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nieceeee · 6 months

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“WHERE TO NOW?”

PS: babydaddy!eren and y/n have been distancing themselves from one another. Eren wants to be with her but feels like her heart is in another place…or with another person. He and the boys discover exactly what’s going on as he is babysitting one night…

A/N: Angst, tension, fluff for the most part. Cussing, mention of the name babydoll. This is really for a 3 part series so don’t worry there will be plenty of lovey doves stuff towards the end if y’all want it. The other parts will be a little bit longer than this one. I had to play with your emotions before playing with your….nevermind. ENJOY!

W/C: 2.4K

PREVIOUS FICS TO READ: She’s Not Yours (its probably best to read the Eren playlist…if you’ve read them all, see if you can find the references from the previous fics in this one)

“You look amazing, baby doll.” His voice said from behind you, sending a chill down your spine. You took a deep breath to shake the nerves before you lifted your eyes and stared through the mirror at his. “Thank you Rennie.” You say with a soft smile. Things between you two had been…decent. Weeks after that very dramatic day that started with a bloody nose and ended with his ex hearing beating down yo block, time had seemed to blur together. Eren, freaking out about the entire situation, went back to try and talk to her, hoping to smooth things over which also led to another breakdown from her and him consoling her. And even though he admits nothing happened, the simple fact that he was there for her was something you couldn’t stand. And that alone had you questioning so many things. I mean you weren’t together and neither were they so why does who he has a connection with bother you so much. He said even though they weren’t dating at the time, he didn't want her to feel disrespected and assume you called her intentionally. You understood the sentiment although you didn't give a damn about what she assumed. But because of that, you were at a stand still not only with Eren but with your own emotions as well.

You both (more you than him) decided it would be best to give each other some time to figure out what you wanted to do when it came to the complications revolving around your relationship. Yes, the feelings were there but there was also a lot of unhealed trauma and damage that each of you needed to figure out. Eren wanted to be with you, he knew that without a doubt. The constant back and forth and the fallout of his other relationship taught him a few things and it was in those moments where he realized that you were the only person for him. His first real love, his best friend, the mother of his child. He couldn’t see himself being with anybody else again.

Unfortunately for him, you had other plans. You needed more time to sort through your feelings. The consistent pestering in your mind of what happened every time you had tried to make it work with him before would always rear its ugly head and you’d have to face the reality. No matter how much you wanted it to work, things with you and him were too complicated and with a baby in the mix, it was too much to lose. You were so sure about this but for some reason when you called him over to explain it, you had an wave of uneasiness in your belly. But you stayed the course, expressing to Eren that it wasn't a good idea for you all to jump back into a serious relationship after so much mess had happened. Did he understand? Hell no. Why is he okay to sleep in your bed but not enough to be your man. His heart shattered in pieces when you told him you wanted to keep it friendly but he wouldn't show it on his face. Not in front of you. He wanted you to know he respected your backwards ass decision.

So it seemed like you were back at square one, coparenting and some relationship that bordered between ‘my man my man my man’ and ‘oh we are just friends’. Granted none of your other male friends know how you taste, how you moan when your clit is sucked on, and how to hit that sweet spot that you could only reach when he has you pressed into the mattress, fingers splayed out on your back as he… “No.” you say verbally. It wasn't the time for that, not now or anywhere in the near future. You had made the decision and you had to stick beside it. But you knew that you had to get him out of your head. So you distanced yourself as much as you could, only allowing parental visits and no late night stays. No personal phone calls outside of communication about your son. Nothing to give any indication to the feelings you worked so hard on burying.

Eren hated it.

He hated every lost moment. He hated not being able to touch you. He hated waking up in an empty bed. He hated the way that you would stand on the other side of the room when he came to pick up his baby. It was exhausting but he stayed. It was another night out for you. Eren had come over to babysit and you were just finishing up getting ready when he stepped into the doorframe. You swipe the nude butter gloss over your lips once more, pressing them together to distribute the color when your eyes caught the piercing green ones burning into your skin. You both held each other’s gaze for a while, emotions mixed with arousal building underneath your skin. You forced your eyes to shift back down to your vanity, busying your hands with cleaning the space in front of you. Eren smirked behind you, shifting from leaning against the doorframe and placing his hands on the frame above. “So, you all set to go?” He asks you. “Uh, yeah I think so. I just have to grab some shoes.” You say getting up and walking over to your closet.

You look around at your shoes to find a pair that went well with your multicolored satin dress. The beautiful green, brown,and cream colors blended into a perfect gradient in the fabric and the straps fell gently off your shoulders. You looked down at your choice of cream colored shoes before reaching down and picking up the tie up stilettos, steering clear of the red bottoms. Eren noticed and held back his grin, thinking back to the last time you asked him to pick your shoes for you over FaceTime.

“Okay, all set.” You say, this time actually being ready. “Okay, he should be waking up from his nap in about 2 hours and there are plenty of bags of milk already thawed out. You went over the breakdown for the night, running him through the routine he already knew like the back of his hand. Eren knew you were doing it more so as a checklist for yourself so he allowed you to ramble. “Good?” You say finishing your last thought. “Yeah, all good.” You nod gently and make your way to the door. “Oh, Would it be cool if the guys stopped by later? They asked about lil man but I wanted to make sure you were okay with them being here first.” Eren asks. “Yeah, Ren of course. You know I don't mind them being here.” You say brows pulling together slightly. He shrugged his shoulders from the bottom of the stairs. “Just checking. Have fun.” Your lips part to say something but words seem to get lost. Eren keeps his eyes casted towards the floor, not having the strength to look up and see you leave.

“Eren…” you start but he shakes his head. “Go enjoy yourself babydoll.” You press your lips together then turn and walk out the door.

“YO! We here.” A voice calls from the door. Eren rolls his eyes. “You know you could just knock right?” He says to Ony as he opens the front door. “Where’s the fun in that?” He laughs before dapping him and walking inside. “Whats up with you bro? You good?” Connie says as they come through the doorway and walk towards the living room. “Now why you ask the man that. You know he down bad right now.” Armin teases plopping down on to the reclining chair close to the tv. “Oh so y'all got jokes now? Do we really want to have it out?” Eren says matter of factly. “It’s okay bruh, we know you down bad for your girl.” Ony laughed. “Right and how is that best friend relationship treating you?” Eren teases back. Connie and Armin bust out into laughter. “See that’s different, you actually had a relationship with your girl.” Ony groans slumping down into the seat.

“Okay, okay but all bullshit aside E, how are you doing with all this?” Armin turns, giving him his attention. Eren took a moment. “I-…not good man.” He admits to his friends. “I don't get it. Y’all have always been in this space right? So what’s the difference between then and now.” Connie questions. “The difference is she’s talking to somebody.” Eren says softly. The room seemed to stand still at his confession. “What do you mean ‘talking’? Like the same guy?” Armin sits up, his stare intense. This was new for all of you. As long as you and Eren had been together, the guys have always been there. Even through the breakups you would never find yourself in another relationship. Fucking around was different but being committed to any guy besides Eren was not your thing.

Until now.

“I mean the past few date nights has been the same guy. I know I tripped out the Jean situation but they were just fucking. This ‘Reiner’ dude or whoever he is, she’s dating him man. Like sending flowers and love notes, brunches, and day trips type of shit.” Eren groans “Oh shit…” Ony whispered under his breath. “Yeah, exactly.” Eren’s shoulders slump slightly as he shook his head. “Well, E it might just be a phase. Don’t give up on it bro. If you work hard enough at it things have a way of sorting themselves out.” Connie says collecting stares from around the room. “What?” He says confused. “When the fuck did you get some common sense?” Ony asks. “Yeah, that’s my role.” Armin retorts. Eren begins to chuckle which turns into a full on laugh out loud followed by everyone else. “Man fuck yall. I’m just trying to help my boy out.” Connie tries defending himself through the noise.

The sound of baby whimpers from the monitor pulls Eren’s attention. He stands up and walks back up the steps towards his son’s room. He sat up in the crib rubbing his chunky fists into his eyes. Eren walks over and lifts him carefully from the bed, adjusting him and holding him against his hip. “What’s up little man. You all good? Daddy’s here.” He cooes. His son tilts his head up, sleep still in his eyes and offers his daddy a gentle smile. “Yeah, daddy’s here. Come on let’s go downstairs and see your uncles.”

“Aw man there go my lil homie.” Connie says as Eren comes back downs he steps. “Man he don't even like you. You know I'm his favorite.” Ony speaks getting up from the couch. They follow Eren into the kitchen as he takes out a few bags of the breast milk you left to warm up. “Y’all doing all that talking but yet I’m the goddaddy.” Armin smirks, slipping around the counter and grabbing the baby from Eren. He giggles, reaching out and squeezing Armin’s face. “Man, he looks just like Y/N. It’s still crazy to think yall got a baby together.” He says, shaking his head. “I know right. I still can't believe it myself sometimes.” It was true. Eren looks down at your son again and his chest swells with pride. It was so surreal to have something that was created from him and the person he cared for the most. As they sit around and conversation Eren takes the time to warm up the milk, grabbing his phone from his pocket. A text message dings from an unknown number.

He pulls up the attachment sent to his phone. “What the fuck…” his eyes squint as he stares down at the video loading before him. “What. The. Fuck?!” Eren says a little louder, catching the attention in the room. “Yo E, you good man?” Ony asks. Eren’s ears started to ring as anger swirled through his veins. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “Eren, talk to us man, what's going on?” Connie says. “Aye Min, can you put him in his playpen with the bottle please.” Eren strains, trying to keep him composure around his son. Armin nods quickly working to get the baby and setting him in his safe area. “Okay, what’s up?” He says as he walks back into the kitchen. Eren sits his phone down and slides it across the counter to his friends. They hovered around the screen and watched as you made out against a car outside of the restaurant. Reiners hands sliding all over your body as he kisses your lips and down the side of your neck. Your giggles fill the air as your hands slip up to the back of his head.

“Oh shit.” They say in unison before looking back up at Eren who was pacing across the floor. His vision began to blur as his fists clenched and unclenched. “E, you got to chill bruh. You can't overreact on this one. Come on.” Armin says in a calming voice. “Yeah E, you got to breathe man.” Ony reassures him. “I know. I know, man. FUCK, I know. I just-…” He didn't know what to do. Eren swipes his hands down his face as the burning behind his eyes intensifies. There was a silence that swept through the air. A heavy silence that was filled with uncertainty and fear. Eren had never felt this feeling of unease before. Not with you. But the fear of what this meant for you both. Is this the end of you and him for good? The nerves cause his emotions to overwhelm him as he slumps down to the floor. Armin, Connie, and Ony come and sit down next to him. No words could explain but they stayed with him, allowing him to process everything.

“What am I supposed to do man?” He asks no one in particular. “Do what you can. One day at a time.” Armin says. Eyes shifted up at the ceiling until the burning went away. He took a deep breath. Judging from the angle of the video, he knew you knew nothing about being recorded. So the only things on his mine were, who the fuck was following you and how was he going to face you when you got home…

#aot x reader #aot x y/n #fem!reader #baby daddy eren #eren aot #eren x reader #eren x black reader #eren yeager #aot fluff #eren x black fem!reader #eren jaeger #eren x you

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kingofbodyrolls · 3 months

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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | one

🐴Chapter summary: You arrive back at the ranch, a place you used to call home as a child. But it doesn’t hold the same meaning anymore. With the passing of your mother, you stand to inherit part of that very ranch– and you don’t want it. Only problem, your sister doesn’t want to give you her signature for you to sell your share. 🐴Chapter title: Inheritance 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of past character death of parents, exhibitionism, explicit smut in the form of protected sex, quick and dirty sex, doing it against a barn, creampie, nipple play, clit play. Doing it in public / outside. Mention of past infidelity (of parents). Spoiler ahead!!! Jungkook and Jimin are (half) brothers and reader sleeping with JK is necessary to happen for the sake of the plot 🥲 It sucked to write that part, and if you feel like the smut if ‘eh’ it’s because it was written that way because reader isn’t meant to be with JK! So, please, don’t let that discourage you from reading it, the rest of the story is really good and MC realizes she’s made a mistake… anyway the smut with Jimin when it eventually happen, is just 🥵🥵🥵 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 8.2k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog @kiki-zb @babejinnie @ownthesunshine @allie-is-a-panda @glllhjh @bergandysam @13-manggaetteok

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Theme from McLeod’s Daughters” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: this story has been in my head forever, and I’ve spent months outlining it and planning it– so I’m so stoked to finally post it! 🥳 I love both McLeod’s Daughters and BTS, so why not combine it?? I am not sure anybody will read this story, but if you do, thank you! It truly means the world to me.

I also want to give a very big thank you and shout out to my dear friend, Lua, for reading it while I worked on it, hyping me up and giving me such fucking wonderful feedback 😭✨ Thank you so much @letjungcoook7 💖🥹

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“I said, I wanna touch the earth I wanna break it in my hands I wanna grow something wild and unruly I wanna sleep on the hard ground In the comfort of your arms On a pillow of bluebonnets In a blanket made of stars Oh, it sounds good to me I said, cowboy take me away Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue Set me free, oh, I pray” - “Cowboy Take Me Away” by The Chicks

The tires of your car dig into the unforgiving dirt road with a tenacious grip as you navigate the rugged terrain. A symphony of sand and dust dances before the windshield, yet your focus remains unyielding. The landscape is open and inviting, yet there’s tall mountains in the distance framing the idyllic nature.

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the vehicle, echoing the determination coursing through your veins. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your resolve unshakable.

Amidst the chaotic whirlwind outside, you're on a singular quest: to get your sister’s signature to sell your share of the ranch.

You yearn to sever all ties with the place.

It's not a matter of hatred, per se, but rather an aversion steeped in memories you'd rather forget.

The grounds echo with a tapestry of recollections, most of which cling like shadows to the recesses of your mind—a gallery of moments you're desperate to erase from the canvas of your past.

The passing of your mother, a woman absent from your life for over two decades, casts a melancholic hue over this reunion, that leaves much to be desired.

Separated by the passage of years, your sister remains a distant specter on the horizon of your past. A chapter of familial connection was abruptly closed when your father took you away from the ranch during your formative years, the sprawling fields replaced by the relentless rhythm of the city.

The city, with its towering structures and ceaseless energy, has woven itself into the fabric of your existence. Amidst the hustle, the stress, the eclectic cafes, and the teeming crowds, you've found a peculiar treasure trove of experiences that pulse through your veins like a vibrant heartbeat. The city's flaws, laid bare like urban scars, only deepen your affection for its complex tapestry, making each chaotic street corner and neon-lit club a cherished fragment in the mosaic of your life.

As an undesired song infiltrates your playlist, you find yourself questioning its very existence on your curated soundtrack.

Swiftly, you dismiss its intrusion, replacing its notes with the growling intensity of a much angrier anthem.

The need for focus on this mission is paramount, an unyielding commitment that not even the persuasive tones of Jessi, with all her influence, can sway or alter.

A familiar sign with your family’s last name emerges on the horizon, unleashing a flood of memories from an idyllic childhood—filled with the echoes of hide-and-seek, the warmth of love, and the harmonious symphony of laughter—that paints both your irises and your heart in hues of nostalgia.

Yet, as your fingers instinctively clench around the steering wheel, you staunchly refuse to be swayed by the emotional undertow. Determination courses through your veins, a steadfast resolve not to let sentiment cloud the clarity of your purpose.

With a resolute spirit, you navigate the winding road that leads to the ranch.

As the familiar landscape unfurls before you, a creeping uneasiness takes root within the recesses of your being. Despite the passage of two decades, the ranch appears frozen in time, an unchanged picture that sends shivers down your spine. The unsettling familiarity of the place only amplifies the weight of the past, casting a shadow over your determined journey back to a place that seems to have resisted the relentless march of time.

Bringing the car to a halt before the imposing main house, you silence the engine with a decisive twist of the key. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Inhaling deeply, you draw in the essence of the moment, your fingers betraying a nervous rhythm as they tap anxiously against the steering wheel.

The stillness belies the turmoil surging within, as you ready yourself to encounter the ghost of your past.

A mere thirty minutes— an hour at most, and you'll resume your journey on the open road, bound for the comfort of home in the city.

Determination courses through your veins, intertwining with the staccato rhythm of your anxious heartbeat, the pulsations reverberating so forcefully that you can sense them echoing all the way to the depths of your ears.

The moment your car door swings open, a subtle shift in the wind whispers a tale of transformation. The landscape may echo familiarity, but an intangible alteration lingers in the air, an elusive metamorphosis that leaves you questioning the very essence of this place. Is it a mere illusion, or has something truly shifted, perhaps within the confines of your own soul?

Navigating the uneven terrain in heels proves to be a challenge, but undeterred, you conquer the dirt road and arrive at the tall front door. It stands before you, a sentinel of memories, somehow appearing taller than in recollection. The weathered, dark-red wooden door remains stoically unchanged, a silent witness to the passage of time.

Two deliberate knocks break the stillness, and you retreat a step, a reverberation of anticipation coursing through the air as you stand on the threshold of both the past and the unknown.

The door frame, once pristine in its white coat, now bears the scars of time, its paint chipped and revealing glimpses of the weathered wood beneath.

Stationed in front of the door, you endure a suspenseful five minutes, an eternity compressed into every passing second, yet the silence remains unbroken. Undeterred by the absence of response, a resolute determination guides your actions as you seize the handle. With a deliberate press, the handle yields, surrendering to your resolve and releasing a cacophony of creaks—a symphony of protesting hinges announcing your entrance into the realm of memories.

“Hello?”

Your voice, tinged with uncertainty, dances into the air as you cautiously poke your head through the threshold, a hesitant entry into the familiar realms of the house.

A gentle warmth envelops you, tenderly kissing your skin and infusing an instant sense of calm. The scent, aged and rich, swirls around you like a tangible embrace of wood and cherished memories from your childhood. The hallway stretches out before you, adorned with snapshots frozen in time—images of you and Jessi playing in the fields, your first pony, and a cherished trio with your mom. Each picture pulses with the erratic beat of your heart, echoing the palpable journey down the corridor of reminiscence. Amidst this gallery of the past, you navigate the tapestry of nostalgia, your destination set on what memory deems to be the kitchen.

The staccato clank of your heels resonates boldly against the unpolished hardwood floor, a deliberate announcement of your presence that reverberates through the silent expanse as you press deeper into the heart of the kitchen. Despite the resounding echo, a mysterious absence lingers, the emptiness amplifying the solitude within the room, a poignant contrast to the persistent cadence of your steps.

Surveying the scene, your eyes capture the delicate dance of white curtains adorned with lace, their elegance offering a stark contrast to the weathered state of the kitchen. Time has etched its story on the cabinets, pleading for a rejuvenating touch—perhaps a cleansing and a new coat of color to breathe life into the tired, faded cream. A wistful smile graces your lips, an emotive response to the tactile connection forged as your fingers trace the countertop. The surface, a touch dusty yet evocative, sparks an odd familiarity, transporting you to a realm of forgotten times and the comforting essence of what was once home.

A sudden voice startles you from your reverie, its unexpected presence slicing through the air like a well-timed interruption in the symphony of memories.

“Can I help you?”

A jolt courses through your body, a startled response to the abrupt intrusion of the voice, yet you pivot on your heels, meeting the owner of the enigmatic, yet somehow airy, tones.

In the face of the unexpected presence, you lock eyes with the source, a meeting that feels like a convergence of past and present, each heartbeat resonating with the electric charge surging through your body.

A nervous chuckle escapes you, the residue of your earlier determination dissipating in the charged air as you assess the man standing before you.

His eyes, a deep and authoritative brown, lock onto yours, unraveling a silent narrative in their depths. Blonde and untamed, his long hair falls with a disheveled grace, framing a face that exudes both strength and mystery. His slender physique conceals well-defined, lean muscles beneath the snug embrace of a gray shirt, each contour subtly hinting at the strength within. Clad in blue denim jeans with artful rips at the bottom, and adorned with chunky western boots boasting intricate ornaments, he carries an aura of rugged elegance.

“Can I help you?” he repeats, the query hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Crossing his arms over a torso that amplifies the definition of his biceps, his deliberate posture commands attention, drawing your gaze to the undeniable display of strength.

“I’m so sorry,” you quip nervously, a hint of self-awareness coloring your tone. Inwardly, you curse the fact that you were caught in the act of checking him out, and you’ve yet to acknowledge the man properly. “I’m looking for Jessi?”

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes the man, accompanied by a soft smile that carries a subtle mystique, rendering his eyes nearly elusive.

“Who are you?” he inquires, his arms still defiantly crossed, and a flicker of realization dawns upon you—this interaction holds a peculiar tension. The awareness sets in that, in essence, you are an intruder, a stranger trespassing into the intimate space of a home that isn’t yours anymore.

“I'm Jessi's sister,” you declare, a succinct introduction that hangs in the air. His response is a simple “Oh,” a word that resonates with a spectrum of unspoken sentiments.

As his arms fall to his sides, his posture eases into a more relaxed stance, and his gaze, now unhindered by the barricade of crossed arms, traverses the contours of your figure. Your choice of attire—heels and a summer dress that daringly grazes your thighs—doesn't escape his notice.

You sense his eyes lingering on your exposed legs for a beat longer than societal norms might deem appropriate.

You find yourself unapologetically appreciating his attractiveness, recognizing the allure that binds both of you in a silent dance of mutual fascination.

“You don't remember me?”

His question pierces through the air, catching you off guard, and instinctively, you lean back against the countertop. A subtle shake of your head accompanies the inquiry, and as you witness a shadow of sadness flicker across his eyes, an unexpected weight sinks into the chambers of your heart. The unspoken question lingers—should you know this man?

“It's me, Jimin,” he asserts with a voice steeped in pride and certainty, a declaration that sets your mind into a whirlwind of attempted recollection. His name resonates with a familiarity that dances on the periphery of your memory, like an elusive wisp slipping through the cracks of forgotten moments.

“Park?”

You question with a voice that wavers in uncertainty, the mere utterance of the name carrying the weight of a fragile hope. As the word escapes your lips, you cling to the fragile threads of memory, desperately seeking confirmation that you've pieced together the puzzle of identity correctly.

“Yeah! Don't you remember? We played together when we were kids,” he chuckles warmly, the nostalgia of shared memories evident in his eyes.

With a warm gesture, he invites you to take a seat, a silent acknowledgment of the intricacies of your shared history. As he crosses the room to the sink, a subtle limp marks his stride—a detail you keenly observe as you pull out a chair. Your curiosity about his altered gait tugs at your thoughts, begging for expression, yet you restrain the impulse, deeming it too forward. Silently, you observe him reaching for a glass from the overhead cabinet, pouring water with a practiced ease.

“Here you go,” he offers, placing the glass before you. As you take it, your fingers brush momentarily, and an unexpected electric jolt courses through your body. You respond with a sheepish smile, expressing gratitude for the simple gesture. “Jessi is out riding; she'll be back soon.”

You nod, the cool touch of the glass against your lips serving as a momentary distraction from the impending wait. As you take a measured sip of water, the realization sinks in — a quiet acknowledgment that the road back home may stretch longer than initially anticipated.

“I'm sorry about your mom,” he offers his condolences, and a palpable pain reflects in his eyes. The depth of his empathy hints at a connection with your mother that might surpass your own or perhaps, he carries the weight of loss in his own experiences. Regardless, you express gratitude, but as you do, a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders accompanies your words. “It's whatever,” you say, attempting to downplay the complexity of emotions that linger beneath the surface, yet the weight of grief echoes in the unspoken spaces between you.

He offers a minuscule smile, a mere flicker that fails to reach the depths of his eyes, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. A quiet tension weaves through the kitchen, the air thickening with unspoken complexities. It's as if the very walls themselves have become sentient, closing in with a slow and deliberate intent, creating an immersive sense of confinement that mirrors the unexplored territories of emotions lingering between you and Jimin.

The rhythmic clank of boots announces her arrival before she materializes in the doorway — Jessi, a force of raw determination, a cascade of muttered curse words trailing in her wake.

With an aura of purpose, she strides into the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that disrupts the tension-laden air.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” she demands, a subtle undercurrent of anger weaving through her voice as her gaze fixes on Jimin.

You sense that you've slipped beneath her radar for now. Jimin responds with a casual chuckle, turning his head in your direction. In that moment, you feel the weight of her steel gaze bore into you.

You observe the subtle tensing of her body, her gaze meticulously scrutinizing every inch of you. Arms crossed defensively, she acknowledges your presence with a guarded stance.

“Long time no see. What do you want?” The words, delivered with an edge that slices through the air, reverberate with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, embodying the complex web of emotions that intertwine your shared history.

Your lips involuntarily tighten, the already tense atmosphere escalating to an almost suffocating degree as Jessi's presence intensifies. A rhythmic tapping of her foot reverberates through the room, an erratic metronome that hints at a cocktail of emotions—perhaps nervousness, perhaps anger, the fine line between the two eluding your understanding.

“The inheritance,” you utter, and a visible transformation sweeps over Jessi. Her countenance, already frosty, plunges into an even colder abyss. The pallor that washes over her skin accentuates the darkness of her brown, curly hair, transforming it into a cascade that seems to absorb the shadows of her perturbed soul.

A nervous gulp echoes in the charged silence, your attempt to fortify a wavering resolve. The mission is clear — secure her signature, liberate yourself, and sever the lingering ties. The weight of unspoken history and familial complexities hangs in the air, urging you to complete this fraught encounter, hoping that once the ink meets the paper, you’ll leave and never bother her again.

“I want to sell my share of the ranch. I just need your signature.”

The declaration hangs in the charged air, a revelation that sends a ripple through the room. Jimin tenses visibly, gaping in clear surprise at your bold proclamation. Your sister, on the other hand, is barely faring any better. The undercurrents of anger surge to the surface, a tempest of emotions that bobs precariously, threatening to breach the veneer of composure that barely holds.

She hisses, the sound cutting through the charged silence like a serpent's warning, and grinds her teeth together with a simmering intensity. “You're not getting that,” she declares with a venomous resolve, the words laced with an unmistakable determination that resonates with the unyielding clash of wills in the room.

The sternness and anger in her voice reverberate through the room, creating an invisible barrier. Undeterred, you summon a quiet resolve and press forward, attempting to cut through the emotional tempest that surrounds her. “I just need your signature, and then I can go,” your words, a delicate plea amidst the tumultuous clash of emotions, hang in the air, a fragile bridge between the chasm of familial discord and the resolution you seek.

She strides purposefully towards you, anger etching furrows into her brows. Coming to a halt just before your seated form, she looms over you with a fiery intensity in her eyes.

“No. Get the fuck out,” she commands, the force behind her words reverberating in the charged space between you. The air crackles with the energy of unresolved conflicts, and her words hang in the air like a proclamation, leaving no room for negotiation.

Jimin's expression no longer holds surprise, his features now marked by a disapproving shake of his head. As Jessi retreats from you, turning with a storm brewing in her wake, the kitchen becomes an echoing chamber of unresolved tensions. She storms out, leaving you and Jimin in the wake of her departure, the remnants of conflict lingering in the air like an unspoken presence that refuses to dissipate.

You clench your hands into tight fists, the physical manifestation of the internal turmoil that courses through you. The realization dawns, like a belated epiphany, that her vehement reaction was all but predictable. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you slump back into the chair, the weight of disappointment settling upon you like a shroud. This isn't unfolding as you had envisioned.

The wind whips through, mercilessly tossing your hair into a chaotic dance across your face. Grumbling, you navigate the exterior of the main house, entering a realm where nature and grandeur coalesce. The yard unfolds before you, a testament to meticulous care, stretching expansively with paddocks extending for miles. To the left, a substantial stable stands as a regal sentinel, while to the right, three cottages punctuate the landscape.

Your gaze sweeps across the panoramic expanse, capturing the undulating beauty of the paddocks that cascade over the hills while the sun slowly sets. Cows and horses graze lazily, mere dots in the vast canvas of the countryside. The scene unfolds before you like a living painting, each blade of grass, each creature contributing to the symphony of nature. Amidst this serene image, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of contemplation, pondering the labyrinth of decisions that now lay before you.

Jessi won’t give you her signature, and you need her damn ink on that paper to be able to sell your share of the ranch.

Maybe if you get on her good side, she’ll reconsider? It’s worth a try at least.

“Hi,” a lilting female voice disrupts the current of your thoughts, a melodic intrusion that yanks you back from the recesses of contemplation. Your pivot is swift, attention now redirected to the stranger who has materialized behind you.

Her hand extends gracefully towards you, a gesture that transcends the usual formalities. “I'm Soo-ah, one of the stable hands here,” she introduces herself with an easy confidence, her words resonating with a sense of belonging and familiarity within the expansive realm of the ranch.

“Ah, hi,” you muse with a soft smile, extending a handshake that bridges the gap between stranger and newfound acquaintance. Her stature is modest, a curvature of curves, with a disarming smile that reveals a charming imperfection in the form of endearing crooked teeth. Clad in short denim shorts adorned with delicate white lace on the trim and a pink tank top, she exudes an aura of comfort and warmth. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gleam with a radiance that speaks of love and hope, amplified by the contrast against her sun-kissed tan skin.

“Your trip didn't go according to plan?” she inquires, the gentle cadence of her question accompanied by the sweep of a hand, gracefully gathering her long blonde hair away from her face.

A chuckle escapes you, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, as you confess, “Not really.”

“You know, this place means a lot to Jessi. It's her home. She wouldn't want you to sell your share for some random people to buy it or worse, use the land for housing or something.” Her eyes mirror the softness of her words, and a gentle smile graces her lips, a gesture that carries an unexpected soothing effect on your conflicted heart.

The weight of her words settles on your conscience, a realization you had secretly dreaded. You grasp the depth of your sister's emotional connection to this land, an affection you once shared but have since outgrown. The prospect of selling your share, allowing strangers to lay claim to the cherished homestead, unfolds before you, and you acknowledge why Jessi vehemently opposes it. Yet, your heart remains indifferent to the sentimental ties that bind others to this place. It ceased being home long ago, and the notion of it ever regaining that status in your life appears as elusive as a distant memory fading into the horizon.

“Say what. It's late, and dinner's almost ready. Why don't you come eat with us and meet the rest of the gang? After that, I'll show you one of the guest rooms!” Her invitation resonates with a contagious enthusiasm, her voice exuding a warmth that almost verges on giddy. The surge of energy she emanates feels almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the subdued atmosphere that has accompanied your arrival.

“I haven't packed anything. I didn't plan on staying…” you mumble, your words trailing off into the evening breeze. Despite your half-hearted protest, she seizes your hand and playfully pulls you towards the main house. Reluctance threads through your steps, a tangible resistance to the unexpected detour that fate seems to be orchestrating.

“There's a guest room in the house, and you can borrow some clothes from Jessi or me. Those heels and that dress aren't exactly farm-friendly attire.” She laughs, a melody of warmth that resonates through the short walk to the house. Soo-ah guides you to the guest room where you'll be spending the night, and then you both make your way to the kitchen.

There, you encounter another enchanting presence—a statuesque woman, tall and slender, her ebony hair culminating at her neck. Her eyes, a captivating shade of incredibly dark brown, bordering on obsidian, stand out against her lovely fair white skin. Clad in a simple yet elegant ensemble of a dark t-shirt paired with dark blue denim jeans, she moves gracefully around the kitchen, orchestrating what appears to be a culinary feast in the making.

“I'm Ha-rin.” A casual wave accompanies her introduction, a seamless dance of gestures as she deftly grabs a handful of vegetables with the other hand.

“This is Jessi's sister,” Soo-ah introduces you with a warm smile, and Ha-rin nods in a gesture that suggests a preexisting understanding. “How can we help?” she inquires, her words carrying a blend of genuine curiosity and an unspoken readiness to extend hospitality.

“You can set the table. I'm almost done with the food,” she declares, seamlessly transitioning to the task of cutting carrots with a professional speed that leaves you duly impressed.

Soo-ah guides you to the location of plates and glasses, and in a synchronized dance, you both embark on setting the table in the dining room. The collaborative effort carries an unexpected warmth, a departure from the solitary routine you've grown accustomed to. The act of sharing this communal task conjures a sense of nostalgia; it's been a long time since you've partaken in such simple yet meaningful rituals. Your dining experiences have often been solitary, occasionally shared with a partner, although those instances are rare occurrences in the tapestry of your solitary meals.

In no time, Ha-rin completes the culinary masterpiece, presenting a spread of oven-cooked chicken, a colorful assortment of vegetables, and tantalizing kimchi. The table becomes a canvas adorned with the promise of a delectable feast. As you all take your seats, another presence joins the gathering—Ara, a tall woman with big brown eyes and chocolate-brown hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders. Her curves and paler skin distinguish her from Ha-rin, yet she radiates the same warmth that characterizes the group.

The door swings open, and into the room strides your sister, a pronounced frown etching lines of disapproval on her face the moment her sharp eyes lock onto your figure seated at her dining table.

“Didn't I tell you to leave?” Her voice cuts through the air, laden with an undeniable tension that hangs like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over the gathering.

With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you confront the directness that has always characterized Jessi, even if it doesn't always come across as nice. “It's getting dark, and Soo-ah graciously provided me with a room for the night. I'm not leaving until I get your signature,” you assert, the declaration hanging in the air like an unyielding challenge.

Jessi's voice carries a distinct air of deflation, and it becomes evident that obtaining her signature won't be a victory achieved tonight, if at all. Resigned, she takes her place at the head of the table, a silent acknowledgment of the impasse.

A stretch of silence envelops the dining room as everyone engages in the act of eating, a temporary truce. However, the calm is shattered as Jessi, unable to contain her emotions any longer, erupts like a dormant volcano. “Why can't you just keep your share of the ranch, huh?” Her words punctuate the air, each question a stab to the atmosphere, accentuated by the forceful plunge of her fork into the unfortunate chicken.

“Honestly?” You draw in a deep breath, preparing for the verbal fallout, fully aware that you've stepped into a minefield. “I just need the money.” The words hang in the air, a stark admission that lays bare your motivations. Jessi's frown deepens, her disapproving expression not eliciting the slightest surprise from you.

“Why can't you just buy my share?” The words escape you in a frustrated huff, irritation building with each passing moment. Jessi's ability to get on your nerves becomes increasingly evident, a skill she's always excelled at.

“I don't have the money to buy you out,” she states bluntly, her voice carrying a mix of blankness and anger, turning the tension at the table sour. Your plate, once adorned with the delicious offerings crafted by Ha-rin, now sits neglected, the food losing its appeal in the wake of the strained conversation. What a shame, you think, as the beautifully prepared meal becomes a casualty of the familial clash, and your appetite dissipates like the vanishing aroma of an abandoned feast.

“Why are you so mad at me?” you sputter out in frustration, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to pull at your hair in exasperation. The room echoes with a tense silence, interrupted only by the subtle sound of your sister's scuff, a precursor to the deep inhale that precedes the unleashing of her fury upon you.

“I haven't seen you in twenty years. You stomp in here, wanting to take my home away from me. And you didn't even attend Mom's funeral. Some balls you have.” Her voice is stern, each word laced with venom, and her glare cuts through you like a knife. To punctuate her disapproval, she slams her hands down hard on the table. “I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”

Then she stomps off. At least she has some manners, you think, acknowledging the begrudging ‘goodnight’ she offered. Nevertheless, you sigh, the rest of the girls casting pitiful glances in your direction.

You lean back in the chair, contemplating the daunting challenge of ever getting on your sister's good side. The prospect seems as elusive as catching a shooting star, an almost impossible mission. Just as you sink into the depths of your thoughts, Ara shatters your contemplation with a beaming smile. “We're having a party tomorrow. Won't you stay for that?”

You take a few seconds to mull over her offer: a party in the countryside does sound intriguing, but the prospect of extended time with a sister who harbors animosity towards you gives you pause. Soo-ah, sensing your hesitation, steps in with a persuasive grin, “There'll be hot men!”

Then, in an instant, thoughts of Jimin flood your mind, and the prospect of his presence at the party becomes a tantalizing factor. A glimmer of optimism flickers; perhaps attending won't be as unbearable as you initially thought. Contemplating the possibility of a good time, you decide, “Who can say no to that?”

A forced laugh escapes your lips, but within it, there's a hint of genuine enjoyment. Sometimes, you remind yourself, you have to fake it until you make it.

The barn pulsates with the rhythm of the music, a lively mix of country tunes, not exactly your preferred genre, yet the melodies weave seamlessly into the rustic ambiance. Couples and friends sway to the slow beats on the dance floor, creating an intimate atmosphere that, despite your initial reservations, feels oddly fitting. Most attendees linger along the walls engaged in conversation, and as your eyes scan the scene, you notice a handful of men. The girls weren't exaggerating – the company includes some undeniably attractive men.

The majority of women sport casual dresses, much like the one you've borrowed from Ha-rin. Clad in a long black lace dress that subtly accentuates your curves, you navigate the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces. In stark contrast, Jessi's attire veers towards practicality – shirt, jeans and boots, a reflection of her enduring tomboyish nature. While you entertain a fleeting thought about the silliness of her choice for a party, a deeper understanding dawns. She’s always been more practical, and her choice of clothes tonight might align with that too.

Surveying the lively scene again, your eyes lock onto your sister, deeply engrossed in a conversation with Jimin, an interaction that sparks both curiosity and a twinge of apprehension within you.

As Ha-rin diligently tends to the culinary offerings, ensuring a variety of light snacks for everyone, Soo-ah and Ara steal the spotlight on the improvised dance floor. Their laughter echoes through the barn, a harmonious blend of joy and camaraderie, and you can't help but be drawn into the dynamic and diverse interactions unfolding around you.

Turning on your heels, a craving for the crisp embrace of fresh air seizes you. Opting for the subtlety of a quiet exit, you make your way toward the back door of the barn. The metallic touch of the door handle graces your palm with a forgiving chill, a stark departure from the warmth and vibrancy pulsating within. Pushing the door ajar, the night air rushes to greet your face, prompting a sigh of contemplation.

However, as you step outside, your serenity shatters with a startle – a towering, muscular figure leans against the barn, arms crossed, waiting in the shadows of the night.

A startled yelp escapes your lips, accompanied by an inadvertent inhalation of lingering smoke in the air. The features of the stranger remain elusive, shrouded in the haze, as they release a deep and resonant chuckle in response to your momentary disarray.

“Scaredy-cat?” he teases, the resonance of his laughter causing an animated jiggle through his entire upper body. Your gaze inadvertently drifts to his well-defined pectorals, emphasized by the snug fit of his ripped tank top. The exact hue of the fabric eludes you in the dim light, a mysterious darkness with a hint of, perhaps, deep blue.

You approach him, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, though inwardly acknowledging the undeniable truth – you are indeed a scaredy-cat. Closing the distance, your eyes trace a path from his broad shoulders down his right arm, a canvas adorned with a full sleeve of tattoos. Among the intricate designs, some manifest in striking black and white, while others burst forth with vivid splashes of color, each telling a silent tale waiting to be unraveled.

Approaching him, you realize you've left his question hanging in the air. Coming to a halt in front of this enigmatic figure, you find yourself captivated by his deep, dark brown eyes. In the obscurity of the night, tiny glints of light echo the stars above, gleaming in his gaze. His pitch black long hair, with small curls at the end, frame his handsome face. Contrary to the rugged bulk of his body, his facial features exude a surprising softness. Thick, black eyebrows frame his expressive eyes, while a slim, pointed nose adds to the symphony of features. A sharp, defined jawline contrasts with the plushness of his rosy lips, gently circling a half-smoked cigarette.

“Jessi’s sister, huh?” He inhales deeply from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that dances in the air beside you.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer nervously, a feeble symphony to the deep timbre of his laughter. Nonetheless, you summon the courage to introduce yourself, your name a tentative melody lingering in the night air.

“I'm Jungkook.” He announces, the remnants of the cigarette meeting its demise beneath the sole of his boot, extinguishing any lingering embers. A subtle caution against the spark that could set the night ablaze.

“You look hot. Want to make out?” His gaze boldly traces over you, and a sudden self-consciousness grips you in the delicate embrace of your lace dress. Your cheeks ignite in a bright red flush, caught off guard by the unexpected boldness of his proposition.

Your flabbergasted expression seems to amuse him, and his laughter echoes, revealing an endearing smile that prompts a soft, airy chuckle to escape your lips in response.

“I'm serious, you know,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Another blush creeps up on you at his bluntness. Initially thinking he was joking, you now realize he's actually serious. As you assess him, you can't deny his incredible attractiveness, coupled with a nice smile and soft eyes. Perhaps he can't be all bad, right?

You saunter closer, conducting a swift yet thorough assessment of him. With a teasing lick of your lips, you signal that you're up for the game. “Sure.”

In a bold surge, he captures your lips, biting down on your lower lip as if seeking entrance. Yielding to the magnetic pull, your tongues engage in a fiery dance. His hands firmly grip your shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze before deftly maneuvering you against the wall.

In a ravenous and swift embrace, his lips claim yours, leaving you breathless when he breaks away, his gaze smoldering with a lustful intensity that ignites a fiery sensation beneath your skin. Though not one to engage in impulsive encounters, the intoxicating allure of the moment fans the flames of excitement within you. Reminding yourself of the imminent departure tomorrow, you boldly lean in, craving another taste, and surrender to the intoxicating dance of desire.

As the kiss deepens, his demeanor doesn't exude sweetness or tenderness, and strangely, you find solace in that. After all, tomorrow marks your return home. The intensity of his kiss, possessive and profound, spirals you into a mindless whirlwind, your thoughts dissipating into nothingness, overwhelmed by the feeling of his rugged frame pressed firmly against yours.

His gravelly voice breaks the kiss momentarily as he breathlessly declares, “Your lips are so damn soft.”

Locking eyes with you, he plunges back into the intoxicating exchange, this time with an urgent and fervent intensity that mirrors his escalating desire, leaving little room for restraint.

Your fingers dig into the firm contours of his hips, tracing an electrifying path along the sculpted landscape of his toned body. The rhythmic play of his muscles beneath your touch is a tactile symphony, every ridge and sinew a testament to his strength, creating an intricate dance beneath the fabric of his shirt.

His lips embark on a tantalizing journey, lingering on your cheek with teasing kisses before reaching your ear. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips as he presses his pelvis against you, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. The warmth of his breath against your ear ignites a wildfire of sensations, and the undeniable presence of his arousal is impossible to ignore. Control slips away like sand through your fingers, and you find yourself succumbing to the irresistible pull of desire.

You bite down on your lips, the struggle to suppress a moan palpable. Despite the lively party unfolding just a breath away, Jungkook possesses an uncanny ability to whisk you into a world of his own creation, making the chaotic celebration fade into insignificance.

His hands explore the contours of your breasts, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. The absence of padding in your bra leaves your nipples immediately responsive to his teasing fingers. Sensations surge through you, and as your panties cling uncomfortably, an urgent desire to shed them intensifies.

His breath hot against your ear, he whispers, “I want to fuck you so bad, can I?”

The firm squeeze on your breasts sends a wave of desire through you. Fuck. The craving intensifies, and the anticipation of being with him grows insatiable. It's been an eternity since you felt this desire, and you're already on the edge, yearning for his touch.

Your response escapes in a breathy whisper, “Hell yes.”

Your fingers find purchase on the contours of his chest, seeking stability amid the whirlwind of desire that envelops you both.

The symphony of desire crescendos as you catch the melodic jingle of his belt being undone, the tantalizing slide of metal against leather, and the whisper of a zipper surrendering its secrets. Soon, his jeans cascade down, pooling around his knees.

Your curiosity takes over, compelling you to cast an audacious gaze downward, and even through the fabric of his underwear, the impressive outline of his arousal is undeniable. The undeniable bulge hints at a restrained intensity, and summoning your courage, you boldly cup him, your touch sending a low, guttural groan reverberating through the charged air.

“Are you good to go without any prep?” His question, a tantalizing whisper in your ear, sends shivers down your spine, and the resonant, lust-laden timbre of his voice resonates deep within you.

Nodding in affirmation, you can't help but bite your lip, feeling the promise of an exhilarating encounter ahead. “Yes,” you murmur, a breathy admission to the impending intensity.

As he lowers his underwear, his dick is unleashed, an impressive display of length and girth, veins tracing its sculpted form. The engorged head, flushed and intense, undergoes a few suggestive strokes from his skilled hands, droplets of precum glistening as they descend to the ground below.

His touch is commanding, fingers tracing a path down the contours of your dress, gathering the fabric in his strong grip. Swiftly, his hands venture beneath, reaching the apex of your panties. In one bold motion, he removes them, allowing them to cascade to the ground as you gracefully step out, shedding inhibitions along with the delicate undergarment.

Unexpectedly, he seizes your hips, effortlessly lifting you into the air. As you leap, your legs instinctively wrap around his tiny waist, aligning your bare core with his throbbing dick, a subtle gasp escaping your lips as your wetness coats his cock.

A soft moan escapes your lips at the tantalizing contact, and Jungkook, seizing the opportunity, grips your supple curves, pressing you firmly against the wall for stability. Skillfully, he produces a condom out of thin air, wraps his cock with it and positions his dick at the entrance of your eager pussy. Your hands instinctively clutch his neck, a mixture of anticipation and desire written across your face as you brace yourself for the impending ecstasy. With a devious smile playing on his lips, he tantalizingly teases the velvety folds of your cunt with the head of his cock. But the pretense of gentleness is short-lived, as he discards any lingering pleasantries and thrusts his dick into your warm and eager core in one seamless motion.

A gasp escapes your lips as an exquisite stretch engulfs you, momentarily testing your limits. Yet, the generous coating of your arousal ensures that the discomfort swiftly transforms into an intoxicating wave of pleasure, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

He moves with an urgency that suggests an impending deadline, setting a pace that mirrors a sense of immediacy, as if time is a luxury he can't afford. The reasons behind his haste remain a mystery, and in this moment, you find yourself indifferent to the ticking clock, wholly absorbed in the intensity of the present.

“Mmmhh. You’re so tight.”

You gasp at the force of his thrusts, feeling the impact resonate through your body as your back collides with the wall. The slight discomfort is eclipsed by the overwhelming pleasure, and his raspy pants only intensify the raw, visceral connection between you, each movement a symphony of pleasure and urgency. He thrusts forcefully, plunging into the depth of your pussy.

Wrapping your legs around him, you greedily pull him closer, breathless huffs escaping your lips with each relentless thrust. “Yes! Right there!” The pleasure becomes almost blinding as he unerringly targets that sweet, sensitive spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure that build an exquisite tension, promising an impending climax that pulses in the depths of your core.

“Shit.” He pants huskily into your ear, a shiver running down your spine in response. The intensity of his thrusts is unparalleled, each powerful movement leaving an indelible mark on your senses. The realization hits you that tomorrow might bring soreness, but in the heat of the moment, with a dick this good, you decide it's a price worth paying.

Your moans have evolved into uninhibited symphonies, each thrust hitting that exquisite spot that sends shockwaves through your body. The coil in your tummy tightens, ready to snap, just waiting for that final nudge to propel you over the edge. “I’m so close.”

Jungkook's grip on your ass tightens, but with skilled precision, he frees one hand and navigates it down the narrow space between your bodies. Despite the limited room, his large hand finds your clit and begins to rhythmically rub it to the beat of his thrusts. The sensation is mind-blowing. Every rub and thrust unravel your body, sending waves of ecstasy through every inch of your being.

Then he leans in, his hot breath grazing your ear, and he moans, pushing you right over the edge, “Come on my cock, pretty.”

“Jungkook!” You pant his name erratically as the coil inside snaps, and you release your fluid over his cock, synchronized with his relentless thrusts. You gasp for air, momentarily feeling your vision blur as your orgasm surges through your spent body.

He keeps thrusting into you, and you feel utterly spent, so you’re just hanging on and clinging to him for dear life. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes as he relentlessly fucks you, searching for his own sweet release.

At a particularly hard thrust, you open your eyes, and they collide with a figure standing in the shadows.

Brown eyes and blonde hair meet yours.

You gulp, feeling your core clench instinctively.

It's Jimin.

His eyes reflect a mix of sadness and disappointment as they lock onto yours for a few lingering moments. He turns away and retreats back into the lively party. You don’t appreciate the unsettling expression on Jimin’s face, but there’s little you can do about it now. A strange and disconcerting feeling settles in your stomach.

“Fuck, you just got tighter, babe. I’m almost there.” His hands tighten their grip, his biceps flexing as he pulls you closer, syncing your movements with the intensity of his thrusts.

You sense Jungkook's thrusts growing more erratic, a telltale sign he's close. Despite his exhaustion, he strives to give his all in those final fervent moments, and you feel the warmth of his release filling the condom inside you as his pace slows. He's visibly breathless, and you empathize; after all, he exerted himself, utilizing every ounce of strength to keep you elevated. In his position, you'd likely be a panting mess on the ground.

“You good?” He inquires, scrutinizing your expression. Whether he discerns the melancholy etched on your face or not, he doesn't comment. Gently withdrawing from you and discarding the condom, he steadies you on shaky legs. You respond with a pensive smile and a nod. The night was undeniably enjoyable, yet Jimin's forlorn gaze lingers in your thoughts, casting a shadow over the post-passion atmosphere.

“I had a good time, thank you.” You muster a smile, though it feels a bit strained. Whether he perceives it or not is uncertain, and even if he does, you doubt it holds much significance to him.

“Same here. Thanks, babe.” His laughter rumbles as he rights himself, adjusting his underwear and fastening his pants. As he tends to his attire, you scan the floor for your abandoned panties.

As you retrieve them, you notice the dirt clinging to the delicate fabric, deciding against putting them on. Instead, you allow them to slip from your grasp, figuring you'll retrieve them tomorrow for a wash. The last thing you want is to flaunt dirty underwear at the party.

Jungkook strides confidently back into the lively party, and you trail closely in his wake, anticipation and a lingering heat coloring the air around you.

As you reenter the vibrant party scene, a sudden hush falls over the crowd, and the weight of all eyes on you feels like an invisible spotlight, making you wish for a momentary escape beneath the ground.

As you scan the crowd for Jimin, your gaze briefly collides with his, only to witness him quickly diverting his eyes elsewhere.

A perplexing mix of emotions lingers in his gaze—perhaps hurt or frustration. Puzzled, you question the impact of your intimate encounter outside, contemplating why he might be affected when, by all accounts, you share no significant ties.

As you enter the dining room, the tempting aroma of Ha-rin's carefully prepared breakfast envelops you, offering a flavorful farewell before you embark on your journey back to the bustling city.

As you approach the table, a surprising sense of harmony fills the room, with everyone already seated, including Jessi, who appears to be in higher spirits—perhaps fueled by the knowledge that she’s getting rid of you today.

Soo-ah's eyes sweep the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she starts, “ I discovered a pair of lacy red panties outside the barn this morning.”

You nearly choke on your food, a sudden realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Shit. Those are mine. Completely slipped my mind. My bad.”

All eyes suddenly fixate on you, their curiosity palpable. Soo-ah's gaze is practically bulging out of her eyes, Ara looks equally stunned, and Ha-rin can't help but release an amused ‘ooohh.’ Even Jessi, with her usual nonchalant demeanor, can't completely hide the flicker of intrigue in her eyes as she rolls them at the unfolding gossip.

Curiosity and a mischievous glint spark in Ara's big brown doe eyes as she leans forward, her cheeks tinted with a hint of red, and pops the question, “Who did you fuck?”

Between casual bites of scrambled eggs, you drop the bombshell, “A guy named Jungkook. You know him?” The nonchalance in your tone does little to mask the intrigue dancing in your eyes, leaving the table hanging on your every word.

A heavy hush descends upon the table, and you scan the faces around you, perplexed by the sudden silence. Disapproval lingers in Jessi's slow shake of the head, while the exchange of disconcerting glances among the girls hints at a shared, unspoken concern.

“What’s wrong?” Concern etches your voice as you inquire, the subtle panic seeping through, unable to grasp the sudden tension enveloping the table.

Soo-ah leans in dramatically, her words hanging in the air like a heavy secret. “You fucked Jungkook,” she drawls, the gravity of her statement sinking in, and a chill coursing through your veins. “The same Jungkook who's been with half the town—Park Jungkook.” The weight of his name leaves you wide-eyed, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

Your jaw practically hits the floor, or it would if that were humanly possible. Park? Jungkook and Jimin are brothers?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

Omg 🫢 How did you like the ending??? I hope you won’t be too mad… The fling with Jungkook only happens this one time, but necessary to happen for the rest of the story to make sense 🥲

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oldstateofmind · 11 months

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nobody else can heal it (but you) [part ll]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, confrontation, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead, english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.8k ➜ [part l] ➜ a/n: Okay, I’m so sorry! I know I promised there would be smut next, but then this chapter started to get bigger and bigger so I decided to split it into a 3 part series. I love how this one turned out and wanted you to read it as soon as possible. Please, stay tuned for the next and final chapter! Also, come say hi!

chapter ll. fate at the hand of my mistakes

Caught by the sudden wave of sorrow, you almost miss the moment Miguel’s presence tingles your spider senses. But as with everything regarding the man, you were already too aware of his existence due to the number of nightmares that plagued your dreams. It was inevitable that at some point, you could recognize him by the sound of his steps alone. All of him was embedded in your mind, for better or worse.

Ao3

VI.

The silence was deafening.

You’ve been passing from side to side for what seems like hours now. Hand running through your hair in a frantic motion, biting your lips and nipping the delicate skin of it. Your mouth feels dry as you finish telling your friends everything that has been happening for the past few weeks.

When the words began dripping from your mouth, you couldn’t stop. To expose your feeling and hand your heart on a plate was unbelievably hard, but once you took a deep breath and began telling them, it felt like a dam had broken on your brain, letting all the submerged feeling float to the surface.

The mortifying idea of being seen was frightening, but it was all out now.

You can’t gather the courage to look at them; to take note of each expression. Recognizing your feelings was already a task too complicated to do on your own, having to verbalize them to your friends was even more exhausting. You weren’t drowning anymore, but it was still hard to gasp for air.

Pavitr cleaned his throat amid the silence. “So… You like Miguel?”

Unbelievable.

“That’s what you gathered from what I just said?”

It’s the first time you dare to look at the little group. When you broke down after the confrontation with Torment, Margo had called them in a hurry as you spiraled down, falling from the pedestal so hard that you were afraid of the aftermath when you hit the ground. Thankfully they were there to catch you.

They had gathered on the small couch Margo kept at a forgotten corner of the lab; piling up on top of each other. Gwen was the first to show up, and the one who helped you put your thoughts back together. You breathed in and out, trying to calm down your heart as her hand rubbed your back. You’ve never been so grateful.

You catch the smirk growing on Hobie’s face before he says, “Well, Miguel is a walking nightmare, there's nothing new here.”

“Hobie!” The group shouts in unison.

“You’re not helping, man,” Pavitr whispers, poking Hobie’s side.

“It’s just my opinion on that wanker–” He says in his defense, throwing his hand in the air. But Gwen stops him with a cushion on his face before he can finish. It's the first time you want to do something else than cry.

“We are glad that you decided to tell us, Y/N,” The girl says, glaring at Hobie who does not look slightly intimidated. “You shouldn’t be suffering alone, it’s your life that we are talking about here.”

There was a fine line between wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation and wanting to cry at the amount of feeling bubbling up inside you. Your heart swells in your chest seeing your friends trying to help you, even when it wasn’t news to anybody that Hobie didn’t like Miguel, or that the rest of the group was a bit wary of the man. But seeing them trying to understand was enough. At least they never asked why – and even if you could put it into words, it felt shallow compared to the intensity of affection you felt toward Miguel

“Thank you, Gwen. I just–” Words now often got caught up in your throat and you hated feeling so vulnerable. You swallow down the tears threatening to fall. If you thought long enough about it, you were doomed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It seems pretty obvious to me,” Margo chimed in. The girl had the tendency to be straight to the point, never dancing around any subject.

“Margo, I can’t just tell him–” You start, for what seems the eleventh time, the same old speech you have been repeating over and over again.

“Why?” She presses, her piercing gaze seems to see right through you. “Yes, it’s the only way to make the nightmares disappear, but you’re only in this position because you’ve been harboring these feelings for so long that they became so powerful that even a villain had to intervene. They were hurting you and the nightmares are only the materialization of it.”

You close your eyes as you start to feel the edges burn, turning away so they can’t see your lips quivering in a pitiful attempt to stop the tears from falling. The need to scream at the top of your lungs almost wins you over – you’ve never been so worn out in your life as you are right now.

Margo was right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept the fact that your feelings were starting to eat you alive, chopping every bit of your soul whenever Miguel wasn’t around. Whenever you spent lonely nights looking through your window wishing it was different. Wishing he was there, wishing he would love you.

How long could you spend your life wishing for something until it damaged you beyond repair?

“Are you that afraid of the answer?” Her voice is soft as if it saying any lounder would shatter the fragile state you found yourself in.

“No… I’m afraid of the confirmation,” You confess. As you turn around to look at your friends, a defeated smile adorns your face. “Sometimes it hurts less not knowing, you know?”

“How can you be so sure, Y/N?” Gwen is the one who raises the question, the gentleness in her tone is nauseating. How could she propose that idea when she knew who Miguel was and where he stood?

Even if there’s a small hope that Miguel might not reject you, you always stop yourself from clinging to it. It would only cause more damage than the acceptance you've been trying to wave as a white flag – you were defeated anyway.

“Love is a beautiful thing, Y/N. You shouldn’t be afraid of it!” Pavitr jumps from his seat, walking towards you with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. Sometimes he would glow more than you and your suit. How he did it, you weren’t sure. “I was the one to confess my feeling to Gayatri, I was shaking like a leaf! And look at us now, we are so happy!”

Every now and then you wondered how Pavitr could be so… happy. Life seemed so easy when wearing his rose-colored glasses. You wondered if it was part of his personality, being so cheerful and hopeful, or if he did a hell of a job hiding his fears. Nonetheless, you believed in his sincerity, not in his advice; there was no way Miguel would correspond to your feeling.

You sigh, defeated. If the lack of sleep didn't kill you, the heartbreak would. “I would like my funeral to be just for those in my inner circle; nothing too big. Also, I’m not a big fan of those funeral wreaths–”

“Stop that! It’s your life on the line, don’t play with it.” Gwen interrupts you, she looks upset by your self-deprecation and lack of confidence. But you couldn’t help, It was your coping mechanism expecting the worse in all situations. “I can only imagine how it feels having to confess your feelings when you’re not ready. But there’s no easy way out of this one.”

Caught out off guard, you weren’t expecting Gwen to hug you. To think she was living in a shell all this time due to all her traumas, but decided to take a step forward to show her true self was heartwarming. It’s warm and inviting, and you helplessly cling to her, appreciating the show of affection. They gather around you, and the warmth of each encouraging smile is uplifting.

Hobie gently bumps your arm, his smirk is enough to make you feel that everything was going to be alright. “Don’t let that tosser be the reason you’re not here to play with us anymore, won’t you?”

Miguel's apartment was on one of the lower levels of the tower.

It was a rare thing having him back home, he would usually linger at his office for as long as he could, only going back home to sleep and eat – when he did so, he had the terrible tendency to skip those. It was always up to the spiders to bring him something to eat, Jess would be the first to send him home when the bad mood started to show up. Miguel often neglected himself, and you couldn't help but think it was a sort of punishment for what he did.

It broke your heart, but there was nothing you could do to help him. The guilt he felt was a weight he would carry forever on his back – something to inflict on himself every time he faltered in his mission. Besides, he would never share the pain with anyone else, perhaps it was the only reminder of her daughter, and no one could take that away from him.

As the day turned to night – which made everything more real – you watch the city disappear once the elevator reached below the surface level. The underground city had its beauty as well. Even though the dark was prominent here, the lights and the neon sighs were a sight for sore eyes.

Everything was splendent, such a contrast with the city on the surface. It wasn’t a mystery why Miguel would rather have his apartment located here, where the sun couldn't reach. Sometimes you wondered if the lack of sunlight was the reason why he was always so… grumpy. However, when you have eyes so sensitive to light like his, it’s inevitable to hide from it.

On the way down, you couldn't distract yourself with anything. You picked your cuticles, and bite the skin of your lips till it was bleeding; your leg never stopped bouncing. Anxiety sky rocked as you watched the numbers change, the sound of each level counting down the seconds until you were at his door.

As much as you wanted to be brave, it was impossible. Every single outcome that played in your head was worse than the other. Why couldn’t you just imagine something good for once? Your self-sabotaging mind was draining, and when you finally stopped at his door, it felt like you could collapse at any minute.

Breathing in and out, you press the doorbell. It was now or never.

“Hi Lyla,” You greet the AI as soon as she appears on the screen, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Could you tell Miguel I’m here to see him?”

“Hey girl, it’s been a minute!” Lyla greets you excitedly; the fact she objectively points out you’ve been away churn your stomach.

You would stop by to check on him every now and then, sometimes you would even prepare a meal when he was too stubborn to eat – Miguel never went more than a few hours away from the screen of his lab. However, the soft humming in the kitchen, his eyes on you – those were easy days you wish could turn into forever.

“Yeah… You know how it is.”

“Sure…I’m calling him, just a moment!” Lyla was not originally programmed to have feelings and a personality, but she developed into such a proportion that you could feel the irony in her synthetic voice.

The door opens without ceremony, and you step inside feeling your heartbeat reverberating through your body – each step slower than the other, mind aware of each intake of breath. Like the back of your hand, you had memorized his place, walking past the entrance into the living room as if it was yours. How easy it was to cloud your brain in a haze of familiarity that each room brought to you.

“He’s coming in a minute, you can wait here,” Lyla interrupts your thoughts, appearing at the corner of your vision.

You slowly nod, feeling your hands start to get clammy, “Thanks.”

Before she disappears, you could swear you caught a glimpse of an amusing smile on her face, as if she knew something you didn’t. You shake your head, the lack of sleep has proven how much it can affect your perception, this must be your mind playing another trick, using the fluttering feeling bubbling in your chest as a weapon.

As you look around, waiting for him in the leaving room, you notice how it feels empty, joyless. Often you found yourself looking at these white walls wondering if Miguel didn’t want to at least add a bit of his personality to them. Did he think of himself as a stranger? Or maybe a phantom, doomed to live a life behind the screen with no real joy?

There’s a pang in your heart as you think about how lonely must it be; to be at the top, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people who would eventually go home to someone, while he was stuck here, paying all alone for his sins.

However, as you turn, you’re caught off guard by the sight of him anyway.

Miguel stands over the threshold, folding his arms over his chest. He must have been working out because the white tank top he’s using hugs his chest in a sinful way. His hair is a little bit more curly than usual, damped at the tips. The sight of him makes your mouth go dry, and you have to swallow down before speaking.

“Hi.” It's the only thing you manage to say as you watch the muscles of his arms contract against his chest.

You can’t read his expression, and it makes you nervous not being able to predict what he’s thinking. It takes more than a heartbeat for Miguel to answer, still seeming unfazed by your presence. And it’s torturing having him so close, yet so far.

“Hi.” It’s dry, almost cold. The ache in your chest grows larger by the minute.

“H–How are you?” You try to play it cool, hoping the trembling in your voice is not noticeable. He raises an eyebrow as you point at him, “Working on those muscles, I see!”

It’s instantaneous the wave of cringeness that washes over you. The words feel wrong on your tongue, every movement is met with strangeness. The gap left by the nightmares is bigger than you thought, placing you back where you started. And honestly, this felt worse than the day you met him. Because when he looks at you, there’s some sort of sadness behind his eyes; disappointment. Miguel shakes his head slightly, stepping into the living room and heading to the kitchen.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” He asks, not even bothering to look at you.

As you fight with your mouth, trying to find the right words to say – to at least start a conversation – he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrews the cap, and drinks it all in one gulp. And then again, your brain is slow to process any answer when he’s standing in the kitchen like that; the light reflecting his toned body, the sweat running down his nape to underneath the collar of the shirt.

You look away, resolve faltering, “I…I came to check on you, it’s been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” Your eyes widen in shock at the small outburst; the bottle crushed in his hand.

He quickly recomposes himself, throwing away the bottle. You were expecting Miguel to be wounded by your disappearance, but not to the point of being rude to you. It was rare to see him so… angry outside of missions. You took pride in being someone who he could always count on; having him looking at you as if you were a complete stranger not only stung, it maimed you.

“Miguel, I’m sorry–” You start, not knowing how you’re going to end the sentence, but doing anything to revert the situation. It’s clear that he’s upset, but you’re not exactly sure why. You step towards him, but this time, he’s the one who steps back.

“Oh, so now you’re sorry? No puedo con esto,” The muscle in his jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Miguel,” You call for him, feeling desperate. He won’t look at you, as if the person standing in his living room is unfamiliar. You despise it the feeling crawling underneath your skin, and hates it even more because it’s you are to blame, “I’ve been dealing with a lot lately, and–”

“Running away from me is one of them, so it seems,” The cut is clean, borderline cruel. Miguel’s stare burns your skin; the bitterness is cold to the touch. And if there was any chance of this working out, they were very slim at the moment.

“I didn’t…” The guilty that settled in your heart the moment you started avoiding him comes back in full force and hits you in a wave of emotions that makes you nauseous. But you can’t find your voice, can’t find the courage to say anything more than, “I don’t know what you talking about.”

Coward. You were such a coward.

The look of disappointment on his face is heartbreaking, and you regret everything you ever said from the moment you step into this place. You were supposed to tell him how much he meant to you, how come you��ve done the opposite?

Miguel looks down, shaking his head as he murmurs something in Spanish under his breath. You don’t know what it means, but by the looks of it, it’s definitely not something good.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you, Y/N,” Miguel sounds defeated. He rests his hands on his hips as he sighs, “I’ve been cracking my head trying to understand where it all went wrong. When did our relationship become…this”

You could hear the sound of your heart shattering, the heavyweight finally crushing the muscle you kept in your chest. Suddenly, the need to touch him is overwhelming – the need to spill everything out in one sentence clogs your throat. But like in your nightmares, you find yourself frozen in place.

Miguel doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil, wrapped in his own demons. “But you wound’t even spare me a moment to just… talk to you. You stopped answering my messages. Avoiding me like I’m some kind of decease.”

As Miguel continues to spill out everything that has been haunting his mind, all you can do is watch the man fall from grace. It’s agonizing to see him like this, so helpless. And all because of you.

No. It wasn’t completely your fault. And he needed to understand that.

The nightmares were a ghost that crept into your life and took over your action. It clouded your brain, made you seethings that weren't there, and miss those that actually were. The messages were just an example. As you tried to make a point to your friends, you found out that not only he had sent messages, Miguel had called you. Multiple times.

How did you even miss those? And how can you begin to explain the motive behind it? You curse the woman who put the spell on you. You curse everything that happened that made Miguel think you didn’t care anymore, because you so painfully did.

“I–I never meant to upset you, Miguel,” Your voice it’s almost above a whisper. Tiredness eats your bones; the headache from unshed tears pounds your head, “I was just in a really tough spot and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Miguel looks at you in disbelief. “Y/N, I was so worried when you started missing the meetings. The next thing I know,Lyla is the one telling me about the accidents you've been having during work because you stopped talking to me. Do you how dangerous those injuries can be?” Miguel doesn’t look at you. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose – and you knew that movement very well by now – it was an attempt to contain his rising anxiety.

The intensity of his words leaves you breathless, and even though the remorse is sickening, your heart skips a beat when the intonation changes – when his voice goes softer when talking about how concerned he was. The spark of hope swiftly ignites brighter in your chest.

But then, Miguel stops, dropping his hand and looking directly at you. “Then, when I came looking after you, what did I get?” Miguel’s voice is filled with hurt and resentment, it’s impossible to stare back when he looks betrayed. “You ranfrom me, Y/N!”

His voice is like a knife to your heart, cutting so deep you didn’t know you could bleed only from words alone. Flashbacks from that night play in your mind on a loop; from the other side, it seemed so real and spine-chilling. But now, the images turn into something else, as if a fog had lifted from your eyes; the touch of his fingers on your wrist and theneed in his voice when he called your name.

Fuck. How much worse could this get?

Miguel turns away, not giving you a choice to answer his pleading. He must be so tired of your excuses and half-spoken words – you were tired of them too. There’s another pang in your chest, devouring you with the certainty that you were not the only one suffering all these weeks.

Miguel sighs, breathing in deeply, “I care about you, so much I–” He taps his knuckle against his lips, cutting whatever he was going to say in half. His eyes finally lift to your face, crestfallen in an unusual sadness. “But what am I supposed to do when you look at me like I’m a monster?”

Your body moved before you could think about anything else. In a second you were standing in the living room, heart beating in a furious rhythm as you listened to his voice break at the end of the question. And then in the other, you had reduced the distance in just a few steps, stepping into his personal space with no warning; breaking the wall you both had built around each other.

You immediately search for his hand, holding it tight. It’s you who is begging for him to stay this time around, and thankfully, he does.

“You are not.” You say, steadfast in your conviction. It takes you a bit of confidence to look up, to stare deep into his beautiful crimson eyes. But once you do, it’s impossible to drift your stare anywhere else. Miguel has always been handsome, but up close, he was breathtaking. “You are not a monster, Miguel.”

The way his eyebrows scrunch is adorable, mouth opening in surprise at your advance, but no words come out of it. He’s only staring at you, and you could swear his eyes gleam with your reflection against it. His body is unbelievably warm from this close, and you can’t help but notice each tiny drop of sweat gliding down his neck – each wrinkle around his eyes, his strong bone structure, the tiny curls of hair on his forehead.

Oh, You could stare at him forever.

“I’m sorry,” Still holding his hand and with a new resolve settling in your bones, you bring his knuckles to your lips, kissing them softly. They are rough against it, but you welcome how real they feel against your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

You notice how his breath fluctuates at the simple touch. Your stomach turns at the thought, but it’s not anxiety that settles deep in your gut, is anticipation.

“Porfavor, bella,” Miguel’s voice is breathy as if you had knocked the air out of his lungs. And maybe you did. “Explainto me because I’m tired of trying to understand your pretty little mind.”

You blush at the compliment, caught off guard by his choice of words. Glancing at him, you study his face, but can’t find any sign of mockery. Instead, there’s only fondness at the crease of his eyes, the gentle smile settling at the corner of his lips – which are the solemn reason why you almost lost your train of thought.

“Do you see these dark circles?”

Miguel's smile widens. He brings his hand to your face, tracing the soft spot underneath your eyes with such gentleness you could cry. Warmth spreads over your body, and you don’t let go of his other hand, needing something to ground you as his touch completely destroys your defenses. “Kind hard to miss.”

You scuff, still basking yourself in his touch, the sun in on his hands. “A few weeks ago, Hobie and I went on a mission to stop a villain named Torment,” The words roll out of your tongue with ease now, having his attention like this was addicting, and you would do anything to compensate everything you put him through. “You know, usually villains don’t have superpowers that go beyond the physical type of injury.”

It’s easy to keep the memories at bay when the warmth of his skin lightens your dark and disturbed mind. However, they are still there, feeding on your fears and doubts and waiting for the perfect moment to get you. “But this one did.”

“What do you mean?” Miguel's tone is concerned, he tries to cup your face but you step away as a shadow crosses his eyes.

Suddenly, everything feels wrong.

You take a deep breath, it was a matter of time until reality crushed down your state of mind. It was too good to be true; to be wrapped around his aura without feeling threatened. You drop his hand, turning slightly so you won’t look at him – because you know what you will find there. It was the only way to keep going before the nightmares crept into your mind and twisted the moment. He deserved to know, and you deserved to finally be at peace.

When you speak again, your voice is shaky, “She planted nightmares in my head, twisting memories and images of something…. someone dear to me.” At the corner of your vision, you notice how Miguel tries to touch you again but stops halfway through when he sees your vacant stare; light starts to dim on your face.

You are starting to run out of time. In a moment, those shadows would be biting at your heels. And then it would be too late for both of you.

Shaking your head, you gather enough strength to keep going, “It slowly deteriorated my mind, I think at some point I was seeing things because of how much I was sleep deprived. I don’t think I’ve got more than 2 hours of sleep these last few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?” Miguel asks, desperation at the edge of his tone, “I could’ve helped, we could have found a way to stop–”

“I couldn't." It’s weak, it doesn’t explain a thing. If anything, it only serves to irritate Miguel even more.

“Why?” He pleads, trying to make sense of the nonsense you’ve been mumbling about, “I thought we had a deal, Y/N. You were always there for me when I needed you, why couldn’t I do the same for you? Por qué?”

You turn towards him and your throat burns. And it’s no help when the desperation in your voice overwhelms your senses. “Because they were about you!”

Miguel goes quiet, eyes widening as his mouth stays slightly open. You rapidly cover your face with your hands, letting a shaky breath escape your lips. The only sound you can hear is the beating of your heart, and it’s so painfully loud. “Torment told me that her powers search for what you desire the most and twist them into something beyond recognition in your mind until it bleeds to the real world. My theory is that; you either fight against that fear, doing exactly what you are most afraid of to make them stop, or you succumb to them.”

When it was clear Miguel wasn't going to say anything, still baffled at the amount of information you had thrown at him, you hysterically let a laugh escape. “How funny, right? The things we love the most are the ones that haunt us forever.”

You were tired of running away. You wanted Miguel to know, and you wanted him to correspond so badly. You wanted to give your to love him and wanted to have his love back.

“So, there you have it, Miguel,” You look at him, finally speaking the truth that had been locked in the deepest of your soul with such ease it scares you. “I love you.”

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #across the spider verse spoilers #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #sometimes i write

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catholic-character-tournament · 1 year

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Round 1 - Side B

Propaganda below ⬇️

Johnathan

Catholicism doesn’t really exist in the game but it also kind of does. Basically, Johnathan didn’t know that God existed until one day all the angels started coming down from heaven to have a war with the demons from hell. And then Johnathan made a pledge to go serve god and heaven and kill all humans living on earth because they were like “unfit” or “unclean” or something. So then Johnathan’s friend Walter goes to hang out with satan and then they become enemies :( But he’s basically catholic even if he doesn’t directly call himself that so i’m gonna say yes.

Johnathan literally fuses himself with god to become merkabach. He is unhinged. At the start of the game i thought he was cool because he didn’t want me to kill my best friend like WALTER did. And unlike WALTER, johnathan didn’t fuck up the boss fight with the minotaur. But then johnathan became really really bourgeoise or bougie idk whatever idk how to spell it. And then johnathan was like “FUCK POOR PEOPLE” and i was like no girl nooooo. But johnathan wanted to fuse himself with god and wipe all humans off the face of the earth because heaven thought they were impure. So he was trying to invoke the angels of destruction so badly and i was like johnathan you can’t do that son, and so i had to beat his ass. And then by extension i had to also beat god’s ass. And then i don’t really remember what happens but johnathan was essentially the most catholic guy in existence considering i don’t know anybody else who was chill enough with god to do steven universe fusion with him.

ok so like in smt theres alignments . chaos neutral and law. jonathan is the local lawboy and this means hes like the one who rather follow the rules already established and reject radical changes. but anyways hes also shown to be some sort of follower of god in this world and also of the like. local religion or whatever in mikado (where everyone is from) and hes very devoted to the cause and to keep things peaceful as they are now instead of trying to change shit up like walter (the chaosboy)

if he wants to commit genocide who am i to say no

has one fight with friend and decides to become an angel about it and nuke tokyo off the map

Fuses with literal biblical angels to become another angel that then wants to genocide anyone deemed ungodly/unclean by the biblical higher powers (which includes the entire population of Tokyo. And people who read manga).

Dude he is absolutely insane. He's my poor little meow meow. The party got high and he rolled around on the floor and meowed because he thought he was a cat. He is also so insanely gay. Like stupidly queer coded . that just makes the catholic guilt hit harder tbh

Gay boy who dies in every timeline

Paul

he's like if renfield from dracula was cool youth pastor.

He's also a priest, who essentially becomes a vampire due to an "angel" and tries to convert the entire town. He also runs an Alcoholics Anonymous group. I love him

Listen you've probably gotten this guy idk how many times but JUST IN CASE, I submitted him. He's a priest who fell in love and had a lesbian daughter. He becomes a vampire after his money-laundering fundie simp sent him to the Holy Land. He's so torn up over his lover having dementia and God allowing so much overwhelming death that he decides he's going to try to Cure Death Forever but oh boy is it a slippery slope and the man is surrounded by enablers.

so i binged watch the chosen (it's a drama series but it's the bible) and I needed to balance or else Id be insane so I watched midnight mass. It was good. Fuck this rat -- op

#shin megami tensei #jonathan smt #smt #father paul hill #midnight mass #cct polls #tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls

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desswright29 · 9 months

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Ghetto Story Summary

Y’all it’s this story I want to find and I’m not sure if it’s on here or A03 (I’m leaning towards A03). It was a series and it was never finished. But y’all about to get one hell of a summary.

Shuri and reader are in an arranged marriage. Shuri actually liked reader but ol girl wasn’t tryna hear it. But she wasn’t blind or nothing every once in awhile she would be like yea she is looking kinda right ya know. Anyway Shuri’s given it her all. And one day they have to go to this meet up at the White House with the president and his wife. The wife is instantly giving y/n bad vibes. But she’s chillin. But she keeps throwing lil jabs at Shuri. Shuri ain’t catching it but y/n wasn’t having it. So the 1st lady goes to the bathroom and y/n follows her in there and they have a slight lil altercation cause we went in there like “bitch you gone respect my wife!” And then they walk out like nothing happened and we curl up under Shuri and give that hoe a nasty mug. So we have to leave cause Shuri has another event to speak at at a school. And it was real cute or whatever y/n sees her in a different light and all that.

So reader and her family used to come to DC often and she had this reaturaunt that was her favorite she mentioned it a looong time ago. Shuri remembered and surprised her now readers warming up because she didn’t think Shuri was paying attention that much. So they leave and now y/n want some damn ice cream right. Okoye like “Aight now we already made to many got damn detours we need to get outta dodge.” And Shuri’s like “Maaaan Shut up! My baby want some muh fuckin Ice cream she gone get some muh fuckin ice cream.” So they go get the muh fuckin Ice cream. So Shuri is standing with Okoye and I think Ayo (don’t quote me) keeping watch out while you get Ice cream. Whole time ol dude at the ice cream stand is the Opp. Upped the tooly on her shot her 3 times. FAH FAH FAH!!!! 1st lady put a hit out on us! Now Shuri scrambling and Okoye nem go to catch ol boy. Shuri gets y/n stabilized with a bead. And get her back to Wakanda because she doesn’t trust the American hospitals.

You’re in a coma for awhile. Shuri’s pissed and spiraling. Now They’re keeping it very private that you’ve been shot. But some how Washington puts out a statement. Sending their condolences. 😬 Big mistake Shuri’s catching on. So Shuri calls Okoye who has the dude that shot y/n (they’re still in America because they can get in trouble for taking him across the boarder). Shuri’s like “is he talking?” Okoye like “Nah”. Shuri said “Fuck that shit bring that nigga to me IMMEDIATELY.” They tried to talk her out of it. She wasn’t hearing it. You wake up out of your coma.

Y’all have a beautiful moment. She’s in the hospital bed with you chilling when Okoye comes in like. I got your package. And Shuri like “Bet” you notice the interaction and you’re like “Shuri don’t do no dumb shit” she like “nah not me.” She leaves. You don’t believe her. They leave Aneka with you. You like take me to where she is. Aneka like “I can’t do that!” You like “Yes you can!” She like “aight” So she gets you in a wheelchair and takes you to the basement of the palace you didn’t even know was there. She gets you behind the double sided glass and Shuri is in there BEATING THIS MAN INTO A PULP!! 🫦 Fucking that man UP I tell you! And that’s where it ended.

Anyway. Anybody else read that story and know the name of it? That was one of the most gangster sexiest non smut versions of Shuri I’ve ever read in my life. 😩

#letitiawright #letitia wright #shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri fanfiction #shuri x you #shuri fic

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kleenexwoman · 5 months

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You seem like the sort of person who has opinions about the His Dark Materials series.

Yeah, I read it when I was in Middle School and I loved the concept of Dust. I would say that probably impacted my conception of the way physics of spirituality works in some ways it probably did not affect many other people.

I loved the concept of Experimental Theology, and because I was not raised in an especially oppressive religious environment (I was raised by a reform Jewish dad and a lapsed Catholic mom, both of whom were quietly atheist and encouraged critical thinking), I really loved the idea that you could just think up ways about the way the world and God might work and go ahead and try it out.

It made perfect sense to me! If God was just some dude in the sky, then obviously you could talk to him and negotiate with him like anybody else, and if God was some kind of force that permeated the universe and was inside everything, then obviously it was like science and you could experiment with it.

I missed some of the more complex and emotional stuff about the way that religious fundamentalism and oppression affects people, probably, but then again I also took it for granted that the Church was kind of an oppressive institution which forced people to adhere to laws, dogma and socially restrictive policies that were generally about seeking power for the heads of the church and not about the best interest of the people that they governed. So that part wasn't really weird to me, it was just like oh yeah the Catholic Church is a bad guy again okay, that tracks, after all they did do the Spanish Inquisition.

The idea of Dust, an actual physical metaphysical property that collected on people because of their ability to be conscious and self-aware, was a hugely brain rewiring idea for me. I loved the idea that there was something physical and measurable, if not something that humans could observe directly on their own, that corresponded directly to something intangible like the expression of consciousness.

To some extent I kind of do believe that. I conceptualize the energetic body as patterned flows of qi energy, which I see as being similar to your body's plasma. Motes of what Pullman called Dust and which I like to call ergosi/ergosum, individual units of consciousness (from the Descarte saying Cogito ergo sum, or I think therefore I am) are like red blood cells floating in the qi and making it stronger. These ergosi, produced by individual moments of conscious thought, all work together in the body's qi streams to keep the process of consciousness going.

On a personal level, THE ENDING TO The Amber Spyglass WAS BULLSHIT AND MADE ME SAD. THEY CAN'T JUST BE FORCED APART LIKE THAT! FUCK YOU! NOT AFTER ALL THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH! Obviously they managed to get back together the first time they sat on that bench and lived happily ever after in the best parts of their worlds, okay? Yes. Obviously. Good. I'll hit you if you tell me otherwise.

#personal #metaphysics #paganism #his dark materials

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collapsedglasshouses · 7 months

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An Angel for Noah || Noah Sebastian x OC [Part 6]

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @cafekitsune

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Jules [she/her]

MASTERPOST

SUMMARY: Both Noah and Jules get confronted with the consequences of Jules' interference and to make matters worse Noah believes that Nick doesn't believe him at all.

WARNINGS: themes of trauma and emotional distress, talks about bad mental health, talks about death, ...

A/N: Hello! ♡ I'm really sorry it's taking me so long to update atm. I'm struggling with a really bad writer's block. I hope you all are doing well... I actually don't know what else to say this time except: Thank you for the overwhelming responses to this series! It means a lot to me! So now, have fun while reading the next part! ♡

TAGLIST: @trvshdxddy @blackveilomens @crimson-calligraphyx @measuredingold @cncohshit @signs-of-ill-portent @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @ada-clarence

If you wanna be added to the taglist of this story, please DM me or let me know in the comments!

Keep in mind, this takes place in an alternative universe. Even though I write about real people, the way I write them has nothing to do with how they are in real life.

When Noah woke up the next day his head was pounding. He regretted every bit of alcohol he had consumed last night. But right as he was about to let out a frustrated groan, his memories from his way to the hotel came back.

He had almost been hit by a car because he was too dumb to watch where he was going. There was this girl that had thrown herself onto him. She had cried while she asked him if he was okay. He still felt the pain, from hitting the concrete, in his back.

He remembered how he couldn't stop himself from getting lost in her eyes, even though he felt guilty for doing so, since she was crying. The comfort he felt when she touched him, still lingered on him. Her image occupied his thoughts, even now when he was awake again, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a deeper connection between them. He felt stupid thinking about how this encounter felt almost supernatural.

He didn't have the time to think about it any longer, because his phone started to ring again. Jules didn't even move a finger while standing at the corner of his room. She didn't move at all since Noah stumbled into the room. She couldn't believe what she had done. She shouldn't have done that.

She just stared at Noah as he moved into the small bathroom to shower. She felt like she couldn't move, her thoughts holding her back. If he would slip in the shower now, she would accept that he might break his neck but she just couldn't move. She had destroyed everything. She was sure that at any moment she would be snapped out of her skin and would have to listen to a lecture about how stupid she was for showing herself.

She let herself think about what might have happened if she didn't reach him in time on that street. He would have ended just like she did. He would have died in the cold with the downside of not having anybody around who could help him like she did. The tour would have ended before even starting. His friends would have lost such a beautiful soul. She felt how she started to shake, her trauma washing over her. When she was still living, she thought her death would take all her sorrows, but now she found herself in a whirlwind of emotions that she could not control.

She felt how she teared up again. As much as she wanted to swallow her tears, she couldn't fight it. So she stood there, as still as she could, shaking and crying from her emotions.

As the days went by, everything started to become grey to Noah. While he loved being on tour, he had this weight on his shoulders of not knowing how to go on from this. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Every little time he had was used to go through the past events over and over. He knew he needed to see Jules again. It was all he could think about.

It didn't go unnoticed by Jules that Noah was even deeper in his thoughts than he already had been. She knew it was her fault. She was sure it was the fact that she had disappeared into thin air after helping him to his feet. She was to blame for him loosing his sanity. She was to blame for him not performing as good as he wanted to. She was to blame for him being mad at himself for not doing great. She was to blame for everything that went wrong in Noah's life at the moment and she wanted nothing more but to change that.

"Are you alright, Noah?" Jolly asked his friend after their concert as they walked backstage. Noah just shrugged it off. "Yeah, just can't concentrate that well at the moment."

Jules observed the scene. She noticed how Jolly raised his right eyebrow for a second but when he sensed that Noah really didn't want to talk about it, he gave him a quick side hug. "You did good tonight. Don't worry." And with that he left.

In fact, Noah did worry. About everything. Every waking second was spent with worrying. He felt like her face was burned into his brain. He needed to see her again so bad, he began searching her face in every crowd they saw. He knew it was dumb, but it was his last hope. How else should he cope with his loss? He knew there was little to no chance he would ever see her again but this way he could at least talk himself into it for a few seconds longer.

It felt like the next few hours went by in slow motion for him, and when he was finally in his bunk on the tour bus, he couldn't help but take a sigh of relief. He just wanted to sleep, since this had been the only way to escape his thoughts of Jules for the last few days.

When he opened his eyes again, he almost fell off the chair he was seated at. Hectically he looked around himself. He was sitting in a café. It looked like a typical coffee shop in the Upper West Side of New York. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans wafted through the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. When he watched closer, he noticed how a lot of the people around him looked like university attendees. He felt like he was living in an episode of Gossip Girl (ignoring the fact he definitely wasn't on the Upper East Side) with the people's clothes around him looking like they had a lot of money.

His eyes stopped at a table in the corner. Around the girl, whose back was turned to him, were a lot of plants. If he had to choose a place where he could sit, it would have been there. He instantly recognized her. It was Jules. Right when he noticed that it felt like he could read her like an open book.

He knew this must have been a place she frequently visited, considering the fact that he could see the signs of Juilliard school from the other side of the window.

Than he noticed a person sitting with her at the table. She was rather short and had longer red and brown hair. He felt how much Jules trusted her. Her friend, who gave of vibrant and ever-enthusiastic vibes, had her own coffee cup cradled in her hands.

"So, spill the beans, Jules," Jules' friend said with a mischievous grin. "I saw you talking to that cute guy from our music theory class yesterday."

Noah felt how Jules was run over by a flush of embarrassment that crept up her cheeks, her heart racing at the mention of the boy. It made Noah feel weird when he was being honest. "Oh, him," she replied, attempting to sound nonchalant. "We were just discussing the upcoming composition assignment."

Her friend raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Come on, Jules. I've known you for too long. I can tell when you've got a crush."

Jules chuckled, unable to deny her friend's perceptive nature. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do find him interesting."

While her friend grinned wider, Noah's face twitched in frustration. He didn't even know why. He had no idea what the hell was going on.

When her friend started leaning in conspiratorially, Noah almost became mad. "Interesting? That's quite the understatement. You practically light up when he's around."

Jules sighed, unable to hide her affectionate smile. "He's just so talented, Meghan. And he's got this passion for music that's incredibly inspiring."

Her friend nudged her playfully. "And he's cute, right?"

Jules blushed again, her laughter tinkling like a melody in Noah's ears while the topic of conversation almost hurt him like a blade in the chest. "Yeah, he's cute. But it's more than that. He's… genuine. When he talks about music, it's like he's pouring his soul into every note."

He noticed how he furrowed his eyebrows. HE did that too. He wished someone would have talked about him like that.

Her friend, Meghan, reached across the table and squeezed Jules' hand. "I'm happy for you, Jules. You deserve someone who appreciates your passion for music just as much."

As Noah looked down at the table in front of him, his view became blurry again. The last thing he thought was, how he would loved to know Jules, but he just didn't know how to get to know her. If she even was real and his mind didn't just play a cruel joke on him.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt empty.

"Fuck." He whispered into the nothingness, hoping he hadn't disturbed his friends sleep. He quietly climbed out of his bed and went through the door to the front part of the bus. They would drive in the morning, so he had the chance to slip into a jacket and shoes to leave the bus and get some fresh air in his system. Jules quietly followed him.

She was still shaking but over the last few hours, she couldn't cry anymore. She felt empty. When she saw Ruffilo standing outside with a cigarette in his hand, she stayed back, but still lingered close enough to hear their conversation.

"Why are you still up?" Nick asked his best friend who leaned against the bus, shrugging his shoulders. "Could ask you the same thing." - "Fair."

It went quiet for a while, both of them seemingly deep in thoughts. Noah fought with himself. He literally felt like loosing his mind.

"I think I need to tell you something." Noah than breathed out and sparked Nick's interest. The latter put out his cigarette and turned his full attention to his best friend.

"I think I almost died last night." It bursted out of Noah and now it felt like he couldn't stop himself. He had to tell Nick everything.

"What?" - "I almost got run over by a car last night." Noah confessed and Nick's eyes widened as much as Jules'. Both of them couldn't believe what he just said but both for different reasons.

"Why didn't you tell me? Are you okay? What happened?" The questions bubbled out of Nick, while Jules stepped closer to them. She felt how she got angry. She already fucked up. Why did Noah have the need to tell the world about it? He might as well put a stamp of "worst guardian angel on earth" on her forehead.

"I'm fine. Someone saved me." Noah answered and his hands began to sweat. He didn't even know what exactly he was going to tell Nick, but he needed to get it out. "There was a girl. She came out of nowhere, really."

Nick nodded, gesturing him to continue talking. "She had really beautiful eyes. You won't believe me, she almost felt unreal."

"Did you catch her name? What did she look like?" Nick wanted to know, not really getting why Noah spoke of her as if he had just met the love of his life.

"Jules. I think that is her name." He than breathed out, causing Jules to flinch next to him. How the hell did he know her name? There were so many questions in her head.

"What do you mean, 'you think'? Are you sure you aren't imagining this accident? You were so wasted last night." - "I thought the same thing, but I still feel this pain on my lower back where my body hit the concrete. Also it felt so real. I saw her. I saw her face. It was like - I had seen her somewhere before..." Noah decided against telling him that he was sure the girl from his dreams had saved him, while Jules next to him internally begged for this conversation to be over.

Nick nodded but it was noticeable to everyone but Noah that he had doubts about Noah's story. It was also not noticeable to Noah that he had been the cause of Nick still being awake. His friend was worried about him and hearing him talk about a random girl like he had seen god himself, made it even worse.

"Noah?" - "Hmm." - "Please take care of yourself."

With that his friend stepped to the door of the bus and with a last "good night" he left Noah alone. Noah felt numb. He had noticed that Nick didn't believe him or at least thought something was wrong with him and it frustrated him. He decided that after the tour he should make another appointment with his therapist, because he was really afraid of suffering from psychosis.

Jules felt how uneasy Noah was. Even if she still was angry about being confronted with her mistakes, there was something else that crept up her skin again. Regret. Regret that she had shown herself unwillingly. Regret that she had touched him. Regret that she had apparently turned his life upside down by her interference.

But even though she hated seeing him like that, she also felt how her skin tingled when she thought about how she had swept him off his feet with just one look.

Either way, she knew she had to make a move. She needed to help him out of his misery as soon as possible.

PART SEVEN

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens rpf #collapsedglasshouseswrites

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kitttttchaos · 2 months

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I’d like to explore the idea of this new generation of stories. A lot of people are bringing up the fact that stories nowadays don’t feel like they used to, in the sense that so many are not well developed, especially with the influence of social media. So what does this mean for the next generation of readers, writers, and filmmakers?

I’ve noticed that a lot of the new things coming out are written as if for children, but executed as if for adults. Mean Girls 2024 is like the Gen Alpha remix. The dialogue and the costuming is catered as if towards middle school girls, but it seems like writers are forgetting just how young middle schoolers are. I’m willing to bet that high schoolers would find the new mean girls very cringe, but middle schoolers wouldn’t. But the trailer makes it seem so sexual that it can’t possibly be written for an audience of twelve-year-olds. The same goes for the live action Avatar remake. The plot and dialogue is written like it’s for kids who can’t fully comprehend personal growth, but there’s so much violence that it can’t possibly be for kids. (To be fair, I haven’t watched either of these for myself, so take it with a grain of salt, but I think the people who have would agree; also no hate to the people involved in either production) But then you remember that some twelve year olds are full blown media influencers, who dress and speak about things inappropriate for their age, and in turn encourage their young viewers to do the same (ie. Sephora kids)

Eight graders are like armies for the media. Think about how One Direction exploded due to its audience. How the Sephora kids thing has been started by social media influencers. So, are filmmakers and writers trying to cater to the next generation of oddly mature consumers? If so, it seems like they’ve hit the mark. It’s a little too early to see how examples like Avatar will do in terms of money, but Mean Girls has grossed over $100mil in comparison with a $36mil budget, and if more things written like it do similarly in the box office, I can’t say I’d be surprised.

But even if art imitates life, life will also imitate art. The newer books and movies of today (when I say books I mean the mish mosh of tropes that get pushed around on TikTok, but that’s a whole other thing. Even so, they cater to a generation of readers who doesn’t seem to have grown up on reading) get the idea of kids that are so immature, even though they discuss and dress like they aren’t. But what those movies don’t get, in their haste to mirror Gen Alpha, is that kids are also complex human beings. The original Avatar got that, and so did the original Mean Girls. The reason I keep bringing up books is bc I was thinking about the Spirit Animals series, which is criminally underrated for its brilliant portrayal of character growth and redemption arcs, that I read when I was a kid. As Gen Z, do we want the next generation to grow up with horribly flat, oversexualized stories? We critique Gen Alpha’s inappropriate maturity, but we’re also the ones who are going to be writing for Gen Alpha in the future.

This idea is a little thrown together, and probably someone else has said it, but I think that we need to stop writing what sells. Stop the consumerist take on reading, of buying thousands of trashy romance novels to never pick up again. Stop writing cash grabs like Wish. Stop trying to mirror something about a generation that is not fully developed. I want Gen Alpha to have the feeling of being completely immersed in a story as a kid, and then growing up and thinking it was a story just for kids, but reading/watching it again and realizing just how good it was. But they won’t have that with this fast take on stories. What kid is going to enjoy the hell out of Wish, come back at 22, and think, “Wow, this is brilliant.”? But people do that all the time with the original ATLA.

I kinda hate myself writing this, but does anybody get what I mean? Why are stories getting so bad? Why are the things that make the most money absolute trash???

Anyway lol. Grain of salt, just my thoughts, yada yada yada. Lmk if u agree.

#thoughts #stories #writing #writing advice #books #media #mean girls 2024 #avatar the last airbender #ATLA #booktok #gen z #Gen alpha #aaaaaaaah

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msunitedstatesjames · 9 months

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I finally finished Light Bringer. Here's my thoughts (obviously, spoilers incoming):

-First and formost, RIP to the king of my heart, Cassius Bellona. The worst part about his death is that you know it's coming the whole book. You don't take a character like him, a former enemy, give him a solid redemption arc, make him the most ABSURDLY likeable character and source of all humor in the book, and then not kill him off. But still, I held out a tiny bit of hope. I really dreaded getting to the end of this book just because I knew it would be coming. But, you had to respect the way he went out at least. Dude's gonna be legend if that counts for anything.

-So, The Abomination was WORRYINGLY absent from this book, aside from a couple of mentions and that (maybe) he's Virginia's mysterious source of intel? Like, everyone is worried about how Atalantia is sitting around building up her power while everyone else is duking it out, but what about the Abomination? I know he's not anybody's most immediate threat in this book, but is anybody else extremely worried about what he's going to get up to in Red God?

-I was happy with the Virginia chapters we did get, but I hope she gets more time in Red God. Also, same to Victra. She was awesome in this book, as always, but like, I want to see you do even more destroying, girl. We love you. I also missed Electra.

-The Bromance in this book was next level, even by the standards previously set in this series. I loved having a little break from the relentless battles and death in Dark Age, to just get the dudes (and Lyria) hanging out and trying to work out their differences. This also helped get back some of the old humor I missed from earlier in the series.

-This was Lyria at her best in my opinion. She was great. I only wish we got to see more Lyria and Cassius because they were just so heart warming.

-Sevro is back! I loved getting to see the old Sevro make his triumphant return for the last third of the book or so. Sevro walking up to Gaia au Raa and just going, "shut up, crone," really made my day.

-Lysander has killed my favorite character of the book two books in a row now. And both times with a gun. I love how this dude talks about how he's secretly really good with a razor, but every time he's confronted with someone who's actually good at using one he just shoots them point blank. I know I've said this before, but seriously guys, fuck Lysander. I mean, even Atalantia is becoming more likeable than him. She may be an evil, power hungry tyrant, but at least she's pretty much honest about it. Everyone knows she's the worst and she barely bothers to pretend otherwise.

-Admittedly, it's been a few years since I've read the other books in the series, but this might be my favorite of the bunch. Pierce Brown really hit every emotional note and character perfectly in this one, and it felt a lot more balanced compared to the (necessary) bleakness of Dark Age.

#light bringer #light bringer spoilers #lysander au lune #cassius bellona #sevro barca #virginia augustus #darrow of lykos #lyria of lagalos #pierce brown #red rising series #red rising series spoilers #red rising #red rising spoilers

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catgirl-catboy · 5 months

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I genuinely want to know what the thought process is with all of the antis who gleefully engage with and consume fiction that has all of the hallmark "proship" themes - incest, underage/age gaps, noncon/dubcon, etc - and why they're so happy to consume these things in official media while condemning fan creators for doing the same things. Like, I'm in a fandom where the source material has LOADS of incest. There's a bunch of brothers and the canon material is not in the least bit shy about all the incesty themes and incesty humour. One brother actively hits on his other brothers and offers them sex all the time. Another brother is a weeb/otaku who's favorite character in-universe is a loli. The oldest brother has a freaky BDSM thing going on with the second oldest brother. Oh theres also a shota character with canon shotacon subtext. And so on, and so forth, etc. And yet the fandom for this media with ALL of these very canon official things is FULL of antis. Antis who will go on harassment campaigns on anybody who ships the brothers together (from the series that explicitly shows us that they are very incesty brothers) or anybody who "lewds the shota" (from the series with canon shotacon content)

It boggles my mind. And you see it everywhere, in every fandom. I really want to know what kind of mental gymnastics antis are doing where they can excuse themselves for consuming problematic media but then go and send death threats to anyone else who does the exact same thing.

I'd say I'm worse than reading people than average (I have a disorder about it, actually!) but here is my personal 2 cents.

Antis almost invariably hear proshippers disguised as pedophillic boogeyman, and thus everything we do is framed in that lense to them.

Sad thing is, when you think somebody is a horrible person, evidence is cherrypicked to support your conclusion. (and vice versa, I, along w every human on the planet, am guilty of this)

When I write a horrific dead dove piece about sibling incest, its not because I wanted to see more of the squicky dynamic we got in canon bc of how disgusting it is, but because I want to groom my (non-existent) little sister.

And when I tell them that, they either think I'm lying, or trying to trick my followers into doing that.

Its a solid case of confirmation bias, with a side of a superiority complex of being the only one capable of original thought.

#ask tag #proship #anti anti

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enihk-writes · 5 months

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[shared body]

character: cho sam

summary: a series of what i think happened to cho sam before and after chung myung took over his body, very stream of conscious questions and headcannons i have. might not make sense.

author's note: idk if yall have read the manga called the one within the villaness where the protagonist is the og owner of the body but gets in a limbo within her own consciousness so she is very aware when someone else has possessed her body, she also sees the other person's memories before the possession etc. will get into more details below.

═══════════════

BEFORE

CHO SAM who was probably a child born into a decent household with a roof over his head and food during meals until something happened to his parents / guardians that caused him to be abandoned at a young age. young enough that he cannot defend himself but probably not so young that he doesn't know his own birthname, talk or walk. considering that he might be getting bullied by the older beggar children around him, either because CHO SAM is really easy to take advantage of since he's meek or it's easy to take advantage of him because he's grown up sheltered

CHO SAM born into a decent household means there's a chance he's learnt how to read and write at some point, so there's also a chance where he learns about history and it's there he learns about the war, cheon ma and of course, the plum blossom sword saint. if we base this on the webtoon appearance, CHO SAM might notice that he has similar physical traits as this legendary hero so i don't think it would be far off to assume that in this case, the boy might begin to look up to the plum blossom sword saint as his own personal hero or something close to that. i think it's the type of thinking that would make sense to a child.

CHO SAM who might have prayed to the sword saint and looked up to him by trying to emulate that guy's behaviour in his everyday life from what he knows about the sword saint which was not a lot and vere mostly verbal accounts of someone else's observation which would have likely been heavily embellished, but CHO SAM doesn't know that yet.

CHO SAM on the day he 'dies' finds himself on the receiving end of an older beggar child's beating for some insignificant mistake he's made. i think that CHO SAM would have prayed to anybody out there for help, salvation, anything to get him out of this place because it's worn him down so much.

when the next hit on his head comes, CHO SAM squeezes his eyes shut but when he doesn't feel the pole hit his head, he opens his eyes to see that he's not exactly in control of his body. it's moving the way he's not asking it to, he's speaking in a way that's unfamiliar to him, he's in his body and not all at the same time.

AFTER

CHO SAM learns pretty quickly that something or someone has taken over all functions of his body and he's not exactly been kicked out of living in it either so he's not too sure what to call this.

while it's not immediate, there will come a point in time when the body will assimilate and manage to accommodate the two souls living in it, CHO SAM is the only one between the two that knows of this.

CHO SAM eventually learns that the one who has possessed his body is chung myung, the same plum blossom sword saint he's looked up to like some god his whole life. and at first, he's excited, then he's confused and then now he's a little conflicted. because for what reason is it his body out of everyone else's that gets 'chosen' for this possession? he may never know the answer.

i think that CHO SAM can't do much other than to watch what chung myung does in his body, he might be in awe at chung myung's abilities and probably wonders what else he can do.

(slight tangent) while i think that all of chung myung's skills and abilities he's amassed over the years is no joke, there's another thing that i've been thinking of — did chung myung, to an extent, luck out when he possessed CHO SAM'S body instead of anybody else? like if it had been someone who had lesser potential do you think chung myung would have taken a way longer time to reach the level he is at currently? or would it not even matter because he's got a lifetime's worth of experience so something like a little bit of physical setback is nothing to him? who knows. i'm just pulling things out of my ass

when CHO SAM first glimpses at chung myung's memories, he cannot look away. they've both lived like this for so long that it's only natural that they begin to merge a little. how much of the current chung myung is him and how much of him is chung myung type of thing. it is surprising that none of CHO SAM'S own memories have surfaced to show itself to chung myung, maybe it's because it's not really chung's myung own body?

when chung myung gets injured, CHO SAM obviously cannot feel it, but the sight of blood scares him nonetheless. is it because he feels for chung myung or is it because he is looking at what used to be his physical form getting marred like it meant nothing? chung myung as someone who cares so little for his own well-being that he would push past his injuries to do what he is supposed to almost out of instinct but he holds back and tries to tend to himself every once in a while as though he is reminded of someone's nagging.

CHO SAM doesn't know how to feel in this situation, should he be angry at chung myung for treating his body, their body, so carelessly? again he wonders if this body can even be considered his anymore, or shared together, or has the roles flipped to make CHO SAM become the intruder to this body?

SPECULATIONS FOR THE END

what happens after chung myung accomplishes everything he sets out to do? does he vanish? is he granted entry into heaven where he meets his loved ones that died? will he hesitate to rest in peace?

(if cm chooses to die) : CHO SAM wakes up but for the first time in years he's back in control of his own body but so much has changed and he still feels like a child in this now grown up body so how is he going to navigate through all of that? he's seen all the feats chung myung has achieved and now how is he going to keep up with that precedent?

(if cm chooses to live) : what will CHO SAM do? will he try to make himself known to chung myung or will he accept that there isn't much he can do and goes along for the ride? say some god or spiritualist finally set CHO SAM free and let him be separated from a fate he was never destined to have, he can finally live as he wants but will he leave? nobody in the world knows who CHO SAM the beggar is, but he knows all about the people who have come into contact with 'him' in some way. do they want to know about him though?

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end thoughts: i know that it's not a very coherent post but i needed to get the thoughts out my system before i start having brain worms and stop sleeping at night

#enihkwrites #return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #return of mount hua #rotbb #rotmhs #cheong myeong #chung myung #cho sam #re-read land of the lustrous along with that manga i mentioned in the notes and violet evergarden so yeah...

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apocalypticavolition · 7 months

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Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 14: Wolfbrother

If Robert Jordan can reuse chapter titles, I can reuse post images even if they make absolutely no sense in this current context! Anyway. Yadda yadda yadda, spoilers for the entirety of the series, blah blah blah, do not continue if you don't want that, something something something, by clicking Keep Reading you agree to agree with everything I say, hmm hmm hmm, all very standard and completely enforceable not that anyone could possibly object to those terms, let's get started!

So since I'm not in the groove, last time I forgot to do the chapter icon. This time I won't do that: the icon is wolf. This is probably not a surprise considering the chapter title. It certainly won't surprise anyone to learn that this is a Perrin chapter about Perrin doing Wolfbrother things. Last chapter involves even less surprises! It had an all-new icon, the Portal Stone. I refuse to believe any of you need me to elaborate on what it stands for or why it was used last time. Thank you!

“Gone?” Ingtar demanded of the air. “And my guards saw nothing. Nothing! They cannot just be gone!”

Rand's channeler madness is infectious, what with Ingtar trying to have a conversation with the sky. Then again, I'd wonder if I was going mad under these conditions myself: three dudes all gone, two of them incredibly conspicuous, horses missing with them, not a single track.

Mat shrugged. “I don’t know. Rand was. . . .” Perrin wanted to throw something at him, hit him, anything to stop him, but Ingtar and Uno were watching.

Perrin doesn't often get to be a bro to Rand (and frankly even fewer chances to be one to Mat), so it's always very sweet to see that he actually is very much best friends with the guy, even if Rand's acting stupid.

“Why would Hurin leave like that, in the middle of the night, without a word? He knows what we’re about. How am I to track this Shadow-spawned filth without him? I would give a thousand gold crowns for a pack of trail hounds. If I did not know better, I would say the Darkfriends managed this so they can slip east or west without me knowing. Peace, I don’t know if I do know better.”

Ingtar is pretty sure he knows the capabilities of the Darkfriends they're chasing since he let them in, but after this it's not unreasonable to doubt. And frankly, with Fain being Fain, he does not know better at all.

Serves me right for what I told Rand. I wish I could run.

Another reason nobody talks to anybody else in this story is that every time they do, everyone takes each other's advice in the worst way possible. Rand has literally run away from the timeline, which is one step less reasonable than trying to launch himself into orbit. I wouldn't talk to him after that either, I'd be worried my suggestion he should eat something be followed up by finding him with half his horse in his stomach and the other half not having had time to die yet.

His thoughts drifted, feeling for what must be out there, what was always out there in country where men were few or far between, feeling for his brothers. He did not like to think of them that way, but they were.

Really another big problem Jordan had in his Perrin plotting is that he stopped forcing the kid to escalate his power use the way that Rand and the Wondergirls had to. Like, this book he willingly talks to the books, next book he'll willingly run through T'A'R, and by the end of book six he's commanding an army of wolves... and then he just stagnates. He does get to run away from being a werewolf for the rest of Jordan's books, so Sanderson has to do an absolute rush job to make Perrin able to play at everyone else's power level.

It was a faint picture of a man dressed in clothes made of hides, with a long knife in his hand, but overlaid on the image, more central, was a shaggy wolf with one tooth longer than the rest, a steel tooth gleaming in the sunlight as the wolf led the pack in a desperate charge through deep snow toward the deer that would mean life instead of slow death by starvation, and the deer thrashing to run in powder to their bellies, and the sun glinting on the white until it hurt the eyes, and the wind howling down the passes, swirling the fine snow like mist, and. . . .

Weirdly, the first time I tried to copy this segment my computer decided that I clearly instead wanted to copy-paste a screengrab of a Discord conversation that hadn't been in the clipboard for some time.

We should not let my computer's clinical insanity distract us from appreciating how awesome Elyas's wolf name is (though "long in the tooth" meaning what it does, it feels a bit inadvertently mean).

It was not the image he had made, a young man with heavy shoulders and shaggy, brown curls, a young man with an axe at his belt, who others thought moved and thought slowly. That man was there, somewhere in the mind picture that came from the wolves, but stronger by far was a massive, wild bull with curved horns of shining metal, running through the night with the speed and exuberance of youth, curly-haired coat gleaming in the moonlight, flinging himself in among Whitecloaks on their horses, with the air crisp and cold and dark, and blood so red on the horns, and. . . . Young Bull.

Perrin's wolf name is better though, which is 50% why he hates it. The other half is the way it immortalizes his trauma, but boo hoo Perrin learn to love killing Whitecloaks now, you'll be better off in two books if you do.

The one time he had gone to the dungeon, with Egwene, the smell of Fain had made his hair stand on end; not even Trollocs smelled so foul. He had wanted to rip through the bars of the cell and tear the man apart, and finding that inside himself had frightened him more than Fain did. To mask Fain’s smell in his own mind, he added the scent of Trollocs before he howled aloud.

It is a damn shame you didn't kill him while you had the chance, Perrin.

Howled aloud. Those poor Borderlanders, horses, and also Mat I guess. They're worried about three dudes disappearing without a trace, some of them are probably convinced channeling was involved, and now one of the foreign hangers-on is howling.

Their fury infected him. His lips peeled back in a snarl, and he took a step, to join them, run with them in the hunt, in the killing. With an effort he broke the contact except for a thin sense that the wolves were there. He could have pointed to them across the intervening distance. He felt cold inside. I’m a man, not a wolf. Light help me, I am a man!

Dude is going crazier than the male channeler in the party is. Kind of a shame he didn't have a real madness arc like Rand's; maybe Jordan kinda planned on it but ditched it for various reasons including redundancy?

“I have heard of things like this,” Ingtar said slowly, after a moment. “Rumors. There was a Warder, a man called Elyas Machera, who some said could talk to wolves. He disappeared years ago.”

That's hella convenient. You'd think they'd try to hush up Machera's disappearance as much as possible. Who told?

A few of them looked skeptical—Masema went so far as to spit—but Uno nodded thoughtfully, and that was enough for most. Mat was the hardest to convince. “A sniffer! You? You’re going to track murderers by smell? Perrin, you are as crazy as Rand. I am the only sane one left from Emond’s Field, with Egwene and Nynaeve trotting off to Tar Valon to become—”

I mean, Masema and Mat aren't technically wrong in that Perrin's feeding everyone some bullshit, but really I would like Mat to look at the man whose side he's sharing and pick literally any other side. Also don't be mean about the gals.

Vultures flapping, their white wings stained red; bloody, featherless heads tearing and gorging. He broke loose before his stomach emptied itself.

I always picture vultures as desert birds thanks to cartoons and stuff but I just looked it up and apparently they like used to be in France and whatnot. Never woulda guessed. Sadly their modern range in the Old World is a little diminished, but I guess they did pretty well for themselves between the nuclear apocalypse and the magical apocalypse. Good for them!

Mat turned his horse eagerly. “Maybe it’s Rand. I knew he wouldn’t run out on me.”

Cauthor shippers resurrected after their brutal demises last chapter. Also it's great that Mat knows that even after their pissy fights with each other they're still friends.

“Moiraine Sedai sent me, Lord Ingtar,” Verin announced with a satisfied smile. “She thought you might need me...”

Well obviously this statement is 100% true and certainly not a bald-faced lie. Even if we wanted to pretend that for some reason Moiraine didn't immediately induct Verin into her inner circle off-screen, Verin has every reason to think that Moiraine sent her. Remember this little bit from Chapter 7?

“Then we must find the dagger, Sister. Agelmar is sending men to hunt those who took the Horn and slew his oathmen, the same who took the dagger. If one is found, the other will be.”

We must find the dagger. By "we", it's obvious Moiraine meant the three women in the room at that moment and not the good guys as a general concept like most people would mean in casual conversation. Further, "must" was definitely being used in the sense of "this is an order that you must obey" and not just "it is imperative that this be done". Literally any other interpretation of this sentence is crazy talk, because Verin is obviously bound by the Three Oaths as a good guy and it's how she interpreted it, and definitely not to further her own ends by twisting someone else's words to the breaking point. Once she saw that neither Moiraine nor Siuan were in any hurry to recover the dagger and the horn, she was morally obligated to do so as the only other party of the "we" Moiraine so obviously meant.

Obviously. She is not suspicious at all, @checkoutmybookshelf.

“The Ogier, Lord Ingtar? And your sniffer went with him? What would those two have in common with . . . ?” Ingtar gaped at her, and she snorted. “Did you think you could keep something like that secret?” She snorted again. “Sniffers. Vanished, you say?”

“A new sniffer, just when you lose your old one. How . . . providential. You found no tracks? No, of course not. You said no trace. Odd. Last night.”

Verin is absolutely the best kind of Aes Sedai just for stuff like this, by the way. "Yes I know all about your dumb secrets and no obviously I'm not going to try and arrest the man, I'm not even going to try to arrest the Dragon Re-- I mean, tell me about Perrin. That's a crazy coincidence, isn't it?" Verin's not allowed to spend too much time onscreen because if she could she'd have had everything solved in three books.

They started off in a jingle of harness and armor, Verin riding close beside Ingtar and questioning him closely, but too low to be overheard. She gave Perrin a look when he tried to maintain his place, and he fell back. “It’s Rand she’s after,” Mat murmured, “not the Horn.”

Seriously, the only mistake she's made so far is letting Mat and Perrin get suspicious of her, but even then she's got them obeying her so she's doing just fine. They're not even the wrong kind of suspicious.

Perrin nodded. Wherever you’ve gotten to, Rand, stay there. It’s safer than here.

"Dramatic irony exploits the device of giving the spectator an item of information that at least one of the characters in the narrative is unaware of (at least consciously), thus placing the spectator a step ahead of at least one of the characters. Connop Thirlwall in his 1833 article On the Irony of Sophocles originally highlighted the role of irony in drama.[25][26] The Oxford English Dictionary defines dramatic irony as:[12]

the incongruity created when the (tragic) significance of a character's speech or actions is revealed to the audience but unknown to the character concerned; the literary device so used, orig. in Greek tragedy."

I left the now-useless footnotes in so it would be very obvious who I was quoting, thus exempting me from having to source them properly. Alas, this has attracted the attention of the University of Chicago Press Enforcement Bureau, so I must bid you all adieu until the heat blows over.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #perrin aybara #ingtar shinowa #mat cauthon #uno nomesta #masema dagar #verin mathwin

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