anyone. Second, Tim and Jason are just two yearish apart—Jay died at 15, Tim becomes Robin at 13—so those Titans are more like his colleagues than anything else; he's not some older guy beating the shit outta them. Third, Tim’s indifference to Jason's comments and his cockiness about being a better Robin are pretty on-brand for his early portrayal as Robin. (I think fanon Tim derives a lot of his characteristics from his Red Robin run, which is valid as well! But here in particular we have Robin Tim... who... was... uh... a bit of an asshole when he was written back then and the HUBRIS on that man? Immaculate.)

What still makes this absolutely dog shit is the dialogue and how Jason is pouring his heart out to someone who he doesn't really care about. Jason... just doesn't operate this way... Why's he trauma dumping on... tim... ???? It makes no sense whatsoever because Jason really is someone who'd keep those vulnerabilities to himself. Why would he open up to... CANON TIM??? He makes scathing remarks when faced with Bruce and Dick because he knows the knife twists then and at he cares about their reaction. But not tim ????? Canon UTRH doesn't even mention Tim ????? ???? So in the end it's still shit imo.

I also find the use of Pit Madness in fanon super interesting, despite it not being canon. It's used to propel the Titan's Tower incident, which fascinates me because it shows how people are willing to work around its flaws to maintain consistent characterization in their works (which is !!! cool !!)

It's so interesting how many other incidents that do occur in canon aren't as well known as this one aren't given much thought. But this one is and it's interesting how people try to work with it regardless of it's flaws originally!

I'd really love to hear your opinions about it and how flexible you are with the Titans tower incident! :) How do you work with your Jason and your Tim? because it's cool to hear your analysis etc etc

Hooo boi okay i was planning on replying to this earlier but this deserves a proper, thought out response (which I’m shite at but I’m trying here. Words are hard.)

For one, I wholeheartedly agree with the whole trauma dumping thing.

Obviously we all have different tastes in media and I know there are quite a few people who enjoyed the confrontation with Tim, which is totally fine, but personally… yeah, not my thing.

I got into the Batman/batfam fandom via fanfic, so my first introduction was some version of Titans Tower I believe. I was super intrigued by the characters and the tidbits of lore sprinkled throughout that I immediately began reading up on them and digging through the internet for more info and background story on them. Which then quickly evolved into the part where my adoration for Jason’s character began and a short phase where I absolutely despised early canon Tim.

Like— all the victim blaming. He seriously couldn’t mention Jason without adding something derogatory about getting himself killed, which sat so, so wrong with me. Not to mention the Titans just accepting a new Robin right off the bat and joining in blaming Jason for his own death. I’m pretty sure that was the point where I swore off comics for a long while and decided to live off fanon 🤣

And then Jason’s part in the Titans Tower incident. I think part of how weird the canon event was is due in part to how the writers fumbled to depict trauma? Or maybe they just outright hated him because I know a lot of people back then despised Jason and his run as Robin.

Whatever the reason, I think I genuinely cringed when he revealed the Walmart Robin costume he was wearing. And then the trauma dumping.

Jason is smart enough to know Tim wouldn’t care about his grievances. I mean- dude just broke into his hideout to attack him, I think Tim’s about as done with Jason as with any other criminals, regardless of his past. And all that is proven by Tim fighting back tooth and nail without pause. He doesn’t even react to the accusation of the missing statue in Jason’s honor. Like, he genuinely doesn’t seem to care. And why would he? They don’t know each other.

And yeah maybe he was trying to beat some sense into Tim (which is still wrong but— vigilantes I guess? Idk) and make him quit Robin, but Jason’s also smart enough to know that Robins don’t quit easily. And then, as soon as Tim is down for the count and can’t keep fighting, Jason leaves. Just like that. No actual murder attempt, no kicking-while-he’s-down (at least as far as I remember).

It makes no sense. What would Jason be gaining from that encounter? Why would he blame the kid that replaced him and not the guy that did the replacing? Hell, it would make more sense for him to go after the Titans than Tim. Not the mention him casually doubting Tim’s talents when he must have done some background checks on him.

It’s why I like the idea of Pit Madness I guess, and that Jason actually went to the tower with the intent to kill. Because that way the entire thing wouldn’t seem so… pointless.

As for how flexible I am with the Titans Tower storyline, it really depends on the route people choose to explore. But I’m a huge sucker for the “Jason was Tim’s Robin” trope where there’s at least a mild amount of hero worship going on. 👁️ Oh, and happy endings. I can’t deal with tragedies.

But yeah these are my thoughts on it. Obviously no hate to whoever enjoyed the comic mentioned above 💚 we’ve all got different things we resonate with after all~

#I wish I was more articulate in English but as much as I write fic my brain just BLANKS when I try to respond professionally in English #it’s like ‘you get to use metaphors but your vocab is void for argumentative convos’#I’m so sorry anon I swear I was trying very hard #I hope some of this is understandable on a deeper level #because I have FEELINGS on this topic #but mostly it boils down to me not being a fan of the canon titans tower incident #ghost talks #jason todd #titans tower incident #Tim drake #red hood #robin

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endless-weightless · 1 year ago

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Can we get more ghoul headcannons pls!! The smuttier the better 🩷

AHHHH FIRST REQUEST!! and thank you for this because I LOVE writing smutty ghoul hcs.

not rlly proofread soz

CHARACTERS: Sodo/Dewdrop, Phantom, Aether, Rain, Mountain, Swiss, Omega, Ifrit

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut (obvi), gn!reader, CNC, monsterfucking?, size kink, dacryphilia, bondage, ghouls have mating cycles now bc i said so, pegging, anal, breeding kink, bdsm

🎸 Sodo

Will always fuck you to the point where you’re practically screaming and begging for him because he practically gets high off the ego boost.

He doesn’t mind whatsoever about having to do most if not all the work. The best reward he could ask for is seeing you all fucked out and crying his name.

When Sodo's in heat, he isn't just horny, he's also really fucking aggressive for no good reason 😭. He's snappy, grumpy, stompier than usual and it's all because he's got blue balls LMFAO.

Because of his angry mood, anything you do that pisses him off could result in some rough sex while he growls at you about how you've pissed him off. But, there's a small chance you could put him in his place because he's surprisingly into subbing when it means he gets to put up a fight (consensually, of course).

When he does sub, he's the biggest fucking brat imaginable. It's a good thing he gets so sensitive when he's punished because he cannot listen to an order for the love of everything unholy.

Hates when he can't be handsy with you. He just can't get enough of your body so if you really want to torture him then tie up his hands behind him.

🎸 Phantom

He’s super into puppy play but is absolutely terrified of admitting it and just prays that you’ll suggest something like collaring him so he can bring it up.

This hc and the next one are fem!reader (kinda?) ones but hang in there. Phantom is fucking infatuated with your tits. If your riding him he’s staring at them bouncing like he’s hypnotised.

Also loves fucking your tits regardless of their size because tits are tits and they all look beautiful (but yours are always his favourite).

So obedient it’s adorable. He never acts up around you and if he does he’s on his knees immediately and apologising profusely.

Constantly asking if you feel good even when he’s moments away from cumming and is overstimulated.

Goes non-verbal when he gets too worked up. All he can get out are whimpers, sniffles and small nods or shaking of his head. It’s hard to tell if he needs to tap out so you have to check up on him and be extra attentive.

🎸 Aether

Gets super aroused when he smells you, especially if he’s in heat.

When he’s fucking you he likes whispering in your ear about how he’s going to fuck a baby into you while you dumbly nod as his thrusts become more and more rough.

Gets a little too turned on when you wrap your hands around his horns because they just look so much bigger than your hands.

Wanna give Aether an instant boner? Wear a thin sundress or loosely buttoned shirt around him with no underwear on and watch him writhe in his seat when he picks up on the scent of your underwear being absent.

He's always down to fuck in the church part of the abbey. The risk of getting caught or being seen/heard is thrilling to him and the ministry encouraging sex is just a bonus.

Loves a good bit of cockwarming when you're both too sleepy to fuck or he just wants to torture you.

🎸 Rain

Goes absolutely feral for some sloppy and messy sex. He just loves seeing the two covered in each others cum and arousal.

Prefers being marked rather than marking you. The hickeys and bruises he gets to see the next day always make his stomach backflip as he imagines what you’ll do tonight.

Rain isn't a huge fan of seeing you in pain during sex. Him however...

It's not entirely kink related, it's kinda just a very fucked up way of showing his devotion to you that also happens to get him off.

I honestly think he wouldn't absolutely despise the idea of being caught having sex. Like in a sense where someone accidentally walks into your room while you two are fucking and not being out in public.

He's very big on you belonging to him and him belonging to you. Not in a sub/dom dynamic way but rather being each others mate. I could go on and on about him during his mating cycles but I'll save that for another fic...

🥁 Mountain

One of his favourite things to do is to use his elemental powers to grow vines to use as restraints. And if you’re into cnc or just like surprises, he’ll do it when you least expect it.

Touching his horns or tail is a dangerous game to play because it’ll always end with him above you fucking you until you see stars and there’s tears welling in your eyes.

Has a giant mirror right across from his bed that he makes you face while you fuck in reverse cowgirl just so he can see how tiny you look compared to him.

Calling him ‘sir’ is a one way ticket to overstimulation because once it slips out of you he won’t stop fucking you any time soon.

He doesn't like having to be verbal with his commands, when you see him gesture you to come sit on his lap, you better listen.

If you ever want to see him turn as submissive as he possibly can be, start scratching at the base of his horns and behind his ears. He won't go down easily but he'll still let out a few somewhat pornographic moans.

🎤 Swiss

He needs his cock stepped on every once in a while, preferably by a nice pair of stilettos or latex boots.

Practically has no limits. He’s into pretty much everything you can think of and is willing to try anything if it makes you happy and gets you off.

He’s primarily focused on your pleasure but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being taken care of.

Every heat cycle for Swiss turns all his dials up from 0 to 100 and it's almost scary. His urge to breed isn't even that strong, he just really needs to be fucked so he'll shut up.

He’s usually really enthusiastic about subbing, but sometimes he feels the need to be a bratty little shit so you’ll take out your anger on him and he can forget about everything wrong with the world for a solid few hours.

He's a biter, that's for sure. The intensity of the bite depends on your comfort but if you give him the green light he'll start biting so hard he draws enough blood to have you lightheaded.

🎸 Omega

Although I said Omega is a hard dom and a mean one too in my previous post about the ghouls, I don’t think he’d be opposed to subbing every once in a hunter’s moon.

Loves having you just ride his thigh while he practices guitar. He gets to see you all needy and not be able to be affectionate to him because of the obnoxious Hagström Fantomen blocking your torso from his and the lack of attention.

Wouldn’t mind cuckolding if it involved Terzo. Also wouldn’t mind if Terzo simply ordered the two of you around while he jerked off at the sight.

Him being a mean and hard dom doesn't make him cruel, he still praises you when you behave well. If you've managed to take his cock on top of the edging and torture, he'll softly smother your face and neck in kisses for doing such a good job while he continues to thrust into you.

(AFAB reader hc) If you ever find yourself horny yet on your period do not fret because Omega gives absolutely zero (0) fucks! He'll even eat you out if you want him to.

Adores roleplay, especially if it involves corruption. One of his favourite scenes to act out is for you to be an innocent mortal summoning a ghoul from hell not knowing what ghouls desire once they're on earth.

🎸 Ifrit

He already gets hard when he’s giving head but if you grab onto his horns to pull him closer and he chokes on your dick/suffocates between your thighs he might cum untouched because oh Lucifer it feels good.

He likes fucking fast and rough, regardless of the dynamic. He likes seeing the bruises, feeling that fuzziness in his limbs and not being able to think when he’s fucking.

Will randomly communicate how he's feeling throughout the day by hugging you from behind and pressing his hard, clothed cock into your backside. Zero shame whatsoever.

Loves a good bit of thigh riding. He doesn't mind who's riding who's thigh, he just likes the feeling of it.

You can always tell when he's close to cumming because his tail will start to flick erratically while his claws extend for a split second.

Ifrit isn't afraid to use his tail to jerk you off. Don't act surprised when you feel something wrap around your cock or the spade of his tail flicking over your clit.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

that's all lovelies!

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soosth · 11 months ago

Text

AANG ＆ OZAI PARALLELS: DEBUNKED

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Because apparently the true villain is the sole survivor of a genocide of his entire nation, and not the imperialist colonizer.

Where do I even begin?? Because I’m genuinely holding in laughter writing this, it’s absolutely insane how certain people can make such egregious parallels that aren’t even found in the first place.

AH, so a little backstory on how this fucking shit stained idea even came to existence, well our dear z^tara fans pissed their pants over Zuko and Katara not tying the knot, so, as a way of retribution for their supposed “honour” They take any chance to jump on the Aang hate train and make him into some irredeemable abusive demon, aaand they got that perfect opportunity because the LoK decided to take a lick out of the great “Main Characters Must Be Bad Parents In The Sequels” Trope. Which personally, does absolutely nothing to the protagonists resolution aside from cheap family drama but I digress.

Now, I’m not behind the idea of the writers trying to make Aang a “flawed” Parent, I think it really makes no sense by how they went about it, (I might touch on this in another post)

((And it’s so very clear that they’re trying to give it a soft “retcon” And even taking extra steps saying that Kya and Bumi just “remember wrong” Which I’ll actually take, because season two of LOK was hell on earth anyway so you might as well give it some saving grace.))

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There’s three main parallels that they got from Ozai and Aang: (god help me)

Favouring a child

isolating the rest

leaving pressure On the golden child

I’m going to debunk all three of them while trying not to fall into complete lunacy over how ridiculous they are.

Favouring a child + Leaving pressure:

OK, so people are clearly blind with context clues and media comprehension, got it. No surprise whatsoever. I can’t be disappointed if I didn’t even have any expectations to begin with.

Let’s compare the treatment on how Ozai treats Azula, and how Aang treats Tenzin. (Holy Shit)

Beginning with Ozai, well.. It doesn’t take much of a rocket scientist to understand that Ozai essentially could not give two fucks about Azula, as she in essence, serves the role of an attack dog, as long as it does its job, it’s worthy.

Ozai favoured Azula because she was molded to match his ferocity and hunger for power, she was a prodigy bender, and was cunning and calculated, all traits that Ozai found endearing and someone worthy to be crowned the next “fire lord.” His “favouring” Of her didn’t come out of genuine love or care, she is his tool who serves a purpose. In short, she showed more competency and more ruthlessness and callousness in comparison to Zuko. Which earned her, her place as the “Golden Child.”

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None of this is even remotely similar to how Aang treated Tenzin and his kids, aside from the fact he supposedly “favoured” Tenzin more, but that is such a baseline statement and has absolutely no relation with Ozai's reasons.

You have to understand that an entire FUCKING NATION IS DEAD. History, Culture, Tradition, is at the BRINK of being wiped out, Tenzin is quite literally the only Airbender that will be left after Aangs passing. Why do people devalue this concept so much?

“B-BUT THE AIR ACOLYTES1!!” Still have limited knowledge, airbending is so heavily tied to its spiritual roots, you LOSE your ability to AIRBEND, if you aren't inclined to your spiritual side. Which is a core part of the air nomad culture. Tenzin is... Literally the only god forsaken part left of that, so yeah. It’s a pretty big fucking deal. Aang values his culture and teachings to such a high degree, he is literally the survivor of a genocide. His favouring of Tenzin was done out of necessity and love, not out of a need for power and a new attack dog to send orders around.

Tenzin will literally be the future “Director” Or guide for the next avatar to learn airbending, people still forget this, and it’s hilarious. He needs to know all the moves, all the teachings because he will be the next avatar's personal guide.

Aang constantly reassures him, and apologizes for the pressure that may be put upon him but he always reaffirms that he’ll be there to guide him and they’ll “learn together”

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So yeah not the same thing at all. Fuck you for being so inept at understanding the different reasons and perspectives of those situations, just for some petty ship discourse, genuinely disgusting.

Isolating the children:

OK this part, I have to say that the writers definitely messed up with aangs characterization, but I think the execution came out way differently than the intention, so I will try to look more into the intention of each decision.

Ozai isolated Zuko, mistreated him, belittled him, PHYSICALLY ABUSED HIM, but yeah totally on par with Aang actually.

I don’t wanna touch on this part much mainly because his treatment was literally explained all throughout the show, and granted, while I understand most of these people haven’t touched the show aside from reading fanfic 300000 Where Aang is revealed to us as satan himself, but perhaps, even a small peak at Ozai's parenting would reveal the laughable contrast between the two.

Zuko was a slow learner, and much more of a softie, and a “mama's boy” To Ozai’s heavy dislike, he was thus treated as such, he was belittled, turned down, and literally burnt alive for showing “weakness” He is meant to serve as a direct contrast to Azula, ”The everything he isn't.”

Kya and Bumi on the other hand, don’t show any actual signs of trauma aside from some petty jabs they threw at Tenzin,

Bumis talk with Aang at the statue was *very very* Clearly, meant to highlight his own inferiority complex that he internalized growing up. His need for proving himself to be capable of doing just as much if not more than a “bender” Probably happened because his two parents were both prodigy benders and him being a first born son who was a non-bender must’ve hit pretty hard for him, and I’m so sure that katara and Aang reassured how special he is but that kind of thing doesn’t really go away.

------

Kya: [while healing Bumi] I told you those rocks were slippery. You're lucky you didn't kill yourself.

Bumi: You done with the lecture, mom?

Kya: Oh, grow up. You haven't changed one bit since we were kids. You're still trying to prove you can do everything a bender can. Well, you can't. Deal with it.

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

That talk with Aangs statue was very much meant to unveil an internal struggle rather than a conflict he had with his father. Kya even doubles down on this, telling him “of course he’d be proud of you” Basically spoon feeding to us, the viewers, that this is much more of internal than an external conflict that he has to overcome along the show.

“Why Didn’t he share his culture with them 1!!1!”

He most definitely did, or tried to, but it’s clear they didn’t show much interest so he didn’t pester, this is shown many times throughout the show.

“You know I could never keep all those gurus straight… There were like a million of them!

remember that long boring story about the guy who never ate?”

This is literally Kya’s remark to Tenzin just after he tried teaching the airbender students this story, basically telling us that Aang DID try to tell them about his stories and culture, but much to their disinterest, didn’t try any further.

And Bumi, literally could not pay attention to the story to save his life, and instead decided to fool around in his literal 60’s!! I mean Imagine what he was like when he was a kid!!

I could imagine their dynamic was very similar to Jinora with Meelo and Ikki, Tenzin being the only one with actual interest and care, whilst Bumi and Kya goofing off and not putting much focus onto it. WHICH IS FINE BTW!!

It only goes to reiterate that Tenzin was the only one who was actually giving interest and attention to the air nomad culture, and it was of Kya and Bumi’s own personal choice to not partake in it. To each their own I see.

“BUT WHAT ABOUT THE VACATIONS”

This.. I agree, weird for the writers to decide this, but given how they low-key are retconning it in interviews, my best guess is that each of those trips were side-quests during their journey to teach an important lesson that might’ve just drowned out because Tenzin may not have remembered it as well.

Also keep in mind that Tenzin was put into a lot of pressure, Aang probably saw this, and as a way to still keep it enjoyable, he took him to trips that would help ease the mind for a little kid whilst also learning something valuable. That seems pretty on brand for Aang actually

And given that Kya and Bumi are literally in their fucking 60’s it wouldn’t surprised me if they didn’t have the greatest memory. Hell, they didn’t even fault Aang as a parent until Tenzin started boasting about “trips” That Kya and Bumi gave petty jabs but weren’t actually showing genuine hurt, just annoyance.

Kya even comments how Aang was too busy “Trying to save the world, and doing his duty that he didn't have much time for them”

Phrasing as if it wasn't anything "important" But it's clear that this was Kya's own personal irritation towards Tenzin rather than an actual evaluation on Aang's duties.

A continuation comic best explains it in a deeper way:

----------

Literally showing that “neglecting” His kids wasn't up to him, and was out of a sense of necessity, trying to cram as much knowledge onto Tenzin, the only one who was basically putting his lessons into practices. Kya and Bumi were left feeling neglected. But that wasn’t out of his decision; he still loved them dearly.

-------

This. Literally highlighting how much pressure was forced upon Aang, so yes, as any person would, he struggled with making time for everybody. Holy shit who knew??

GASP!! IS THAT… A REALISTIC BUT UNDERSTANDABLE FLAW!!?? HOW DARE YOU! ITS OZAI #2

The fact that the smiley energetic person forgets to SMILE, is a big deal, man was put through hells amount of stress but he never cracked.

So tell me, how is a genocidal freak, who treats his golden child like a tool and abuses the other both physically and emotionally for showing “weakness’

Even remotely comparable to

the sole survivor of a genocide, trying to withhold his teachings and culture onto literally his only child that showed actual effort in doing so, while also maintaining the balance of an entire fucking world and being literally the biggest “advisor” And “Mentor” For society, OH! And also building and managing a literal city, but along the way struggling to make time for his children.

Guess what, they’re not. And if you think they are. You are an idiot, with bias and headcanons.

So the conclusion is, Aang is a flawed parent, but he isn't a "bad" Parent - confirmed by the literal writers.

Comparing him to Ozai a literal dictator, is absolutely sickening, just for your petty shipping discourse when this show's been over for a decade is insane. Indulge in what you enjoy, but stop projecting delusions like they're canon.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #aang #pro aang #aang defense squad #the legend of korra #tenzin #kya ii #bumi ii #how could you hate this cutie #anti anti aang #anti zutara #pro kataang #kataang #you all suck #anti zutara fandom #katara x aang #aang meta

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

Text

Yoonkook x Reader

Touch-Starved [Main Story]

Yoongi has a crush on you, but is convinced you're not interested in him. You have a crush on Yoongi, but are sure that he'd never like you if he knew your secret. Jungkook has a crush on you but won't admit it to anyone, and you have a crush on Jungkook, but you think you know that he'd never see you as a possible partner, because he knows your secret. It's all just such a mess. How could you ever sort this out?

Tags/Warnings: Wolf!Bangtan, Wolf!Jungkook, Wolf!Yoongi, Dog!Reader, Puppy!Reader, DDLG aspects and themes, no judgement allowed here, non-sexual regression!!!, none of those themes are sexualized in this work, hurt and comfort, major fluff but also lots of angst and insecurity, friends to lovers

Length: idk long didn't count

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

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Yoongi is not good at things like affection, or relationships at that.

He easily turns red as bright as a spanked ass whenever he has to try and compliment someone he's even just remotely romantically interested in, or he will otherwise simply not find the courage to do it at all. Backhanded compliments are a regular thing with him, his character not allowing him to show someone he cares without implying that he doesn't- a trait that he hates about himself.

He'd learned it from his father, making him even more upset since he never really got along well with that man in the first place. Yet the more he thinks about it, the more it seems like his family history will just repeat itself, and he will find himself in a marriage simply created because of convenience, not love.

He cringes at that, throwing the rest of his sandwich away. His appetite has been long gone anyways.

The reason of his foul mood is in the dorm currently, sitting comfortably on the couch playfully wrestling with Jungkook over a pack of chips he can't identify from his spot.

He hates Jungkook sometimes.

He's always pictured as a shy boy, yet he's actually the exact opposite - easily likable, charming, and most of all- he's your age. The maknae and you are merely half a year apart in age, and he can see why you get along with him. He is a nice person, with his bright smile and large eyes, talented, strong, and likes video games as much as you do.

Yoongi himself does play some games to a small extend, however, he rather buries himself in his work, losing sense of time whenever music is involved.

Overly confident is not how he would describe you- you are simply uncaring of trends of the masses. You don't crave to stand out like Taehyung does, you rather enjoy simply living for yourself and what makes you happy no matter what people would think of your 'goals'. You love stuffed animals and soft colorful things no matter how childish it might make you look. You rarely take selfies of yourself, and never really pose much in images- you just smile, simple as that.

God that smile. If there is an emotion for hate and love at the same time, he is constantly feeling it when it comes to you.

Yoongi wants to be close to you as well, maybe even the closest if he is honest, yet he doesn't know how the hell he is supposed to do that. You both rarely text- he is too unsure if he can, since he is only in a groupchat with you, and only got your ID from Hoseok, who gave it to him in case Yoongi needs to text you something important. You rarely visit him in his studio, but then again, he never told you you'd be welcome anytime. Every small thing he does for you he either brushes it off as nothing speci¹al, or sometimes even tells you that he didn't do it, but one of his members, claiming that he has no Idea what you are talking about. You also show absolutely no interest in him whatsoever.

Which makes his embarrassing crush on you all the more awkward.

He's Min Yoongi for god's sake! He could have anyone if he really tried, if just for his fame and wealth and status as a full blooded Wolf-Hybrid coming from a 'clean' bloodline- yet he is stuck with you, the tiny dog hybrid who sees him as a friend only- if even that at all.

"Yoongi! Finally leaving your wife in there to join us in being social for once?" Seokjin remarks with his signature laugh following, making you chuckle as well.

"Don't be mean Jin." You softly scold the oldest. "Yoongs works hard in there." You look over your shoulder, one of your floppy ears unfolding while you smile that goddamn smile at him- not huge, not a smirk, simply a nice friendly gesture towards him, curled tail wagging a little.

The nickname doesn't make it better.

He hates nicknames, however, he could definitely keep living with your cute versions of his first name any day of the week. He wants to answer you, give you a verbal response, yet all he can bring himself to do is a shrug of his shoulders.

What the fuck.

But you only playfully hold your heart, falling into Jungkooks lap with a dramatic sigh. "Ah, always so cold-!" Which makes the guys laugh, and himself involuntarily smile to himself. He sits down, managing to actually place his ass next to you on the couch without instantly retreating for once. You bravely put your legs over his lap, and his mind is beginning to form the same amount of error messages like his PC system the last time he spilled his iced americano over his MIDI-board.

Yet he only grunts on the outside, and takes his phone out to search for something.

You chuckle, mumbling a sorry under your breath and move to slide your legs off of him again, but his unused hand stops them, shifting them back. His fingers are touching the small patch of bare skin on your calf between your leggings and fluffy sock that had slid down a little- and he has to use all of his self-control not to burst into flames.

He's never really had any very close contact with you, and always imagined what your skin may feel like- as creepy as that sounds. The smile he can see you forming from the side of his view makes him relax, as well- the first sign spotted that he might have some sort of effect on you. Taehyung makes a noise, but is silenced by namjoon who pulls him into a conversation to avoid embarrassing the producer, well aware of his own personal dilemma with you. He is the only one who really knows of his feelings towards you- having told yoongi that you actually feel the same way, yet a bit different. You are, according to namjoon, scared to overstep boundaries with Yoongi, worried that he may snap at you like he did a few months back.

There's that certain feeling whenever you do something stupid and then want to apologize, but you miss the chance and now weeks after it's just awkward, so you don't mention it, while also having to deal with the consequences daily.

Yeah. He still thinks of that moment he'd yelled at you sometimes at the most random of times, cringing internally at it. He'd been stressed with the new Album he wanted to put out, having been stuck on one song, and you had just turned up at the wrong time. You didn't cry or anything like that, you simply apologized for opening his studio without knocking, and left with your tail tucked between your legs. Since then however you'd become a bit more distant with him, more careful, and less touchy than you were with the rest of the pack.

He knows you're a sucker for skinship and cuddling, especially as a dog hybrid who's grown up in a carecenter between many other hybrids, yet you also respect if someone wants space. He loves how much attention you pay to your surroundings, eyes always wide open- you remember things for a long time, and you are able to keep track of so many things at once- yet he's also seen your apartment, a glimpse of your more raw personal side that you tend to keep close to yourself. You're a chaotic person, and he doesn't know how you find anything on that desk of yours.

You struggle to keep track of chores and your own health sometimes, yet you try hard, he knows that. And that makes him feel such an extreme need to make sure you're always happy and taken care of, that he's the one to take care of you.

"Oh, YOONGI!" You suddenly gasp at him, and he raises his eyebrows, looking at you as you move around a bit, your hands searching in your sweater pocket for something. "I actually cleaned up my apartment yesterday, and I found this. I think I borrowed it sometime ago, but lost it- sorry for that again by the way, won't happen again I promise!" You say, showing him a black and silver USB stick, your curly tail wagging in excitement.

You're right, that is his. He actually had forgotten about it.

"Took you long enough." He simply says and takes it from you to put it in his own pocket, seconds later cringing at his sentence. He could've definitely phrased that better, or maybe even simply thank you for giving it back even after all this time. Yet the timeframe of saying thank you without making it seem weird or out of place is already overstepped now, so he has to suffer.

Jungkook chimes in instead.

"I helped her get some order back into that place. Poor puppy had been so stressed with work that she couldnt keep up anymore." He says, laughing along with you, and Yoongi lets a chuckle of his own slip. But instead of telling you what a good job you did, or any praise he really wants to tell you, he only pats your leg gently two times, running his thumb over your calf for a second, internally imprinting into his mind how soft your skin is.

You however beam at this, visibly feeding off of his small gesture like a touch starved pet- and he can't help but find it cute.

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A knock on his door makes him look at it, giving a verbal response in a low "Hm?", as he hears your voice from behind it.

You're not really saying anything, just a sound of confusion and discomfort escaping you from behind the door, and he can slowly hear your slippers softly moving away, when he gets up from his chair to open his door to see you stop to look at him. You're standing in front of him with wide eyes and lowered ears, one of them being pulled on by your hand as he can hear the rest of the pack laughing in the main living room of the dorm. He chuckles at that, waving you into his studio, making him and yourself smile. You thank him somewhat quietly, and go to sit down on his small couch he has inside his studio, laying down so your feet still touched the ground as to not overstep any unspoken rules he might have.

Yoongi however walks up to you, and puts your feet up for you, grabbing a spare blanket from besides the couch, something he always kept here since he sleeps in his studio quite often. You thank him quietly for that, the soft buzzing of his studio PC and the nice air conditioning already helping your fuzzy head a lot.

Jumping over your shadow and coming here was a good idea after all, it seems like.

Yoongi sympathizes with you when it comes to headaches- and it's clear from your behavior that you probably have one, which could also explain why you don't really talk, since it probably hurts. Due to the fact that he seems to solely survive off of caffeine and a cup of instant ramen smashed in between his busy schedule, he gets them more often than he would like to admit. Yet he also remembers how you'd told him once how easily your headaches evolved into migraines if you weren't careful, so he is mindful to help you in avoiding that this time. He digs around in his mind for any small excuse to talk to you, yet ultimately decides against it, thinking it would probably be better for you to have as much silence as possible.

He wonders what your secret is.

Namjoon had mentioned something you kept secret 'for a reason', but he wouldn't tell the producer what it could be, not even a hint. You hopefully know that nothing could ever really make Yoongi see you any different than he does right now.

Except maybe murder- but he doubts that that's what you're hiding.

He also knows that Jungkook is aware of it too. Maybe you both are a couple? He does sleep over sometimes after all, seems to be awfully good with calming you down whenever you're anxious or panicking. It's like the young wolf is aware or something Yoongi isn't, able to manage you when you're becoming restless about things.

Another knock is heard. Yoongi attempts to call out- but gets up to walk to the door instead so he won't shout and worsen your headache. It's Jungkook- because of course it is.

"Hey- is- oh, there she is. I was wondering where she went " jungkook says, entering after the rapper walks aside, silently giving him permission to come in. "Hey- everything okay?" Jungkook wonders softly to you, and you quietly shake your head, whining slightly to yourself before you pull down your ears once more over your eyes, clearly signaling your headache to him as well. "I told you to drink more, puppy. Come on, let's get you home." He gently says, helping you sit up.

"She can just nap here, I don't mind." Yoongi offers- but there's something in Jungkook's eyes that seems oddly suspicious as he looks for an answer inside his head it seems like.

"Ah, I'll rather take her home, but thanks hyung." He tells him, averting his gaze as he instead occupies himself with you who's silently reaching out for him, clinging onto him as he picks you up, showing clearly how used to it both of you are. Jungkook holds you almost effortlessly, while you're instinctively laying your head on his shoulder, arms around his neck.

Yeah, you're probably a couple, and you just don't want to say it out loud.

"You know, you could just tell everyone." Yoongi grumbles more or less as he opens the door for the two of you, Jungkooks wide eyes looking at him. "No one's gonna get mad or something if you told them." He shrugs, and Jungkook looks around for a second, on edge. "You're together, right?" He asks, and Jungkook shakes his head- though with a hint of shyness in his face.

"Ah no- hyung.." He sighs. "I'll- she'll explain when she's ready okay?" He says, as you whine into his neck. "I have to bring her home now- thanks for looking after her!" He says already walking away-

leaving Yoongi confused.

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Jungkook honestly wishes you and him were a couple.

But life doesn't work like this, and sadly, you're not into him like that. You see him as a comfort person, a packmate and a friend- but nothing more than that. He remembers when he first 'caught' you in the midst of regressing in your home-

the whole apartment a mess, cluttered and absolutely disorganized.

You're one of only three percent of dog hybrids that fall into a different headspace when stressed or overwhelmed. It's not something you can control, and neither is it a trauma response- it's just nature playing a cruel joke on you, making your mind shut down to a certain degree to protect you. It's like your brain is overprotective- trying to shield you from all potential mental harm.

But all of that comes with a lot of issues and troubles, such as difficulty holding a job, or simple things such as keeping your apartment clean.

Jungkook remembers how terrified you were of him finding you in your messy apartment- having had to calm you down for a good hour or so before he could even attempt at helping you clean up and take care of your needs. He's not sure why you're so adamant on hiding it from the rest of the pack- but he's got an idea.

Dog hybrids with your condition are alienated, isolated, judged terribly. And you're probably terrified of being cast out of the pack for it, leaving you alone and without anybody.

Your personal nightmare.

So he just instead has decided to take care of you, and wait until you feel ready to tell someone else. You deserve happiness and the feeling of safety and comfort, but he can also understand that you're worried of how it'll be taken by the rest of the guys.

And yeah, he also gets to be a little selfish himself when he's got time with you like this. He gets to live out a little dream here and there, where you're actually his to love. Because he does love you, to the moon and back- and he knows his heart will surely break a little one day when you find someone to give your own heart to, instead of him.

So he takes these moments for himself, and enjoys those daydreams for now, until he has to wake up.

"There we go, that's already better isn't it?" Jungkook hums after he'd taken out your hairtie, fingers massaging the spot where it had been pressing against your scalp for the past few hours. You hum in agreement, nodding against his shoulder while you move a bit to get comfortable on his thighs.

You don't even know that you almost exposed your secret to Yoongi of all people- the one wolf of the pack you've got a crush on.

Everyone kind of knows it, everyone also knows about his crush on you as well- though you seem rather talented in finding excuse after excuse as to why that can't be true. Jungkook knows your main fear is what you're right now- and that Yoongi could find you appalling, or childish, or anything else negative that could come to your mind.

And Jungkook can't say he doesn't understand your fear- because he does.

"You're gonna get all stiff if you nap like that." Jungkook chuckles, patting your back a little, making your curled tail wag happily. "Don't be a brat now. Come on, we'll take a nap on the couch, yeah?" He hums. You whine. "No? Not a nap?" He wonders, but you nod now. "Okay, yes to a nap, no to the couch?" He navigates, laughing when you nod now, tail wagging. "Puppy if we nap in bed you'll sleep for hours though." He sighs.

But you simply wiggle out of his lap, before you run to the bedroom-

The wolf hot on your heels, when your doorbell rings.

When Jungkook opens the door, it's Yoongi- the producer holding up a jacket. "She left it at the dorm." He informs Jungkook, who reaches out to take it- though Yoongi holds it back. "I'd like to give it to her myself-"

"You can't." The younger wolf denies, panicking a little when he hears something jingle, and feels the toy hit his back softly, fabric ball tumbling to the ground, bell inside the cotton filling the cause of the noise. Jungkook closes the door a bit more now to keep you out of sight. "Just- uh, she'll grab it tomorrow-"

"Her phone and purse are in the pockets." Yoongi says. "I'm sure she'd like it back right now." He challenges, and Jungkook can feel himself squirm uncomfortably under the strong gaze of his packmate, having to avert his gaze. "What's really going on?" Yoongi asks, as the toy hits Jungkook's back again.

"Look, this is really bad timing right now-" Jungkook whines as he kicks the toy back with his food go occupy you at least for just a second to give himself more time to think of an excuse. "-She's.. not feeling well right now." He tries to justify.

"Jungkook you're not being very convincing right now." Yoongi sighs. "What the fuck is going on? Does she hate me?"

"NO!" Jungkook barks, before he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ah.. God, fuck, alright." He sighs, defeated, letting the door slowly open more, while he turns around to throw the soft fabric ball towards where you sit on the floor, toy flying over your head, making you flop onto your back as you try to catch it.

You don't even realize it's Yoongi who's now in the doorway whole Jungkook sits in front of you to start a game of tug-of-war with the soft llushy toy with you, successfully pulling your attention away from the producer who just silently enters the apartment, and closes the door behind him before he hangs up your coat.

It takes him one good look to realize what's going on.

The hazy look in your eyes. The way you don't even greet him, rather occupied with the game Jungkook plays with you. Your almost clumsy way of movement.

"So that's the secret?" Yoongi hums as he sits down near his packmate, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Jungkook nods. "She's scared of anyone finding out." He reveals, while he watches you now nibbling on his finger instead of the toy, before you yawn.

"Why?" Yoongi wonders. "It's not like it's her fault or choice." He mumbles.

"Yeah, I know." Jungkook shrugs. "But I get it, you know? You hear horror stories about it all the time. Friends and family being weirded out and stuff." He explains, and Yoongi grows quiet.

It really is understandable.

"So that's why you sleep over so much?" He asks, and the younger wolf nods.

"She used to be triggered easily since she didn't have a person to rely on." He explains. "But when I took on that.. role, I guess, she became more stable. It doesn't happen so randomly anymore, she's got more control over it. Today was just a bad day I guess." He shrugs.

"She must be tough to handle." Yoongi mumbles.

"Not really." Jungkook denies. "She's very sweet. The beginning was hard, yeah, but mostly because I didn't know what to do. These days it's become easier." He nods to himself, though Yoongi doesn't miss the look on his friend's face.

"You love her." He states.

And Jungkook only nods.

"I do." He agrees. "It's hard not to."

Yoongi hums in agreement, and Jungkook wants to be swallowed by the ground. Now that the producer knows, he'll take over the care of you- you'll grow closer, emotionally and physically, and you'll no longer need Jungkook to care for you.

His dream is ending, and he hates it.

"She loves you too." Yoongi offers. Jungkook laughs a little.

"Situationally, yeah." He nods.

"No, in general." Yoongi argues, but he can't seem to push through the thoughts of Jungkooks mind, the wolf having already decided his stance on things. "Jungkook.."

"You'll take good care of her, right?" He asks, looking at his packmate with round eyes that try hard not to let any tears fall. "You'll make sure she doesn't have to.. feel ashamed, or bad, right?"

"I'm not taking her away from you." Yoongi shakes his head, and Jungkook nods.

"I know you're not." He says, trying hard to keep it together even as you crawl into his lap to comfort him, sensing his distress.

"She was never mine to begin with."

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You're absolutely mortified when you're informed of what happened- or rather when you connected the dots yourself, after waking from your nap with both wolves next to you in bed.

One look exchanged with Jungkook signals to him that you've pulled yourself out of your headspace- body shaking now with the overwhelming sense of shame you're feeling as Yoongi sits up now as well to look at you with a sense of worry.

"Hey, it's fine." Jungkook reassures easily. "He doesn't hate you or anything, he's cool with it."

"Oh god this is so weird.." you hide your face in your hands, embarrassed by the events unfolding like this.

"Its not. It makes sense, really." Yoongi shrugs. "So this is why you don't want to move into the pack dorm with us?" He wonders, and you nod.

"Its weird. You can say that, I know myself that it is." You sigh.

"You're not weird." Jungkook shakes his head, taking your hand to reassure you. "Promise."

"I agree. This isn't weird, it's something that happens to some." He shrugs. "I still like you." He says without thinking, as you slowly look at him.

"You.. do?" You wonder, and he nods.

"Very much." He smiles a bit awkwardly, when Jungkook let's go of your hand, clearing his throat.

"I'll.. I'll see myself out then." He mumbles, and at that your head snaps towards him.

No- he can't leave like that. Yoongi might've..somewhat confessed, but you still need him. You still want him here.

Wait.

If Yoongi likes you, and toy like him back, and that leads to you Noth becoming partners, that's great. But if that means you can't have Jungkook, you don't want it. You need jungkook.

You love jungkook, too.

"Hey, Yoongi will stay with you, you're not alone anymore-" He tries to settle your clearly bubbling panic, but its to no avail. Your head is filled with the fact that Jungkook wants to leave, and you don't want that.

You want both. Why can't they both stay?

Your cheeks are wet with tears as your puppy-mind refuses to accept the situation. You've slipped right back again, as you make jungkook hold yoongis hand, before you yourself hold onto them, stubbornly holding onto their connected hands, before you lay down on them, eyes closed and ears pinned back.

"I uh.." Jungkook stampers a big awkwardly, attempt at pulling his hand away responded to with a low growl from you, eyes glaring.

"Seems like we'll have to share." Yoongi teases surprisingly, catching the younger wolf off guard as hemeeys the older one's gaze.

"I mean- uh-" he stammers, unsure. "Is that.. will that even work out?" He worries, while you happily fall asleep hiding both their hands.

"Guess we'll have to find out." Yoongi shrugs, laying down again next to you, Jungkook slowly doing the same a few seconds later.

Looks like his dream didn't end after all-

Maybe it just begun.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

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