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toiletwipes · 3 years

Text

and i'd give up forever to touch you

chapter seven. opening up, inside and out.

Summary: Wilbur joins you on a late drive and knows you better, finding out just how fast he is becoming attached to you.

ao3 link. ~2.1k words. masterlist.

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he’s sitting outside, on the curb when you pull up in a compact car, music pulsing through the speakers and when you roll down the window, the volume too, and smile at him with half-awake eyes, he’s up in an instant, heart racing when he thinks back to just moments before.

to the moments when he doubted the continuity of your friendship, where he was so resolute that you would abandon him once he would become comfortable, once he showed himself to you completely.

you don’t give him a chance to think that again as you leaned over and gestured for him to get in, “it’s cold wilbur, get in,” you chortled as he scrambled to his feet, as if he forgot to move for a second. giving the door a solid shut, he rolled the window up and moved the seat back a little, feeling more awkward than the cold you had warned him about outside.

“thanks for coming with me, will, i was going nuts with how quiet it is.” you offered little more than turning up the music as you pulled into the street.

“is there something... troubling you?” he asks, keeping on the dim light on the road, the sparse cars that pass them by.

you exhale deeply, eyes trained on staying in the painted lines on the road. “doing this cover and its responsibilities have dawned on me, and trying to figure out if this will be worth it- worth scheduling weeks, maybe months of time to even reach maybe the first two minutes, with our own two parts. maybe we should think about making it simpler, narrow it down to a piano and vocal duet, or a single guitar and-” you cut yourself off, pulling into the lot of a closed-down store, one of the few in this college-centric town.

“is that what you want to do?” you turn to him, your face sullen and eyes wandering over his figure, like he didn’t need to show himself at all, and that you saw him as he is already. and you had no qualms about what you saw.

“no, i don’t want just a simple cover, done in three sessions and- and have not a single drop of substance behind it. i want to feel the love sewn into frequencies every time i listen to it, i want to feel-”

you cut yourself off before smiling at him, “i want to feel alive when i hear it, because i know that’s how good it could be.” you trail off, looking out towards the windshield. “and i’ve only felt truly alive when making music, alive in a way that is beyond the pulse of my beating heart, you understand that, don’t you?” he stares into your face and finds it.

he sees you, bearing your true intentions behind this project. he wonders if you’re trying to share this intimate experience you feel with music with him.

he wonders how special you find him to want to share such a thing with him only.

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt it.” he admits.

“not even when you wrote your songs?” you question, head tilting to lie against the headrest.

he shakes his head, “i wrote those songs to help me cope with my life, something i didn’t understand at the time.” he wonders if you’re trying to do the same.

“i could show you, if you want, but fair warning, you’ll get addicted to the feeling.” you joke, and he smiles, but he knows you’re serious in the offer. with this cover, you’ll probably show him something he won’t forget for as long as he lives. it’s curious to see if he’ll survive it. “well- now that’s off my chest, how about some early morning mcdonald’s?” you say, as if trying to cut the thick layer of intimate honesty about oneself into diced cubes.

he blinks but you’re already driving to the closest mcdonald’s before he has a chance to respond. and you’re reaching into the cup holders, holding out your phone to him and telling him a pass-code. “play some music, it’s connected to the bluetooth already. or a podcast, though you don’t seem like the guy to listen to podcasts to me,” you speak and you’re giving him a quick grin before turning back to the road.

his heartbeat quickens when holding your phone, knowing your pass-code and knowing you have this solid trust in him to have given both to him. even if you didn’t know he has had thoughts that are dark in nature, it was.. exciting to say the least, he would almost say heartwarming.

but he does what you’ve asked of him, opening up the green music app and typing in the name of a song he thinks you might like.

though, when it plays out in the speakers, you spare him a glance. “you like sleeping at last?” speaking as though you were leaning towards dislike.

“is it- is it bad?”

you clicked your tongue, “not bad, just-” you hum, giving a soft laugh, “-just curious, didn’t think you’d like them, is all. we’re still new to each other, and yet, it feels like we’re old friends reconnecting.”

“you’re a big part of that, to be fair.” he folds his arms and tucked his back adjacent to the window and seat, turning to look at you fully.

you shrug, pulling into the parking lot and into the drive-thru. turning the music down as you rolled the window down, you give him a short look and he is turning his eyes on the painstakingly bright menu.

telling you what he wanted, you nod, and talk to the exhausted employee over the speaker about y’all’s order, pulling up into the second window.

reaching towards the back you are surprised to see will holding out a card towards you, you meant to deny it but he nudges it in your hands, and you just hand it towards the employee. the next few minutes are quiet, waiting for the food and handling both it and the drinks towards the passenger, passing the receipt and card back to the owner, and you drive off.

finding another empty lot, with a little less buildings in the area, you two begin to eat in the quiet of the night, sleeping at last smoothing out the edges.

when you crumple the wrapper in a ball, and toss it in the bag, you turn to face will yourself.

he faces you too when he’s done, trying not to show how the intensity of your stare is affecting him. “can i help you?” he asks, turning his gaze to the time. 2:47.

“this is the longest time we’ve spent talking to each other, and i realize you have a nice voice speaking as well as singing.” his mouth opens a little bit and his skin heats up more than any properly working heater.

“thank you- i guess?” he’s confused, he knows that, it’s on what he’s flustered about is the confusing part. is it the fact no one told him he has a nice voice, generally? is it the fact that it’s late and you must be focusing hard on his voice to stay awake? or is it the fact that you’re looking past his defenses once more and seeing him as he is? your honor, he’ll say it’s probably all three.

“you’re welcome.” and that’s when he focuses on you. you’re wearing his beanie, his jacket, and some shorts that ride up your thighs. and as you turn your gaze to your phone, turning it on to change the song probably, he glances at your collarbone. bare, save for his jacket. were you only wearing his jacket on your torso?

picturing you without it was already a bad idea, but imagining what he’d do to you like that- he moves his head forcibly, staring out into the darkness.

“do you want to go home or do you want to come over? rosie won’t mind you being there as long as we’re quiet because i don’t know what it is about you but-” you yawn, covering your face, “-i’m getting too tired to drive but you’ve only just gotten here, so, whatever you decide is pretty good with me.”

he thinks about going home alone, and slipping under the cold and unkind covers, shivering till the blankets warmed. and then he thinks about going home with you, and possibly sleeping on the too small of a couch for him and you there with your comfortable, soft ambiance. thinks about rosie waking the two of you up in the morning in her pajamas, making or picking breakfast up.

and he offers to drive for you, leaving you to doze off in the passenger side with piano notes trailing off in your ear.

~~~

parking in front of the dorm building, he leans over to shake your shoulder only to falter in his movements, your hunched over figure leaning against the window and your breath fogs the glass.

then you’re stirring awake, and you’re blinking the sleep away from your eyes and you’re looking right at him, for the third time, and he doesn’t know if he should be endeared by it or frustrated on how you can see him so easily.

but he’s turning the car off and walking around your car to open the door, helping you out and letting you lean on him for a second, never mind his skin itching to burn. you two walk to your dorm, unlocking it in the silent hallway.

the door creaks slightly as you push it open and aside, “you can have the couch or the bed, i’m too tired to care,” you walk to the kitchen and you open the doors to find something to drink, will recognizes it as an apple juice container. “though, you should try my bed, it’s too good to be true,” seeing will’s face you wave at him to follow you, though your movements sluggish, you prove you’re still conscious.

pushing your bedroom door open, he finds the papers from earlier stacked and he finds you hopping up onto your bed, with the apple juice between your legs and you patting the space next to you. he doesn’t make nearly the amount of effort you put in to sit beside you, and he begins to regulate his breathing to calm down, being near anybody really would put someone like him in a tizzy, he rationalizes.

“after i finish this, i’m going to pass out, you can do the same wherever.” and in a much more alarming speed, you chug the half-full container and cover your mouth when you’re done, giving a slight burp. “and i won’t say i told you so,” your lips lift up as if you meant to smile briefly but you were too tired to commit to the action.

leaning over to put the jug on the desk, you are left with shuffling in your spot until you’re covered by your blanket with your feet underneath will’s legs.

“night, wilbur, see ya in the morning,” you mumble to yourself mostly, but he hears you and he mumbles something similar, leaning his head against your wall and arguing with himself internally.

he has a chance, now.

when he looks straight at the dresser, he can see the camera, almost tauntingly.

though what sends chills down his spine isn’t your cold, uncovered feet touching him, no it’s the fact that the things he moved to cover the device, they’re gone and it’s almost noticeable.

it wouldn’t be hard to miss and it’s the fact that if he does take his chance and move it, you’ll know it was him. know that he was the one to put it there and take it away.

and then you’ll hate him, cut him off, take him away from the project, keep rosie away from him, and so much more. and nights like these won’t happen ever again. he won’t get these quiet moments with you, won’t get to appreciate a person like you.

so as he leaves to grab a blanket from the linen closet, and pads his way to your room, he decides that he’ll leave the cameras there, and he’ll take his chances.

maybe in a few months he can take it and put this whole thing behind you two, maybe you never even noticed it.

whatever happens later, he thinks, at least he had this night with you, tucking himself under the blanket and curling just nearly against you, and he feels at home next to you.

is that what you are, though? home? he wonders as he listens to your breathing for a few minutes, thinking that’s what you’d had to be. so open, so warm, and so comfortable to be around.

even if you hadn’t meant for it to happen, wilbur was swiftly becoming dependent, some would say addicted, to you and everything you’ve offered him.

but that would be a problem for a future will.

for now, he would sleep. and he would do it next to you. his worries can set themselves aside for a few hours.

...

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#c: simpbur #simpbur x you #simpbur x reader #simpbur x y/n #mcyt au #au: band #au: college #and i'd give up forever to touch you fic

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1kook · 4 years

Text

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings;��fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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kaepop-trash · 3 years

Note

Going for one of those touchless car wash drive thrus and betting with johnny who can make the other cum faster 🙈

I’m hitting that area again where I hate everything I write. But my new year’s resolution was to not be stagnated by my need for perfection. So I am posting this. I hope you like it.

"Between this ice cream and my coffee," She snorted, the melting ice cream making her gurgle. "I'm going to be so jittery by the time we get home." She lifted her head to stop any ice cream from coming out of her mouth while she spoke.

Johnny laughed, resisting the urge to turn to look at her while he took a turn at an intersection. "Why did you get both?" He questioned. There was a pause, and the slowly moving traffic gave him the opportunity to turn to look at her. Ice cream on one corner of the mouth, she stared out of the windshield with deep contemplation.

"You know." She turned to look at Johnny, "I'm not so sure." She confessed.

Johnny bit back a smile.

"I just." She clicked her tongue, "The sign outside the ice cream store said labour weekend cherry, blueberry ice cream and you know how much I love cherries." Johnny gave her a nod that made her grin.

"But then you also got the piping hot coffee from the store beside it that is now getting cold." He looked towards the untouched cup that sat beside his half finished one in the cup holder.

She stared at the cup for a second, grinding her teeth. Then she shook her head, "It's fine." She reassured with an affirmative nod, taking a spoonful of her ice cream. "I can indulge in both." She mumbled with the spoon in her mouth. “If the coffee gets a little cold, it is what it is.” She shrugged.

Johnny gave her a soft chuckle, warmth spreading in his chest from the content smile on her face.

When they stopped at another light, a touch of cold against his lips made Johnny push back with a jerk. He turned to find her sticking her ice cream spoon close to his lips.

"Have some." She offered. She stuck the spoon closer, the cold ice cream rubbing off on his lip. She bit back a smile.

He parted his lips and licked the little bit off his lip before wrapping them around the spoon. When her exhale came out sharper than either of them anticipated, he turned to lock his eyes with her, smirking against the spoon. She dragged the spoon out, his bottom lip tugging against it.

"It's nice." Johnny mumbled. “I’ll just get the car washed and we’ll go home okay?” Johnny asked when he remembered the task he had set for today.

She turned back to her cup and hummed, the sound voicing her distraction clearly. Johnny grinned to himself.

"Another spoon?" She questioned and Johnny hummed, not looking away from the road.

"Last one though." He tilted his head towards her a little as she reached out with a spoonful of ice cream. "We have to go to that office barbecue tonight and I don't want to get too comfortable. Once this long weekend is over, it's back to the gym." He sighed, taking a bite of the ice cream and humming pleasantly.

She chuckled, "It's good right?" Johnny nodded, a grin forming on his lips. "Don't worry about exercising now.” She groaned, “I'm the only one who sees you naked anyway." She scoffed, "I hope." She added the jab.

Johnny grinned at the road, "There's also the physician who does my annual physical. Need to keep her impressed." He teased. They finally drove into the carwash after making their way through the holiday traffic.

"Why? Did your firm stop giving you healthcare?" She raised a brow.

Johnny laughed with raw delight, his eyes turning into upturned commas. "You know I always aim to please." He turned to her and winked.

She scoffed with disbelief, "Where was this attitude when Haechan stayed over a few weeks back and you literally wouldn't let him sleep." She clicked her tongue.

Johnny opened his mouth in shock, trying to hold back a smile. "You're the one who can't keep quiet!" He protested. “I pleased you just fine.” He reminded her, "The poor guy had to go live with Mark because of just how pleased you were. Something Mark wasn't happy about I assure you." He said the words like he was talking about the weather, with conversational ease.

She gasped loudly, "I am not loud! You knew exactly what you were doing, Johnny Suh.” Johnny laughed as if to confirm her accusations.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He shrugged, reaching for his cup.

“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “Am I not with a man who enjoys being a whore with the possibility of spectators?”

Johnny choked on his coffee, making her laugh. She also reached out to rub his back, with a wince and a mumbled apology when he kept coughing. He gave her a look that was somewhere between humour and defeat.

“Are you okay?” She tried to swallow her giggles unsuccessfully. “You know I’m right.” She added with a softer voice.

Johnny took a deep breath after his coughs subsided, letting out a short laugh. “You’re going to kill me, (Y/N).” He smiled, resting his head against his seat.

The car in front of theirs finally moved inside for its wash to begin.

“I can’t believe you called me a whore.” Johnny chuckled.

“I believe you’ve called me worse.” She reminded him.

Johnny shrugged, “That’s fair. And I guess I am your whore, so it’s not untrue.” He smirked.

She hummed, “Good boy.” The look he gave her made her curl her lips and her toes together.

She turned away from his sudden charged gaze, “This is going to take forever, Johnny. I want to go home and take a nap.” She whined.

“Your nap can wait.” He responded, his brows creasing when he realised something, “You woke up at noon, why do you want a nap?” He sat back in his seat and raised a brow at her.

“Do I?” She rubbed her cheeks against palm.

She shrugged, finally finishing her ice cream and reaching for her coffee. “Why not?” She made a face at the cup, the now room temperature coffee tasting borderline unpleasant. “Your office parties always go on too long and your boss always refuses to let you leave. I’m using this week to catch up on sleep so don’t question it.” She grumbled, a soft pout forming on her face. She stretched in her seat like the conversation reminded her that she was tired, yawning softly. The action illiciting affection in him.

Johnny gave her a tender stare, “We always leave any social gathering the moment your battery runs out.” He reminded her, reaching out to stroke her hair. “You even have a signal.” He smiled when she nuzzled into his touch.

Johnny hummed and nodded, “You tug on my sleeve and sit against me.” He laughed softly, remembering all the times it happened. “It’s very cute.”

She gave him a cheeky grin, “I am adorable, yes.”

Johnny laughed. When their car finally moved towards the wash she let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m hungry.” She mumbled, reaching up to tug at his fingers and play with them mindlessly as she turned to frown at the slowly proceeding queue.

“You’re a lot of things today, it seems.” Johnny pestered.

She turned to him with another pout, “Don’t sass me.” She scolded him with a finger pointed at his chest. She let go of his hand, making him pout this time from disappointment. She sat up in her seat with new-found energy, “You know that fish we had last month? With lemon preserve I think?” Johnny nodded, remembering the anniversary dinner well, every part of it. “I’m craving it so bad!” She whined again.

Johnny bit his lips as the spray of soap covered the car in spuds.

“I’ll make you a deal.” He whispered slowly, the low rumble of his voice making heat pool in her stomach— a conditioned response.

“What?” Her voice dropped in its volume too, turning to his indulgent smirk.

“Come here.” He spread his legs wider on the seat.

She groaned, the sound one of defeat. Sitting up, she gingerly moved across to do what he asked. “Whore.” She mumbled.

“Johnny.” She wanted her voice to sound like a warning, but the breathless hush that came out instead did everything but mediate the tension building in the car.

It was truly hard to resist him.

Johnny hummed, “The one who cums first buys lunch alright? If you win we can get the fish. If I win, I'm craving a good burger.” She nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he ran his fingers through his hair. “We have to be fast though, princess.” A soft laugh left him as she nodded dutifully, reaching out to undo his pants. “They might ban me from getting my car washed here if we get caught and the other place ruined the car’s paint the one time I went there.” Johnny’s head fell back when she grabbed his shaft, a groan dissolving the last of his words.

“Stop talking about your car.” She huffed, “I thought you were in a hurry.” She tilted his head back with her other hand in his hair, reaching down to kiss his jaw.

“Take off your shorts.” He tugged on the band with a finger.

She smiled against his neck, “This is a competition, baby.” She cooed. “What makes you think I’m going to make this easier for you? Work with what you have, Johnny.”

“Such a wretched girl,” Johnny huffed. “Fine.” Johnny groaned, dragging his finger to the buttons of her shorts and flicking it open, “I’m perfectly capable of doing this with a hand.” It was a challenge, his eyes oozed it as he kept them focused on her eyes and put two fingers into his mouth. He licked them with precision, the other on her back pulled her closer.

She bit down on her lip, clenching around nothing. “I would have done that for you.” She licked her lips. Johnny smiled, popping the fingers out of his mouth.

He was, without a shadow of a doubt, right about his single hand being very capable; but she wasn’t in the mood to lose. She gripped him tight and Johnny winced, bucking up from the seat. In retaliation, Johnny took the liberty of plunging two fingers deep inside her. Her legs twitched, a loud groan leaving her lips. She increased her pace immediately, the car filling with sounds that made her blush.

“Shit.” Johnny breathed out. “Look at how you’re clenching around me, (Y/N). Reminds me of the first time I fucked you with my fingers.” He hummed against her forehead. She mewled at the memory, clenching tighter around his fingers. “I was already whipped for you then.” He sighed when she rubbed circles on his tip.

“Fuck.” She breathed out, his words seemingly more effective than his masterful fingers. She did remember that time, almost too well. The memory of the humid car and the tropical heat making her hips buck. Johnny let out a victorious chuckle.

She bit down on his ear, making him twitch in her hand as she expected. “Come one, Johnny.” She urged with a delicate whisper, “Don’t hold back.” She winced when he curled his fingers inside her as punishment for her coaxing. She kept up her persistence anyway, “You’re the one who loves this don’t you? Knowing someone can catch us like this any moment.” She poked her tongue out, leaving a kitten lick on the shell of his ear. Johnny groaned in response, the sound vibrating in her chest and making her certain that she would either lose the bet or go insane trying to win.

“Yes.” Johnny confessed. She shivered at the ease he did it with.

“What is it about it?” She questioned. The car moved forward to get washed down— the last step of the process. The sudden jerk forward made her chest slam into his. His fingers pushed further in at the jerk, making her moan loudly.

She took a deep breath, “Do you want people to watch? Want them to see what you do to me?” She hummed, the words forced through her teeth.

Johnny put his head against the seat, a sigh leaving his lips. Moment’s later she felt his release coat her fingers, looking down with a victorious smile.

“If you cum now, I’ll let you fuck me tonight."

"Shit." Johnny groaned at her words.

"Surely make a party with finance people more fun, huh?” She giggled. She was pumping him so fast now that his own fingers faltered inside her, something she would have complained about if she wasn’t so focused on winning the bet this time.

“That was cheating.” He groaned, she looked back up at his devastatingly handsome face, laced in the aftermath of her work. He took shallow breaths, lips parted and one eye looking at her.

“That was negotiating.” She leaned forward to peck his lips, pulling back to take in the fucked out look on his face. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, a soft mewl leaving her lips from the sudden emptiness.

“You don’t deserve to cum for being conniving.” He was still panting, pulling her closer to kiss her. She whined against his lips at the punishment, smacking his chest when she pushed back. “We’re also out of time.” He whispered against her lips. On cue the loud buzz sounded, signalling the end of the wash.

“Fine.” She sighed, pulling off his body and sitting back on the passenger’s seat. She turned to look at him, making sure his eyes were on her, then she licked her fingers clean of his release with lazy precision.

“Fuck.” The word stuttered out of his lips as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

“I told you I was hungry.” She hummed against her fingers.

“You’re making it real tough to think about lunch when you do that.” He mumbled.

“Good.” She gave him an innocent smile, “Let’s go, we’re done.” She pointed at the now visible street at the end of the wash. “I earned that fish.”

Send me an ask about a character from one of my fics in a scenario and I'll write a drabble.

Character from: Unintended Consequences

#johnny smut #johnny scenarios #miscellaneous #unintended consequences #nct scenarios #nct johnny #nct smut #johnny au #nct au #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #nct imagines

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opinionsandfeelings · 3 years

Text

Ok, I’ve reread From Blood and Ash and A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire, and I just...Alastir has sneaky written all over him and he definitely considers Poppy a threat and wants her dead. Here are my thoughts, I don’t necessarily think they’re spoilers but just a warning.

-first up Alastir gets slightly off kilter after he hears Poppy’s last name being Balfour, a true liar and betrayer may be good but they can’t completely cover up their every emotion. He also knows about Ian and nobody told him about poppy having a brother, yet after he learns her name he seems to know way more than he really should.

- he also used to help people escape Solis and he doesn’t remember ever hearing about poppy’s parents, and yet he has excellent memory of other events from hundreds of years prior. MY PERSONAL THEORY: I think he was luring Poppy’s parents so they could be killed. I think he was the one who murdered them, and attempted to do the same to Poppy, and the threat of whatever Poppy is couldve been extinguished at that point in time. But she somehow lived, which sucks for him. I think he knows exactly what she is and the threat it posed to the Atlantian kingdom and crown and, as he is supposed to be loyal to the royal family, of COURSE he’s trying to get rid of any threat. But, clearly he’s got to do it on the sly so he doesn’t lose any trust in Casteel or Kieran or literally anyone beyond the crown.

- Sure, Alastir would totally help Poppy escape Casteel and his plans if she was being forced into the marriage. He’d totally get her away from Casteel-probably an entire continent away and six feet under.

-Alastir is NEVER around when bad things happen. Oh, New Haven gets attacked by Chaney and Co? And Chaney straight up says he has contacts in the descenters? Hmm. Then the gang gets attacked on the way to Spessa’s End by the bone clan even tho that’s NEVER happened before, but who rode thru there just a day or so earlier??? Alastir. Could be coincidence but the bone clan knew the gang were ‘bloodsuckers’ and wolven, and as we’ve been told many times there’s no way to tell mortals from immortals on face value alone (not including Ascended). So, they had been told. Then at the battle of Spessa’s End Alastir just HAPPENS to be absent again, and this time it’s slightly more believable that he’d have to spring into action because otherwise Casteel could’ve been overwhelmed and killed in battle and despite his agenda, Alastir doesn’t want Casteel dead. So, conveniently he and Kieran arrive back in time as the gods-sent cavalry. Kieran btw I’m 100% sure is loyal to team Casteel and poppy so he’s excluded from this theory about Alastir. (Edit: my bad, I thought he’d returned with Kieran but Alastir does not in fact do that, no instead he stays in Atlantia to snitch and further his agenda, again totally gone from all the bad ish)

-All the bombs Alastir drops at such opportune times? “Oh Poppy did you know Casteel’s been in love and engaged before and it was my daughter??” “oh Poppy did you know Casteel’s going to be king?” “Hey Poppy did you know he was also engaged AGAIN also to someone else in my family???” “Oh I personally have nothing against you Poppy but EVERYONE ELSE WILL” I don’t know man, those are some fine gaslighting revelations there that would absolutely create emotional mistrust and doubt in a relationship, he clearly wants her out of the picture.

-he totally set up the end of Flesh and Fire, Beckett was his grand nephew or something and Alastir has likely voiced his soul eater opinions about Poppy, because didn’t everyone say previously that hardly anyone remembers Empaths?? So why would they even resort to calling her that?? How did they even know she was coming if her arrival was kind of supposed to be on the hush hush? Joke’s on Alastir though because he essentially ruined his own plans with that ambush.

In conclusion, from my suspicions and rereading, I believe Alastir is the one who’s essentially put a lot of bad things into motion and he should definitely not be trusted, at least not by Poppy or Casteel. He has his own agenda and that has something to do with keeping Poppy far, far, faaaar away from the crown and also the hearts of the atlantian people. I could be completely wrong, but until the next book arrives this is my personal theory and I’m sticking to it.

#from blood and ash #a kingdom of flesh and fire #poppy balfour #casteel da'neer #Alastir Davenwill #spoilers I guess #personal theories #good books #jennifer l armentrout

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golbrocklovely · 4 years

Text

cake tasting // colby brock

A/N: so this isn't a request, but i saw this tweet that talked about two ppl who were friends going into a bakery and trying wedding cake, and i just knew i had to write something based off of it. i could only imagine how cute it would be to go and do this with colby, omg. anyway sorry i haven't update anything else yet. i haven't been extremely motivated, but i'm gonna try to write thru out the week and hopefully get something else out to yall soon :) lmk what you think of this. hope you enjoy !!

prompt: you and colby go to a bakery and pretend to be engaged to try wedding cakes. you have a crush on him, but he doesn’t have one on you. or does he…? cuteness ensues.

trigger warning: PURE FLUFF BB, sickeningly sweet

word count: 1535

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure we should do this?" Colby asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

I rolled my eyes at his nervousness. "Of course! I've done this before."

"How often do you do this?" He snorted, turning to look at me for a moment.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Occasionally. Mostly when I'm really in the mood for cake but don't know which type I want."

"I just feel bad about it. I feel like I'm stealing." Colby bit his lip uncomfortably.

"Well, I usually end up leaving a nice tip and buying some cupcakes, so it at least seems like I was interested." I replied.

"Wait, how are we gonna pass as a couple?" Colby doubted.

"Did you think I came unprepared?" I lifted my hand to show a big 'engagement' ring.

Colby gasped dramatically. "Jesus, you're gonna make them think I'm made of money with that."

I laughed. "Lucky for you it's fake, much like our impending marriage."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Brock." He snickered.

We pulled into the parking lot next to our destination, Casey's Bakery. I slid out of my seat and followed Colby. When we got to the front door, Colby opened it for me. With a light bell ring, the immediate smell of baked goods hit me as I stepped inside. I crossed my arm through Colby's, walking up to the counter. A white haired, older woman stood behind the counter, her back to us. She spun around, a sweet smile coming to her face.

“Hello! I'm Casey, welcome to my bakery. What can I do for you two today?” She greeted.

I grinned back happily. “Hi! We were wondering if maybe we could try some samples of your cakes? My fiancé and I are planning our wedding, and we thought we might as well try some cake while we're out.”

“Oh! Is this the fiancé?” Casey guessed.

I nodded lightly. “Yes.”

“That's wonderful, congratulations!” She beamed. “What are your names?”

“I'm Colby, and this is Y/N.” Colby chimed in.

“You two look so young. How old are you?” Casey questioned.

“We're both 23.” I admitted.

“Oh, you're babies! Okay, is there any type of cake you're thinking about for the wedding?” She inquired.

I pursed my lips. “Um... no, not really. The wedding is still a long ways away.”

“When is it?” She asked.

“Ahh, next year... sometime in September. No final date just yet.” I stuttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Colby nod.

“Oooh, a fall wedding. Might I suggest trying the carrot cake first then? That's usually our most popular for fall weddings.” Casey informed.

“That sounds great. We'll try that first.” I agreed.

“Goodie. You guys can go take a seat, and I'll be right out with your cake.” She mentioned, smiling.

I returned the smile. “Thank you so much.”

As Casey rushed off to the back, I sat down at the closest table. I finally realized, looking around, that no one else was in the bakery but us.

“How did you come up with that?” Colby queried, surprised.

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“The date of our 'wedding'?” He responded.

“I'm good on my feet, what can I say?” I explained smugly.

He shook his head, and then glanced around. “I feel bad. There's no one here.”

“Don't worry. I plan on buying those over there.” I pointed at the cupcakes in the display.

“They do look really good.” He noted.

“And it smells like heaven in here.” I borderline moaned.

Colby cleared his throat, moving in closer to the table. “So... where would you want to get to married, if you could choose?”

“I don't know. Probably on the beach,” I answered. “I've always dreamed of getting married on the beach.”

“That sounds nice. Have you thought about your wedding, like all the little details and whatnot?” Colby gushed brightly.

I cocked my head to the side, almost laughing at him.

“What? Isn't that something most girls do?” He argued jokingly.

“First off, not every girl dreams about their wedding.” I scoffed. “But secondly, yes I have.”

“Who'd you get married to?” He questioned abruptly.

I choked. “Um-”

Casey busted in, cutting me off. “Okay! Sorry about that. I figured I might as well bring out some other samples besides the carrot cake.”

She placed four plates down in front of us. Each had two little sections of cake on it. There was carrot, vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet. I could feel my mouth water as she placed two forks down.

“So, for any cakes that we do make, we can obviously do any form of icing. But traditionally, red velvet and carrot always have cream cheese icing. I do my own little spin on both, of course.” She babbled, giggling. “And then for the vanilla, I did vanilla icing. And the chocolate has chocolate icing as well. Go ahead and dig in.”

I grabbed a fork and sliced a piece of the carrot cake. I took my bite slowly, enjoying the sweetness of the icing, with a hint of cinnamon. I glanced up at Colby as he did the same, his eyes landing on me with a hidden smile.

“This is really good. And I don't usually like carrot cake. But this... so good.” Colby spoke, covering his mouth.

“That's great to hear. And what about you, Y/N?” Casey turned to me.

I praised. “Delicious. I love carrot cake, so this hits the spot.”

“I'm happy you enjoy it. I love a good carrot cake myself,” She confessed. “So, where are you guys planning to get married?”

“In Santa Monica. On the beach.” Colby stated.

My eyes widened, staring at Colby quickly. He gazed over at me, a smirk on his lips.

“A fall wedding on the beach?” Casey puzzled.

“Yeah. It's never really fall here anyway.” Colby commented.

“That is very true,” Casey chuckled. “A beach wedding, huh? That's so fun. What colors?”

“Red and white. And with some black thrown in. For him.” I teased.

“Aww, thanks babe.” Colby winked.

I felt my heart skip a beat for a second. I tried to brush off the butterflies in my stomach as hunger pains.

Casey sang. “You two are adorable! Now, try the vanilla cake. It's our top seller.”

After trying the rest of the cakes, Colby excused himself to go to the restroom. Casey sat down in Colby's seat, scooching in.

“Now I have to ask, how long have you two been together?” She inquired.

“Four years,” I lied. “Basically as long as I've known him.”

“You two already act like an old married couple. I can see how much he cares about you.” She disclosed.

I squeaked. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. It's so noticeable,” She swatted her hand lightly. “He's smitten, and I can see why. You are so sweet to him, and he just can't get enough. It's all in his eyes.”

Casey stood up and slowly cleaned up the plates, as I sat there in silence.

Was Colby really that into me?

Maybe she was lying. But something about her words stuck with me.

I’ve always had a small crush on Colby, ever since I met him. And everyone in our friend group knew about it. I always chalked up my feelings to me just being lonely and him always being there for me. But maybe there was something more in how I felt for him. The idea of marrying Colby didn’t seem bad at all. If anything, it was something I could see maybe happening. I mean, we were really close. And our friends always joked about us being a couple. Maybe they weren't jokes after all.

But does he even like me like that?

“Did you order the cupcakes, Y/N?” Colby’s voice broke my thoughts.

I stared up at him, stumbling. “Hmm? What? I-uh, no. I didn't.”

Colby’s dimples appeared as he chuckled at the fumbling of my words. “Okay. I'm gonna go order them then.”

I nodded, slowly standing up and grabbing my purse. I walked over to him, watching him pay for the cupcakes.

“Well, when you're ready to place an order for your cake, you let me know.” Casey addressed, handing Colby a business card and the cupcakes.

Colby assured. “Of course, Casey. Thank you so much for the samples.”

“And thank you for being such a fine gentleman. You take good care of Y/N, you hear?” She patted the counter near me.

He laughed softly, the both of us beginning to leave. “Absolutely. Have a nice day.”

“Same to you. Goodbye, my little love birds!” Casey waved.

We walked out of the bakery and back onto the busy street. Everything felt strange around me, like I just woke up from a dream.

Back to reality, I guess.

“She was... fun.” I remarked happily.

“Yeah, definitely.” He smiled, getting into his car. “I know what bakery I'm coming to if I do get married.”

I sat down, putting the cupcakes on the floor next to my feet. “We'll have to do this again sometime.”

Colby turned to me, his eyes snaking up my body and finally stopping on my face with a click of his tongue.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Brock.”

#colby brock #colby brock fluff #colby brock x reader #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock oneshot #colby brock one shot

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apollostears · 4 years

Text

THICK GF [ k. namjoon ]

Request: nami with a thick, short, sassy, cute, natural haired goddess

group: bts

Pairing: namjoon x black!reader

Warning(s): swearing, lil freakness

A/N: soooo i have no idea how long this has been waiting to be done bc i’m dumb af and didn’t turn on notifications for this so this is done with extra TLC!!!!!

*gif not mine*

- namjoon is awkward as fuck, let’s make that clear. so him being with someone who’s lowkey bold is a good way to bring him out of his head.

- y’all balance eachother out so well!

- whenever the boys get around to teasing him, you’re there to shut that shit down (in a playful way) and go toe-to-toe with them every single time

- you are shorter than him by a good bit, so it’s always a little inside joke between the two of y’all (mainly him) about your height.

- nami is such a loving boyfriend all around. he loves how much smaller you are in height compared to him.

- definitely expect piggy back rides, no questions about them. nami will want to carry you no matter how much you weigh.

- speaking of weight, there’s some social stigmas surrounding height and weight, so since you’re on the shorter but thicker side of things, you might experience some moments of doubt.

- dating an idol isn’t easy, especially one as prominent and important as namjoon. when it came to your physical features, you were mostly confident and comfortable with yourself. but that was before you were exposed to millions of people at once.

- most people were chill about y’alls relationship, coming to the reality that the leader of BTS was his own person and that it really wasn’t their business who he dated, they respected y’all.

- however...there were some who weren’t real fans of BTS and a little more on the crazy side when it came to their attachment to the boys.

- they took any and every flaw they could find about you and exploited it. one of those things was your weight.

- you really tried not to pay any mind to it, nor tell nami about it because #hatersgonehate

- but at the end of the day, words hurt and there were times where you just felt like absolute shit.

- nami is an attentive person, so he noticed quickly that you were feeling down. he realized even quicker what you were feeling down about.

- and when i say mans was hot? he. was. hot!!!! jin had to prevent him from developing twitter fingers and calling everyone out who dared to say negative shit about and call themselves a fan in the same sentence.

- he was torn on what to do though. he loved you and all that came with you.

- your thighs were his home and your butt/boobies his pillows. your wide hips brought him comfort whenever he needed something to ground himself when he got stressed.

- every part of your body held meaning to him and it hurt him that you were hurt about the very thing that gave him comfort.

- he wanted to give you space because he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but his need to console you overcame anything else and that’s exactly what he did.

- you took a minute to express your feelings about the situation, but nami was there to ease you into telling him your emotions.

- this led to a very passionate moment between y’all where he showed you just how much he appreciated your body.

- after that, you didn’t feel affected by their words in regards to your body. nami always did his best to show you how much you meant to him and it never failed to quell your fears.

- speaking of thickness, mans will use you like a pillow with no remorse!

- you sliding thru the studio for the day? expect him to wanna take naps on your chest or rest his head on your ass after rehearsals.

- nami loves to feel you sitting on his lap. your thighs bringing warmth and softness for him whenever he’s producing or recording.

- once jungkook tried to rest his head on your lap so that you could play in his hair and that was an instant no-no.

- you didn’t mind it, but nami was a little possessive of you and knew how charming their golden maknae could be. once jungkook had you under his spell, you would baby him for all of eternity.

- without hesistation, namjoon picked jungkook up and carefully dropped him next to jimin on the floor before taking his spot on your lap.

- jungkook was #jungshook and the boys laughed at his surprised face while nami just snuggled his head into your warm thighs.

- when it comes to your hair, he thinks it’s the most amazing thing in the world!!!

- he will watch you do your hair at any chance he gets.

- you doing a twist out? he’s there watching and on stand-by to hand you whatever you needed.

- dreading wash day? nami is there as moral support until you allow him to help out with your routine.

- trying to put your own wig on? nami is there ready to help you make sure it’s straight and secure.

- he becomes so involved with your hair that you notice when you have new hair products in your cabinet.

- “nami, where did these come from?” you ask him from the bathroom.

- your boyfriend peeps his head in with a gummy smile. “i saw that you were running out so i got you more. plus there was a new product out that i saw you looking at and i went ahead and bought it.”

- before you could even get on him for the amount of money he spent on these items, he’s dipped from the bathroom and out of sight.

- when it comes to your wigs, nami spends RACKS on them hoes omg!!!

- god forbid y’all break up because he really spoils the fuck out of you with the wigs he buys you.

- i’m talking QUALITY hair!!!

- you stopped asking about the price when you noticed that one of the wigs he bought you came from the same place Meg Thee Stallion gets hers.

- he quickly becomes a hairstylist ngl.

- nami is a gentle giant and after much practice, he gets good at doing the basic plait or cornrow to help you out.

- it’s rough being in a Country with barely any black people there to do your hair.

- but don’t be mistaken, he will be the type to fly out a black hairdresser ASAP just to spoil you.

- switching topics, but because you are a sassy little thing that mouth often gets you in trouble.

- sometimes you’ll be hanging with the boys and you’ll get into it with yoongi (playfully of course).

- nami will try to jump in and calm y’all down because you guys WILL go rounds and he doesn’t want that, but you’re quick to butt him out.

- “Aht aht, the adults are talking.” Is your favorite go-to line because it never fails to make nami surprised.

- the other boys try to hide their smirks, but nami knows that they’ll use that against him any chance they get.

- so, he’s gotta make an example out of you. if you catch my drift *wink wink*

- whilst in the middle of roasting min yoongi, namjoon will scoop yo ass up and take you to his room.

- no questions asked.

- the boys know wtf be going on and are always shook to know that their leader be getting down like that.

- you still act up every once in awhile, because dominant joon is a different animal but the same beast

- i think overall, namjoon being with a black s/o and a thick one at that, would be such a cultural reset.

- like y’all mfers are on the cover of every magazine and doing couple questions with Vogue and shit.

- jay-z totally invited y’all and the boys to a Roc Nation brunch, don’t @me.

- you guys’ relationship is nothing but positive and wholesome behavior that we love and support a hundred percent!

#kmimagines #ambw imagines #kpop imagines #black!reader #bts imagines #kim namjoon x black!reader #kim namjoon imagines #bts namjoon #namjoon headcanon #bts headcanons #mayawrites #requested #namjoon x black!reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon

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the-nysh · 3 years

Note

"Personally, I feel Hori making it a public apology was a little disproportionate" - you are not alone in this. personally i am wondering in how far the fandom - very likely the japanese fandom, i doubt hori keeps up with western fandom discurs (hopefully not) - influenced hori's writing here. he did react in interviews to fandom's view on the bakudeku relationship and mentioned a planned apology. it could also explain why bkdk use different words when describing middle school!bkg's misdeeds...

Thankfully Hori is completely uninvolved with the western fandom to have any of their takes influence his writing (whew~), nor is he the type to let fandom dictate his story (unless there's urgent concerns to fix like the Dr's name change) but he did address several eastern fandom questions in interviews, hinting/promising that he'd planned to address certain topics -like the apology- someday. Only there was no telling when, or how.

But seeing how he's approached it now, it gives the impression he was going for clarity, to particularly handhold things for the set of readers who were still on the fence about Kacchan's character, to let them know with flashing marquees that this is it. Only, by making it public, to me that feels slightly uncomfortably catered to the crowd who still specifically wanted to see him scorned and punished. (You know the type: the ones who wanted to see Kacchan suffer, grovel, humiliated, or 'folded' by Deku in completely ooc ways, vindictive and disproportionate to what's actually constructive for the story. 8'D)

So I'm relieved nothing like that happened, and instead Hori chose to cover it in a way that Kacchan's public apology can be read as one of his strongest moments of bravery - that this is his important truth (and most vulnerable/shameful wounds, both figurative and literal) he's openly bearing, stepping forth & firmly owning up to, where it doesn't matter to him one bit what anyone else thinks about it. Characteristically putting his all into it when it matters. Because this is for Deku's sake; his (and their) highest priority right now to save.

To which the entire rest of the class, as their witness, is deathly silent. Understanding they have no grounds to speak or trespass upon what's privately between them. (Except for those who're silently empathetic, like Shouto for ex.) And for some of their classmates -the ones who manhandled Kacchan away from talking to Deku in the hospital before- now they finally realize the context and full gravity of just what they had once misjugdged and dismissed too. :3 (I wonder if they feel particularly guilty about their mistake now, because as funny as it is, I agree that so much of this arc could have been prevented or mitigated had Kacchan been allowed to talk to Deku in the first place~) Therefore, Hori's decision to make it public now checks off all these birds with one stone. While leaving it open-ended for what’s left hanging: receiving a followup response from the one who matters: Deku.

I wonder if the reason why the apology was public- besides being part of the class plan- is because of JP's view on being considerate. Everytime Bakugou was difficult in class by yelling at Deku (and sometimes Shoto), it was being inconsiderate to them so while the business was private Bakugou acted out on it in public, not unlike how uncomfortable the Todoroki's were to act like that in front guests, so the apology works to the class as well. As a European it is a strange thought.

That could also be part of it - that whenever Kacchan's irate behavior made it everyone else's business, they somewhat deserve an explanation (ie an indirect apology of sorts) for what they had to go thru too by proxy. Likewise, Kacchan doesn't really directly owe the class anything - only towards the person he wronged (Deku), that I wonder if this will be enough for the rest of the class to get it now too (without any further prying questions). The Japanese angle is another thing - because when Hawks made a public apology for his family, that was also a very Japanese thing to do. (And then of course, there's how the Japanese audience viewed Dabi publically airing his family's dirty laundry to be repulsive, and how it's considered rude to talk about private family matters in front of guests for that Todoroki household moment...)

Above all, even though Hori’s not one to be specifically influenced by the fans (despite whatever the western rumors say) he does write for a Japanese audience first & foremost. :O So naturally their reception and comprehension on what he deems important takes precedence. And regardless of his various reasons for making Kacchan's apology public, seeing it as a selfless, responsible moment of bravery -as a huge milestone for his character, both as a person and as a hero- is definitely noteworthy.

#bnha #kacchan #manga spoilers #long post #anonymous #replies #so yeah i'm grateful hori does his own thing and is not influenced by the (western) fans 8'D #but he is writing this for a japanese audience so there are meanings that would be taken/interpreted significantly differently #depending on how many reasons (both cultural and narrative) making kacchan's apology public satisfies...

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xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

off the grid | three

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 2.4k

chapter warnings: cussing / mature language, definitely inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, jimin continues to be cute as fuck for being such an angel

> series masterlist <

"Jimin!" You whined as he had hurriedly grabbed the check from the waitress and politely shoved it back in her hand with his card.

"I just wanted you to enjoy your lunch." He laughed at your pouty face - brows furrowed, lips poking out.

"That doesn't mean I can't pay for my own food."

"Can you relax? It's fine. If anything, you can just get me when we grab dessert later."

"Sure, if you don't beat me to it again."

"Maybe it's your reflexes."

"Wow, I'm a little appalled at that statement. Already judging me?"

"Never that, just being honest." He smiled. "Okay, I'm joking. Don't kill me." He laughed as he stood up and gathered his stuff. You two were spending some time going around Insa-Dong before heading to a park near the N Seoul Tower later tonight to chill.

Besides beaming with kindness, Jimin was patient. He let you walk around wherever, doing whatever, without complaining. He was also very smart, giving the inside scoop with the added bonus of tips and tricks and reciting historical facts when the perfect opportunity arose. He made fun of you for buying small, cute souvenirs because it seemed like a never ending collection, but nonetheless, he really enjoyed how happy you looked. How you glowed. How down to earth and laid back you were. Even though it hadn't been long since you met, you weren't reserved and you took him in (as he was) with ease. He was normally a shy person, but he appreciated the warmth that radiated from you. He felt comfortable, almost like you both had known each other for years.

"Come on, Y/N." He laughed. "Really? How many more pins and stickers do you need?"

"Jimin, you need to lower your voice." You joked.

"I'm sorry." He began to raise his voice, causing others to turn towards you two. "HOW MANY MORE PINS-"

"Oh my god, okay! Stop! I'll drop it!" He laughed and prevented you from dropping your items down.

"I'm just playing. I'll stop." It hit you that his hand still lingered on yours, so you quickly drop it down before shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I promise this is it." You shrugged. "For now." You kept smirking at him over your shoulder before you happily walked over to the counter. After slipping the small shopping bag into your bigger shopping bag, you met Jimin outside of the shop who had been taking pictures of the street with his polaroid camera. "Do you always do this?"

"Take pictures? Yeah, I like holding onto the memories, as cliché as that sounds. They really do hold a lot of meaning for me."

"No, I think that's pretty cool."

"Do you mind?" He slightly rose his camera towards you.

"If you take pictures of me?" He nodded silently. "No, I don't."

"Thanks. It'll add a nice touch to my collection." He quickly snapped a picture of you smiling.

The two of you continued to walk around, with Jimin making sure you didn't miss anything significant. He led the way majority of the time, dancing when he would hear music playing on the street, mimicking ads posted on the walls or simply taking more pictures. When you both had your fill of the area, he drove to a nearby bbq restaurant where you could get some jajangmyeon, samgyeopsal and other entrees ready made for takeout before grabbing dessert on the way to the park. You held onto the food while he grabbed a blanket from the trunk of his car and laid it on the grass so you two could dig in and eat.

"That's a nice ass view." You said, staring at the tower up ahead.

"I could take you up there another day. There isn't much, but the view at the tower is amazing."

"I bet."

"So, what made you want to come to here?" All this time you had been spending with Jimin had been occupied by all the plans that you hadn't been able to really talk about this. You hadn't been able to divulge about the dirty details of all things home.

"I really just wanted a break from the chaos." You shrugged.

"Mmm, really painting a great picture of Los Angeles right now." He said sarcastically before he covered his mouth to laugh.

"Sorry, it's a great place, really. I honestly can't see myself anywhere else." You sighed. "I just.. felt myself slipping, you know? I was getting lost in all the work I had to get done, all the projects on my plate. At one point I felt so stuck that I really questioned if I belonged. I'm turning 26 soon and I still feel lost."

"Impostor syndrome?"

"Yes, that."

"Why? You made it that far, haven't you? May I ask what you do back home?"

"I work in translational science." His eyes widened.

"Wow, that's amazing. You came this far, Y/N. Why would you doubt yourself like that?"

"I guess I just always feel like I need to prove myself to everyone around me."

"In work or in general?"

"It was starting to feel like I had to prove myself in general."

"That's not fair. I know it's easier said than done, but you shouldn't do that to yourself. From what I can tell, you're a great person who's down to earth and enjoys life as it comes. There's nothing wrong with that. You're where you're at for a reason. I'm sure your friends and parents are really proud of you."

"Thanks." You smiled softly. "Yeah, my parents are pretty great."

"Yeah? See, that's good. What are your parents like?"

"Well, my dad is the executive director of another lab, while my mom is a pediatric nurse."

"So, science and healthcare revolves around your family."

"Pretty much. My dad is the reason why I got so interested in pursuing a career in science. He would always teach me things growing up and I always enjoyed going to science museums with him. That's all I wanted to do."

"That's cute." He smiled. "You're really close to your parents, then."

"Yeah, I am."

"Do they know you're here?" You nodded.

"Yeah. They were just sad I didn't join them on their Europe holiday trip."

"What?! You turned that down to come here? You're something else." You laughed and tossed a crumpled napkin at him, making him dodge it.

"Hey! I told you. I just wanted to do something solo. Something different."

"I mean, are you really doing it solo if you're here with me?" He smirked.

"I'm leaving."

"No, I'm kidding." He laughed as he put his hand out to stop you. "I know, I know. For the record, I'm glad you're hanging out with me and letting me show you around."

"Nice save, Park."

"You got it, sweetness." He winked, making you shake your head at the pet name.

"What about you? What's up with you and your family? I can tell you and Yana are close."

"Yeah, we are. I'm really happy about the relationship we have. She's my older sister and she's done a lot for me. A lot." He emphasized. "I can't help but feel super protective of her. I feel like I want to shield her from the world sometimes because she's such a good person and I don't want to see her get hurt, you know? It hurts me." You nodded silently. "I know part of the reason why she agreed to this whole thing was because of her ex." You swallowed the lump in your throat because same. Fucking same.

"I get that. That's really sweet of you."

"As for the rest of my family, I mean.." He sighed. "Yeah, we're all close. I love my mom and dad. I'd do anything for them, no question about that. They've always been supportive. But, sometimes I can't help but feel like I disappoint them."

"Why do you say that? Only if you feel comfortable, though." And he did. Jimin really did. He wasn't much to talk about his personal details because he was so busy trying to make sure his people were good, that people he cared for were okay. He barely had time to look out for himself, but he didn't mind it. All he wanted was for his people to be good. If that could happen, then all was well. Plus, he would hate to have to burden someone with such negative thoughts. It wasn't the happiest topic for him.

"I do." He softly smiled at you, his eyes wide and round like a puppy. He ran his hand through his hair before adjusting his position on the blanket. You couldn't help but feel weak at the sight of him. Sheesh. He could do the bare minimum and it would still be so attractive. "My sister is super smart and successful. She's worked so hard to get to where she is now. I mean, she works for a really popular magazine here. She started as an intern, then worked her way up and now she's close to creating her own clothing line. It's been her dream and she really worked to make it happen."

"That's amazing."

"Isn't it? She's such a boss." He shook his head. "And then there's me." He scoffed. "I went to school for business, with a minor in art. But that's about it for me. I don't really know what I want to do or how to go about making my degree useful." He used air quotes. "I honestly just don't even know. I got through school just fine, but I never had set plans for myself. I help my mom and dad at their cafe, then that's it." He shrugged.

"Jimin, you still have so much time to figure out what you want to do. Don't beat yourself up just because you didn't get there as quickly as Yana or other people. Your path isn't theirs and vice versa."

"It just gets hard, you know? I want to make them proud."

"And I'm sure they are. They always will be. You have so much to offer to the world, no doubt. You'll be able to show that in time."

"Thanks Y/N, I needed to hear that. Really." He smiled. "Just you listening makes me feel better."

"You should make more time for yourself, Jimin." You already could tell what kind of person Jimin was. One that always made time for everyone but himself. One who was completely and utterly selfless.

"I know, I'm working on it." He scooped into his ice cream cup. "So, enough of me." He chuckled. "Back to you."

"What else can I say about me?"

"I don't know, Y/N. I'm sure you have a lot you can say about yourself besides being a badass scientist." You chuckled. "Is that really the only reason why you came to Seoul? To get a break from LA and work?"

"If I'm being completely honest, no." He nodded as he continued to keep his attention on scooping more of his ice cream. "I'm actually in the same boat as Yana with the whole ex situation." You scoffed. "It sounds pathetic coming from me, I know."

"No." He shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

"I dated this guy for almost 5 years. But, it was so on and off and inconsistent during the last year. After we officially broke up, I couldn't separate myself from him, even if he was treating me like shit. Like a convenience. He would come around whenever he wanted to, even though he was already seeing other girls and playing his games. I was so tired of crying and feeling hurt over the fact that I was so replaceable. I was longing to find myself again."

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. I can't apologize on his behalf, but you definitely don't deserve that."

"It is what it is."

"No, it's not. Someone who is more worried about getting their ego boosted than treating someone right doesn't deserve your time. None of this was your fault and I really hope you know that."

"It took me a long time to see it that way, of course. It was really difficult. I always questioned what was wrong with me."

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. Please hear me when I say that. I know we haven't known each other for long, but I really mean it. You're beautiful, smart and you have a lot of things going for you. If he can't fit in that equation, then fuck it. That's on him and that's his loss." You chuckled.

"Thanks, Jimin."

"Of course." He tilted his head to the side as he smiled. He continued to stare for a bit longer, eyeing all of your features and taking it all in. You were really beautiful to him. A work of art. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you away, but he felt compelled to be by your side while you were around. He just wanted to keep spending time with you, getting to know you and making you happy. That became his goal. "So, uh. I have a couple of more places I'd like to take you to, if that's alright?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm down to see everything and anything I can while I'm still here."

"I'll do my best." He chuckled. After you both finished up your ice cream, you threw out the empty containers and packed up the blanket before heading back home. You knew you were going to keep spending more time with Jimin and his friends, but you were beginning to feel a little sad parting ways at the end of the night. You gave Jimin a tight hug and said your goodnights before shutting the door. You threw your shoes off to the side and took a quick shower before plopping yourself into the warm sheets. Yoongi had left you a voicemail you hours ago, but you had been so caught up that you hadn't checked your phone until now. You weren't going to call back due to the time change. Namjoon and Yoongi were for sure knocked the hell out. They wouldn't hear a thing.

"Oyyy," Yoongi's raspy voice came up on the voicemail. "Just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing down there. Namjoon is out running errands but I think he's gonna be hanging out with Yana again. Call me back when you get a chance. But not when it's like 4 or 5AM here please. Take care of yourself and be safe."

#bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfiction #jimin #park jimin #pjm series #pjm x reader #off the grid #otg #writing #jimin x reader #jimin fluff

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spiritedxmakorrian · 7 years

Text

Something Entirely New

Here’s my entry for the Makorra Spring Project! A Steven Universe AU if it wasn’t already clear enough. Love my rocks. TwT This is a rough idea of a full AU fic I plan to write along with the other mods in themakorrasociety sometime in the future. Its plot is centered around a theory that weighs on certain events in SU, so there’s a 50/50 chance of it coming into fruition. But for now, I have an idea of how Mako and Korra’s experience fusing for the first time is like! ^.^

Ngl, this was probably by far the hardest fic I’ve ever written. Do you know how hard it is to write a fusion? Especially when its a new one? *cri*

Despite that, I’m very pleased with the outcome and I hope you all love it as much as the MSPP!

Enjoy!~

P.S.: Gems names! :3

Korra - Aquamarine Zircon - Mako Nephrite - Lin

W-wha…?

What happened?

Why is everything so… short?

“Aqua… Are you o--?” Zircon cut himself off, shocked at the new sound he made.

“I'm… I feel… Huh?” Aquamarine blinked a few times, glancing around at their surroundings. Still at the beach. Freshly-made glass shooting upwards from the sand a little ways from them and signs of struggle near the cliff, but still the beach. And yet… something was… off. “Zircon--”

“Is that you?” Zircon interrupted their in shock and slight panic. He crawled toward the shoreline, exhausted from the previous argument. “Or is that…”

“Me?”

Silence floated above them as they stared into the water, the rippling silhouette of a curvaceous feminine figure with long, shaggy hair seeming to be staring back. The figure stood as stiff as they did…

Almost as if...

“Aqua! What the hell?! Did you just--?!”

Aqua scowled grimly. “Me?! You did this!”

An angry yet shocked look crossed Zircon’s face. “But I did nothing!”

As they went back and forth, they managed to stumble toward the glass in the sand. They each peered into it to see their reflection.

The reflection they encountered was the same feminine figure, but in full detail. Their hair was almost a clear white with messy streaks of pale blue, their skin holding the same shade of blue. They wore a grayish-white dress with a few ragged holes in it. The only thing that stood out were their eyes, which were a dark blue with clear flecks of reddish-brown. An aquamarine gem was settled on their sternum and a zircon gem was underneath her right wrist.

“This is us…” Aqua awkwardly lifted a hand to touch the warm glass, her reflection wearing the same expression of disbelief. “What… happened…?”

The last fifteen minutes seemed like a blur before, but now everything started coming back to them; Aquamarine and Zircon were screaming at each other… Aqua accidentally blasted a hole into their makeshift home they fit into the rocky caverns on the beach. Zircon blew up at Aqua for ruining the only materials for proper shelter they had. She barked back just as boldly, icy blue eyes burning into fiery orange. They got into each other's faces, one just as loud as the other... Zircon was the one to notice the rocks that tilted haphazardously from Aqua’s blast finally cave in, barreling toward them… Instinct drove him to push her out of the way, then a flash of white light appeared between and around them. Then… nothing.

“Zircon… Did we…? What… what are we?” Aqua pressed her hand to either side of her head.

Zircon closed their eyes and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Calm down. We’re a fusion--”

“You say it like it's normal!” Aqua cut her eyes at him, shocked contempt flashing behind her irises as her fists clenched. “Fusions aren’t exactly a welcome guest! On top of that, we’re on a mission! We are not supposed to be… this!” She motioned to their new form.

He frowned in annoyance, his arm falling to his side. “No, we aren’t,” he sighed. “We have to get to Nephrite; she'll fix this--”

“How?! The city’s packed with elite corps soldiers! We’re never gonna get through like this!”

“We will if you just follow my lead.”

“Why your lead?” Aqua raised a brow in distaste.

“Because you obviously aren’t the most levelheaded about this.”

“I am levelheaded!”

They clumsily got to their feet as they argued back and forth, but it proved unfruitful as their lack of focus caused them to plop back down in the sand. Right… They were sharing legs now.

Zircon let out a long sigh and stared into the sky. “Aqua… I can't believe I'm saying this, but we're gonna have to work together on this.”

Aqua’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, though a patch of light pink tinged their cheeks. “Urgh… Fine.”

With that, they got to their shared knees and began to unsteadily balance on them as they rose off their bottom. They planted one of their feet on the ground, then two, and rose their bottom upwards as they straightened their legs. With a grunt, they pushed against the sand and got to their feet, where they began to tremble, and Aqua started to panic at the lack of total control she had to prevent tipping over.

“Relax, just relax,” Zircon murmured. “Just work with me, okay?”

Aqua took a deep breath and followed his movements carefully. They soon stopped trembling and stood straight. They sighed and threw their arms out and then upward to stretch.

“Alright, now that we’ve gotten standing up out of the way, what about walking?” Aqua asked.

“Huh…” Zircon looked down at his feet, staring hard as if they’d move on their own if he did. “Uh… Let’s try right foot... Right…” He managed to wiggle the toes on said foot. “... foot…”

They both lifted the foot, wobbling briefly before bringing it forward. “Ha…” They did the same with their left foot, their eyes lighting up at the successful attempt. “Haha! We’re doing it!” Aqua exclaimed.

Zircon’s excited grin faded into a curious, yet focused one. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere. Just keep it up. Right, left, right--”

Aqua scoffed. “I know how to walk, Zircon!”

Zircon simply rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but we don’t. Just bear with me so we can get the hang of it.”

“True…”

They began walking forward steadily, stumbling and falling a few times. After several tries walking back and forth along the shore, they perfected their walk enough to look like they knew what they were doing.

“Alright,” Aqua huffed in satisfaction. “Next phase?”

“Swimming to the docks?”

“Lovely.”

_________________________

Nephrite sifted through the panels of her holographic logbook, boredom finally catching up to her as much as her officers. It was a slow day; the city that was normally so restless was now in a stagnant state of calm. There were no emergencies as of late and the only time there was a call was when one of the topazes she put on city patrol updated her on the current state of the borders or a bismuth asking if the new metal cord gauntlets sent for her officers were up to par or if they needed some work.

She definitely wasn’t used to this. She even silently hoped something outrageous like a breach would happen soon.

She sighed and continued going through her panels. The logbook was full of images of prosecuted gems either fusions or gems in direct contact from Homeworld, about fifty on each panel and each gem with their current status below their image. The glowing workspace blurred before her as she swiped a finger to the left, eyes skimming over the statuses. Most of them held a flashing red stamp spelling out “SHATTERED” in block letters. Some had a yellow stamp spelling out “POOFED” and indicated court trial dates.

Nephrite wasn’t too fond of the majority being red stamps, but it wasn’t her place to object.

A small green blur caught her eye and she stopped the panels for a moment to look at the gem associated with it. There was a single green stamp amongst the red and yellow, spelling out “LEGALIZED”. Above this stamp was a picture of a zircon, sneering at the camera. Nephrite let out a small chuckle at the image, her mind tracing back to the day it was taken.

***

The camera’s flash consumed half of the mostly empty room, possibly blinding the poor zircon whose picture was being taken. Although she… he tried to play it off with a deeper scowl, Nephrite noticed he blinked a few times so his eyes could adjust. The amethysts who had him by the forearm jerked him away from the camera and pulled in front of Nephrite.

He clearly put up a fight, she thought to herself, seeing as the two amethysts struggled a bit to hold him still. Strong for an off-color…

Off-colors were gems who had a trait or more that made their natural function near impossible, in turn making them useless for the purpose of war. This was unacceptable in gem society-- at least, at this point in time, Nephrite added silently to herself-- and therefore these gems must be shattered.

But looking at this zircon, who was labeled as such when he was taken in, she didn’t see anything wrong with him. Well, it was strange this specific gem had to be referred to as “he” and he was… clearly built differently than most other gems, but she didn’t consider him an off-color as two of her elite corps soldiers explained to her over the radio.

“He was found roaming an abandoned zircon Kindergarten by Homeworld,” one amethyst began to list off. “Apparently all were shattered by them, but this one managed to make it. He may still have connection with Homeworld--”

“I don’t have any connection with--” The zircon was cut off with a sharp cuff to the head by the amethyst as she continued.

“There was nothing on him suggesting as such, but the location of this Kindergarten was too far outside of our territory to be ours. The elite ordered us to bring him to you for shattering.”

The zircon pulled against his captors. “Let me go!” he demanded.

Nephrite frowned at the angry gem, wondering what could be done with him. She was concerned he could very well be a ploy for Homeworld, but didn’t understand what made him a threat to her city. Compared to other zircons, he was a bit more lean and taller than what his gem is supposed to look like. And his strength was more than she expected from a supposed off-color. It was like he was meant to be an entirely different gem, like a quartz soldier or a beryl warrior.

She couldn’t help but see some potential in him.

“Would you like to do the honors, ma’am?”

Nephrite examined the zircon silently with her hard gaze, his own slowly becoming fearful the longer her eyes bore into him. Finally she ordered, “Poof him.”

The amethysts were taken aback by her decision. “Wait, what? Just a poofing?”

Even the zircon was shocked. “What are you going to do to me?”

Nephrite’s expression was unchanging from its default sternness. “I have a position for you,” she told him. “A guard for the elite. Of course, you will have to be put on trial according to customs, but I have my ways of keeping you from being shattered.” She didn’t give him enough time to even recover as she summoned her weapon-- a katar gauntlet-- from her gem settled in her palm and jabbed it into his stomach. She watched as he stiffened with a grunt and his physical form dissipated, his gem falling with a dull clatter to the ground.

He’d thank her later.

***

Nephrite smiled at the memory, remembering how his training went after his trial deemed him fit to stay in the city. He was rather stubborn at first to handle; Nephrite had to poof him several times a week whenever he became difficult. Zircon soon adjusted himself to his training and his progression sped up phenomenally. He knew how to properly harness and use his own weapon, which turned out to be a sai, and all procedures to make sure an elite was well protected when they were down. He was the best soldier Nephrite has ever trained.

He was presented with his first elite-- one in training, to be specific-- about six months ago, an aquamarine around a similar skill level as he was. She was more stubborn and brash than he was, which Nephrite thought was a perfect start for Zircon; she would be lying if she said she did this out of revenge. Their relationship, as expected, was rocky and tumultuous. Arguing, fighting, snide remarks and unwillingness to cooperate when the other was involved. Although over the months they’ve gotten a bit better, Nephrite decided to send them on a week-long mission to the abandoned island she often used as a lookout for the elite corps to test their team-building skills by assisting the patrol in border watching, nothing too serious as this was just a test. It’s been four days and she only hoped they didn’t shatter each other by now, though she wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

Her radio suddenly began beeping on the corner of her desk and she groaned. If this is another border update, I swear… She hit the speaker button and responded, “Chief Nephrite here.”

“There’s a hole drilled into the ground underneath the docks,” reported the topaz on the other end, “but there’s no other trace of anyone getting in.”

Nephrite frowned, though she was partially relieved to have something to do. “I’m amping up the security within the city. You track down where the hole leads to and go from there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Click.

______________

“Of all the places we could’ve gotten in through, did it have to be the sewer?” Zircon crinkled his nose at the stench he was forced to endure for the last five minutes.

“I know.” Aquamarine coughed several times and inhaled deeply once they scurried out of the sewers and dove into a nearby alleyway, “but we’d attract less attention this way. No one could hear us.”

“Point,” Zircon huffed soon after catching his breath. “Okay, how are we getting out from here?”

“I thought you were team captain,” she teased.

“You’d counter me if I even tried,” he pointed. “Now where do you think we should go?”

Aqua was unfazed and smirked. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to travel by roof.”

“By roof?”

Aqua jabbed a thumb in the direction of the roof of one of the buildings they were beside. “If we just stick to the roofs, we’ll get to the Elite Headquarters in no time.”

“You think we won’t get caught?”

“I am an elite,” Aqua reasoned with a wink. “I know my way around.”

Zircon shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”

Aqua’s smirk grew wider. “Awesome.”

They climbed the old pipe-- slow, but steady-- and crouched low once they got on the roof. Zircon felt himself matching Aqua’s movements with ease, their shared form moving with more swiftness than their unsure pattern of motions before. He couldn’t help but feel the struggle he exhibited through this pattern since he and Aqua fused dissipating as they crawled along the long roof. Strangely enough, he registered her contribution in controlling a more complex physical form as being less of a burden the more he moved with her than against her.

Strange…

Aqua then experienced a sudden wave of uneasiness. She frowned, her gaze shifting to the side. “Strange?”

Zircon blinked a few times in surprise, briefly amazed that Aqua knew what was going on through his mind, but then he rolled his eyes at himself. Of course she’d pick up his thoughts; they were their thoughts. “Err… It’s fine.”

Aqua snickered a bit. “You know that response only works on a select few people, not including me,” she teased.

Zircon cleared his throat, feeling a warmth spread across the bridge of his nose. “Erm… I think it’s safe to assume that you feel it, too… right?”

She let out a choked sound that could’ve been a soft gasp. She didn’t know why she was so surprised when they were sharing one form. “... Lucky assumption,” she murmured, unusually embarrassed to give a simple “yes”.

“Heh…” He fell quiet, not sure how to continue.

“You think it’s strange?” Worry overcame her… then the both of them.

“N-no! It’s fine. I just… I didn’t expect to feel so… comfortable as a fusion.”

“Me neither…”

Silence swallowed the air around them for a few beats, then Aqua piped up in a quiet voice, “You saved me…”

Zircon paused, the both of them at the edge of the roof. “Yeah?”

“That’s kinda how it happened, right?” she reminded him. “You saved me from being crushed.”

Zircon almost forgot about that. He didn’t think of it before through the shock of fusing, but realizing it now, he’s bewildered at how easily he pushed it aside. How naturally he took action to throw himself in front of her when he saw the ledge collapsing. “Yeah… I guess something came over me,” he replied.

A genuine smile came upon Aqua’s face, stomach tying itself in knots. “Thank you,” she told him.

She sensed that stomach-knotting sensation being reciprocated by Zircon, who hesitated for a moment before saying, “You’re… you’re welcome…”

Krrrrrr…

Their form stiffened at the sound of the old boards beneath them. Before they could react, however, they were sent plummeting through the roof and through a rickety table. Nothing about their landing was gracious.

Crap!

They scrambled to their knees, scanning the room they landed in. Luckily, it was an abandoned building and no one seemed to have been wandering inside and no other sound filled the room besides their heavy panting. As soon as they caught their breath, they got to their feet.

“Heh…” That was a close one,” Zircon sighed.

“Yeah,” Aqua agreed. “I’m amazed--”

Before he could finish, a pink laser beam blasted through the wall to their right, blazing just past their face to the opposite end of the room. They whipped around and saw an elite corps soldier already shouting orders to her group to grab them. The burly team rushed at them, each armed with a unique weapon save for the ones at the front, who wielded metal cord gauntlets and shot the cords in their direction.

Instinct took over and their form leapt out of the way, ducking in a corner at first and then towards the door when the second wave of metal cords flew towards them.

“You were gonna say you’re amazed no one heard us, right?” Zircon sneered.

“Jinxing is a part of life!” Aqua insisted. “Everyone does it!”

They skidded out of the door and bolted down the street, their feet just barely touching the ground. Looking above them, they saw there were already hovercrafts on the scene, flying after them as well, flinging metal discs that grazed their arms and legs.

“After that gem!” the head soldier ordered.

More cords were sent their way as well as laser beams and other various ammo. They ducked underneath parked mini ships and dove through crowds of gems in passing, but they couldn’t lose any of the elite behind them. Glancing back, they saw that a few managed to close in on them and attack, throwing spears, the amount doubling in mid attack. They faced ahead of them and saw there was a large ship passing through, moving slow down the street with no sign of speeding up. Feeling the presence of the spears advancing toward the back of their neck, their fusion leapt upward in one great bound, the spears just missing their ankle and piercing into the side of the ship. To both Aqua and Zircon’s surprise, they manipulated the air around them as they shot into the air, unconsciously creating a platform below their feet.

“Woah!” Aqua exclaimed.

They quickly realized how unsteady the platform was as they zoomed through the air, almost falling off a few times after some misplaced steps on the board, but they soon found balance and soared over the city smoothly.

“We got a hoverboard!” Aqua continued. “Look at this!” She laughed ecstatically as she picked up speed.

Zircon just stared blankly ahead of him as they cut fast corners around the tall buildings to lose the elites, unable to fathom what just occurred. “A hoverboard…? We just made a hoverboard out of thin air… literally...”

“I know, right? They can’t even catch us now!” she cackled. She turned to taunt the team of elites behind them, but saw a boulder-sized rock barreling straight for them. “Duck!”

They dodged the rock and looked ahead to focus on their path, but was met with a street lamp. They were moving so fast it was impossible for them to stop themselves from crashing face first into the post, their hoverboard released into the air. They, along with the lamp, flew another couple of yards before skidding down into another alley and crashing into a garbage bin filled with old, rusted metal and other mechanical parts rendered useless.

Underneath the pile of rejected machinery, another white glow emerged before gradually dimming down. Next to come from this pile were Aqua and Zircon.

“Ugh… We need to learn to drive first,” murmured Aqua.

Zircon shook his head, head pounding from the impact. “Ditto.” He lifted a hand to his head and turned to face Aqua… Wait… Aqua? He was able to see her physical form, sitting up and rubbing her shoulder. His eyes widened as he stared at himself, looking over his arms and legs and body. “Aqua, we’re--”

“Unfused?!” Aqua picked up on the realization as quickly as he did her eyes glittering as she turned to him.

“Finally!”

“Yes!”

The two threw their arms around each other in relief, laughing with glee at the feeling of being in their own bodies again. However, their celebration was short-lived at the sound of hovercrafts overhead and the thumping of heavy footsteps just around the corner. It was obvious escape was not a choice anymore.

The elite corps leader had her team block the entryway to the alley and approached the two gems. She opened her mouth wide to boom out another order when she took another look at the culprits.

“Aquamarine?” With a disbelieving glance at Zircon, she let out a comical sputter and pointed at him “You fused?! And with him of all people?!”

Zircon narrowed his eyes at her. Shoddy brick…

Aqua got to her feet and shot a cross look at the leader. “I did,” she confirmed with a mocking, spiteful grin. “Nice to see your deductive skills are working just fine, Onyx.”

Onyx visibly fumed. “You were sent to do important survey work and you’re fraternizing with your guard,” she growled. Her dark gray cheeks burned white, unable to comprehend the idea of what she witnessed. “I’d expect this from you, but you are an elite gem! You should know better than to sink this low.”

“As if you didn’t consider me as scum already.” Aqua rolled her eyes.

“Why you--?!” Onyx clenched her fists in frustration before loosening them and huffing. She opted to turn her attention to Zircon. “And you! Disgusting excuse for a guard! I knew you weren’t going to take your job seriously from the get-go. What makes you think you would get away with this?!”

Zircon flared up and got to his feet as well. “It wasn’t my intention--”

Onyx jabbed him in his chest, eyes glaring down at him. “And why should I take your word for it?” she challenged him.

Before Zircon could make a move, Aqua moved closer to his side almost protectively. “Because I can vouch for him,” she spat. “You know, as an ‘elite gem’.” She mocked the corps leader’s airy tone as she brought up the term.

Onyx growled at that, but ignored and summoned her short range spear eyeing Zircon. “Enough of this!” she barked. “What you did was inexcusable! I’m sure Nephrite will be disgusted enough to approve of my shattering you!” With that, she grabbed Zircon by the arm and prepared to pierce through his gem.

“No!”

Zircon felt a weight rush into his side and twisted his eyes shut. When he opened them, however, he saw that he was now taller than Onyx. Looking down, he saw his skin was pale blue once again. Their skin.

Aqua…?

Their fusion glared down at Onyx in a calm fury, now wielding a ring sword of ice in the hand Onyx didn’t have a hold of. They slammed the blade into Onyx’s shield, causing her to release her grip and double backwards. They towered over her with the ring sword held in front of them and threatened, “If you kill him, you kill me, too.”

Zircon could believe the intense rage radiating throughout his being now. He’s never known Aqua to be this angry, nonetheless able to feel it. Aqua… What are you doing?

An rough and almost lighthearted response came to him. You save me, I save you.

The light blue blush that came across their fusion’s face went unnoticed by Onyx and her team, lost to the fire in their dark blue eyes. Onyx shuddered, trying to gather her words.

“Er… H-hey, let’s not be too hasty,” she stammered. “I can’t shatter an aquamarine… You know that’s mutiny on my part, right?”

“Try me,” was the fusion’s cold reply.

Onyx chuckled nervously. “And that’s totally fine! Completely fine! Fine, fine, fine!” She stuttered over her words, eyes shifting from side to side. “Uhm… hey, you know what? I-I’ll let you go, is that what you want? Huh? What do you want?” Beads of sweat trickled down her temple.

The fusion took a few slow steps forward, leaned in so they were at eye level with Onyx, and demanded in a menacing tone, “Take me to Nephrite.”

__________________

Nephrite has been getting repetitive calls of a disturbance downtown for ten minutes and she’s been trying to contact her corps officers to get on the scene, but none answered their radio. Her officers never failed to answer their chief at any time, so hearing so much ado about a commotion in such a short amount of time and what seemed to be nothing done to remedy it frustrated her to no end. She slammed a hand on the table and pushed herself out of her chair to head for the door’s entrance panel, deciding to take it upon herself to settle things, when the door slid open on its own.

Behind it stood Onyx and her elite officers. Heading them was a rather tall gem in a ragged dress and unruly hair.

Nephrite gazed at the gem in awe and disbelief, whereas the gem gave her a very nervous grin. Then her look of amazement turned into one of exhaustion and slight annoyance. “Of course.” She ushered the new gem in and ordered her elites to stay outside. Walking away and facing the window behind her, the only thing she had to say was, “You had one job…”

The gem began hastily giving out explanations that conflicted with each other. “We were doing what we were supposed to do-- there was a rock-- but we didn’t know how to unfuse-- couldn’t let anyone see us-- the dumb clod out there wouldn’t--”

“At once, please.” Nephrite felt more and more fatigued by the second.

The fusion stopped in their tracks and paused for a few beats, opening their mouth and hesitating for another moment, then began to say. “... Zircon saved Aqua from being shattered by the crumbling rocks on the lookout island and they became… me.” They stopped for a moment, registering their own words before continuing. “I tried to sneak through the city so I wouldn’t get caught for who I am. I ended up getting caught anyways and along the way I became Zircon and Aqua. Onyx was the one to suggest shattering Zircon for creating me, but Aqua fused with him to protect him and so the both of them could get to you in one piece.”

Nephrite tilted her chin up in acknowledgement. “I see…”

The fusion let out a heavy sigh. “... Look, I know I’m not supposed to exist. I know this could’ve gotten Zircon and Aqua in a whole mess of trouble… but now that I’m here and you know who I am… could you please give them another chance? This was never their intention. I was just… an accident.” They fell silent and looked away, unsure of how else to put it.

Despite the confession, the corner of Nephrite’s mouth quirked upward into a very faint, very brief smile. She walked over to the fusion and rested a hand on their shoulder, silent for a while before telling them, “You aren’t an accident, Chalcedony Quartz.”

The fusion’s eyes widened at the name. Chalcedony… that’s what we… I am.

“If anything you’re a work of heart,” Nephrite continued. “It’s normal to feel this way, but you are more a miracle than an accident.”

Chalcedony stared at her for a moment, then they cracked a small smile. “Going soft on us, are we?” they asked.

Nephrite stiffened, her nose crinkling in distaste. “Wh--?!” Her brows furrowed. “Why don’t you get back to your post?!”

“Like this?”

“At least you’re a form of cooperation,” she huffed. She opened up a panel on her desk, typing up a new file. “Now I’ve gotta have you legalized as well,” she muttered under her breath.

Chalcedony’s eyes lit up. “You’re covering me?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not instant,” Nephrite warned them. “And it was inevitable anyways if I’m going to have you two working together.”

“Yes! Thank you! This is awesome!”

Nephrite groaned as the fusion proceeded to pace and bound around happily in her office. At least they were working better together.

#makorraspringproject #makorra #makorra 2.0 #my fics #the struggle was real with this one #but I loved it #and italics didn't stick... perfect #had to go thru and put them in but I doubt I covered them all ;3;#just pretend there are italics where they look like they should be if you catch em ^^;

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castielchitaqua · 3 years

Text

kaddish, allen ginsberg

I Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village. downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer— And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn— Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse, the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after, looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed— like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion— No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance, sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other, worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more? It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place. or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock— then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?—toward Newark— toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards— Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school, and learning to be mad, in a dream—what is this life? Toward the Key in the window—and the great Key lays its head of light on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the sidewalk—in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward the Yiddish Theater—and the place of poverty you knew, and I know, but without caring now—Strange to have moved thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again, with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstoops doors and dark boys on the street, fire escapes old as you -Tho you’re not old now, that’s left here with me— Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe—and I guess that dies with us—enough to cancel all that comes—What came is gone forever every time— That’s good! That leaves it open for no regret—no fear radiators, lacklove, torture even toothache in the end— Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul—and the lamb, the soul, in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change’s fierce hunger—hair and teeth—and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin, braintricked Implacability. Ai! ai! we do worse! We are in a fix! And you’re out, Death let you out, Death had the Mercy, you’re done with your century, done with God, done with the path thru it—Done with yourself at last—Pure—Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all—before the world— There, rest. No more suffering for you. I know where you’ve gone, it’s good. No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more fear of Louis, and no more of his sweetness and glasses, his high school decades, debts, loves, frightened telephone calls, conception beds, relatives, hands— No more of sister Elanor,.—she gone before you—we kept it secret—you killed her—or she killed herself to bear with you—an arthritic heart—But Death’s killed you both—No matter— Nor your memory of your mother, 1915 tears in silent movies weeks and weeks—forgetting, aggrieve watching Marie Dressler address humanity, Chaplin dance in youth, or Boris Godunov, Chaliapin’s at the Met, hailing his voice of a weeping Czar—by standing

room with Elanor & Max—watching also the Capitalists take seats in Orchestra, white furs, diamonds, with the YPSL’s hitch-hiking thru Pennsylvania, in black baggy gym skirts pants, photograph of 4 girls holding each other round the waste, and laughing eye, too coy, virginal solitude of 1920 all girls grown old, or dead, now, and that long hair in the grave—lucky to have husbands later— You made it—I came too—Eugene my brother before (still grieving now and will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer—or kill—later perhaps—soon he will think—) And it’s the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now—tho not you I didn’t foresee what you felt—what more hideous gape of bad mouth came first—to you—and were you prepared? To go where? In that Dark—that—in that God? a radiance? A Lord in the Void? Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream? Adonoi at last, with you? Beyond my remembrance! Incapable to guess! Not merely the yellow skull in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon—Deathshead with Halo? can you believe it? Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence, than none ever was? Nothing beyond what we have—what you had—that so pitiful—yet Triumph, to have been here, and changed, like a tree, broken, or flower—fed to the ground—but mad, with its petals, colored, thinking Great Universe, shaken, cut in the head, leaf stript, hid in an egg crate hospital, cloth wrapped, sore—freaked in the moon brain, Naughtless. No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife—lost Cut down by an idiot Snowman’s icy—even in the Spring—strange ghost thought—some Death—Sharp icicle in his hand—crowned with old roses—a dog for his eyes—cock of a sweatshop—heart of electric irons. All the accumulations of life, that wear us out—clocks, bodies, consciousness, shoes, breasts—begotten sons—your Communism—‘Paranoia’ into hospitals. You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later. You of stroke. Asleep? within a year, the two of you, sisters in death. Is Elanor happy? Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. l His life passes—as he sees—and what does he doubt now? Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi? I’ll see him soon. Now I’ve got to cut through—to talk to you—as I didn’t when you had a mouth. Forever. And we’re bound for that, Forever—like Emily Dickinson’s horses—headed to the End. They know the way—These Steeds—run faster than we think—it’s our own life they cross—and take with them. Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed—Ass and face done with murder. In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept. Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I’m hymnless, I’m Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not light or darkness, Dayless Eternity— Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing—to praise Thee—But Death This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God’s perfect Darkness—Death, stay thy phantoms! II Over and over—refrain—of the Hospitals—still haven’t written your history—leave it abstract—a few images run thru the mind—like the saxophone chorus of houses and years—remembrance of electrical shocks. By long nites as a child in Paterson apartment, watching over your nervousness—you were fat—your next move— By that afternoon I stayed home from school to take care of you—once and for all—when I vowed forever that once man disagreed with my opinion of the cosmos, I was lost— By my

later burden—vow to illuminate mankind—this is release of particulars—(mad as you)—(sanity a trick of agreement)— But you stared out the window on the Broadway Church corner, and spied a mystical assassin from Newark, So phoned the Doctor—‘OK go way for a rest’—so I put on my coat and walked you downstreet—On the way a grammarschool boy screamed, unaccountably—‘Where you goin Lady to Death’? I shuddered— and you covered your nose with motheaten fur collar, gas mask against poison sneaked into downtown atmosphere, sprayed by Grandma— And was the driver of the cheesebox Public Service bus a member of the gang? You shuddered at his face, I could hardly get you on—to New York, very Times Square, to grab another Greyhound— where we hung around 2 hours fighting invisible bugs and jewish sickness—breeze poisoned by Roosevelt— out to get you—and me tagging along, hoping it would end in a quiet room in a Victorian house by a lake. Ride 3 hours thru tunnels past all American industry, Bayonne preparing for World War II, tanks, gas fields, soda factories, diners, loco-motive roundhouse fortress—into piney woods New Jersey Indians—calm towns—long roads thru sandy tree fields— Bridges by deerless creeks, old wampum loading the streambeddown there a tomahawk or Pocahontas bone—and a million old ladies voting for Roosevelt in brown small houses, roads off the Madness highway— perhaps a hawk in a tree, or a hermit looking for an owl-filled branch— All the time arguing—afraid of strangers in the forward double seat, snoring regardless—what busride they snore on now? ‘Allen, you don’t understand—it’s—ever since those 3 big sticks up my back—they did something to me in Hospital, they poisoned me, they want to see me dead—3 big sticks, 3 big sticks— ‘The Bitch! Old Grandma! Last week I saw her, dressed in pants like an old man, with a sack on her back, climbing up the brick side of the apartment ‘On the fire escape, with poison germs, to throw on me—at night—maybe Louis is helping her—he’s under her power— ‘I’m your mother, take me to Lakewood’ (near where Graf Zeppelin had crashed before, all Hitler in Explosion) ‘where I can hide.’ We got there—Dr. Whatzis rest home—she hid behind a closet—demanded a blood transfusion. We were kicked out—tramping with Valise to unknown shady lawn houses—dusk, pine trees after dark—long dead street filled with crickets and poison ivy— I shut her up by now—big house REST HOME ROOMS—gave the landlady her money for the week—carried up the iron valise—sat on bed waiting to escape— Neat room in attic with friendly bedcover—lace curtains—spinning wheel rug—Stained wallpaper old as Naomi. We were home. I left on the next bus to New York—laid my head back in the last seat, depressed—the worst yet to come?—abandoning her, rode in torpor—I was only 12. Would she hide in her room and come out cheerful for breakfast? Or lock her door and stare thru the window for sidestreet spies? Listen at keyholes for Hitlerian invisible gas? Dream in a chair—or mock me, by—in front of a mirror, alone? 12 riding the bus at nite thru New Jersey, have left Naomi to Parcae in Lakewood’s haunted house—left to my own fate bus—sunk in a seat—all violins broken—my heart sore in my ribs—mind was empty—Would she were safe in her coffin— Or back at Normal School in Newark, studying up on America in a black skirt—winter on the street without lunch—a penny a pickle—home at night to take care of Elanor in the bedroom— First nervous breakdown was 1919—she stayed home from school and lay in a dark room for three weeks—something bad—never said what—every noise hurt—dreams of the creaks of Wall Street— Before the gray Depression—went upstate New York—recovered—Lou took photo of her sitting crossleg on the grass—her long hair wound with flowers—smiling—playing lullabies on mandolin—poison ivy smoke in left-wing summer camps and me in infancy saw trees— or back teaching school, laughing with idiots, the backward classes—her Russian specialty—morons with dreamy lips, great eyes, thin feet & sicky fingers, swaybacked, rachitic— great heads pendulous

over Alice in Wonderland, a blackboard full of C A T. Naomi reading patiently, story out of a Communist fairy book—Tale of the Sudden Sweetness of the Dictator—Forgiveness of Warlocks—Armies Kissing— Deathsheads Around the Green Table—The King & the Workers—Paterson Press printed them up in the ’30s till she went mad, or they folded, both. O Paterson! I got home late that nite. Louis was worried. How could I be so—didn’t I think? I shouldn’t have left her. Mad in Lakewood. Call the Doctor. Phone the home in the pines. Too late. Went to bed exhausted, wanting to leave the world (probably that year newly in love with R my high school mind hero, jewish boy who came a doctor later—then silent neat kid— I later laying down life for him, moved to Manhattan—followed him to college—Prayed on ferry to help mankind if admitted—vowed, the day I journeyed to Entrance Exam— by being honest revolutionary labor lawyer—would train for that—inspired by Sacco Vanzetti, Norman Thomas, Debs, Altgeld, Sand-burg, Poe—Little Blue Books. I wanted to be President, or Senator. ignorant woe—later dreams of kneeling by R’s shocked knees declaring my love of 1941—What sweetness he’d have shown me, tho, that I’d wished him & despaired—first love—a crush— Later a mortal avalanche, whole mountains of homosexuality, Matterhorns of cock, Grand Canyons of asshole—weight on my melancholy head— meanwhile I walked on Broadway imagining Infinity like a rubber ball without space beyond—what’s outside?—coming home to Graham Avenue still melancholy passing the lone green hedges across the street, dreaming after the movies—) The telephone rang at 2 A.M.—Emergency—she’d gone mad—Naomi hiding under the bed screaming bugs of Mussolini—Help! Louis! Buba! Fascists! Death!—the landlady frightened—old fag attendant screaming back at her— Terror, that woke the neighbors—old ladies on the second floor recovering from menopause—all those rags between thighs, clean sheets, sorry over lost babies—husbands ashen—children sneering at Yale, or putting oil in hair at CCNY—or trembling in Montclair State Teachers College like Eugene— Her big leg crouched to her breast, hand outstretched Keep Away, wool dress on her thighs, fur coat dragged under the bed—she barricaded herself under bedspring with suitcases. Louis in pajamas listening to phone, frightened—do now?—Who could know?—my fault, delivering her to solitude?—sitting in the dark room on the sofa, trembling, to figure out— He took the morning train to Lakewood, Naomi still under bed—thought he brought poison Cops—Naomi screaming—Louis what happened to your heart then? Have you been killed by Naomi’s ecstasy? Dragged her out, around the corner, a cab, forced her in with valise, but the driver left them off at drugstore. Bus stop, two hours’ wait. I lay in bed nervous in the 4-room apartment, the big bed in living room, next to Louis’ desk—shaking—he came home that nite, late, told me what happened. Naomi at the prescription counter defending herself from the enemy—racks of children’s books, douche bags, aspirins, pots, blood—‘Don’t come near me—murderers! Keep away! Promise not to kill me!’ Louis in horror at the soda fountain—with Lakewood girlscouts—Coke addicts—nurses—busmen hung on schedule—Police from country precinct, dumbed—and a priest dreaming of pigs on an ancient cliff? Smelling the air—Louis pointing to emptiness?—Customers vomiting their Cokes—or staring—Louis humiliated—Naomi triumphant—The Announcement of the Plot. Bus arrives, the drivers won’t have them on trip to New York. Phonecalls to Dr. Whatzis, ‘She needs a rest,’ The mental hospital—State Greystone Doctors—‘Bring her here, Mr. Ginsberg.’ Naomi, Naomi—sweating, bulge-eyed, fat, the dress unbuttoned at one side—hair over brow, her stocking hanging evilly on her legs—screaming for a blood transfusion—one righteous hand upraised—a shoe in it—barefoot in the Pharmacy— The enemies approach—what poisons? Tape recorders? FBI? Zhdanov hiding behind the counter? Trotsky mixing rat bacteria in the back of the store? Uncle Sam in Newark, plotting deathly

perfumes in the Negro district? Uncle Ephraim, drunk with murder in the politician’s bar, scheming of Hague? Aunt Rose passing water thru the needles of the Spanish Civil War? till the hired $35 ambulance came from Red Bank——Grabbed her arms—strapped her on the stretcher—moaning, poisoned by imaginaries, vomiting chemicals thru Jersey, begging mercy from Essex County to Morristown— And back to Greystone where she lay three years—that was the last breakthrough, delivered her to Madhouse again— On what wards—I walked there later, oft—old catatonic ladies, gray as cloud or ash or walls—sit crooning over floorspace—Chairs—and the wrinkled hags acreep, accusing—begging my 13-year-old mercy— ‘Take me home’—I went alone sometimes looking for the lost Naomi, taking Shock—and I’d say, ‘No, you’re crazy Mama,—Trust the Drs.’— And Eugene, my brother, her elder son, away studying Law in a furnished room in Newark— came Paterson-ward next day—and he sat on the broken-down couch in the living room—‘We had to send her back to Greystone’— —his face perplexed, so young, then eyes with tears—then crept weeping all over his face—‘What for?’ wail vibrating in his cheekbones, eyes closed up, high voice—Eugene’s face of pain. Him faraway, escaped to an Elevator in the Newark Library, his bottle daily milk on windowsill of $5 week furn room downtown at trolley tracks— He worked 8 hrs. a day for $20/wk—thru Law School years—stayed by himself innocent near negro whorehouses. Unlaid, poor virgin—writing poems about Ideals and politics letters to the editor Pat Eve News—(we both wrote, denouncing Senator Borah and Isolationists—and felt mysterious toward Paterson City Hall— I sneaked inside it once—local Moloch tower with phallus spire & cap o’ ornament, strange gothic Poetry that stood on Market Street—replica Lyons’ Hotel de Ville— wings, balcony & scrollwork portals, gateway to the giant city clock, secret map room full of Hawthorne—dark Debs in the Board of Tax—Rembrandt smoking in the gloom— Silent polished desks in the great committee room—Aldermen? Bd of Finance? Mosca the hairdresser aplot—Crapp the gangster issuing orders from the john—The madmen struggling over Zone, Fire, Cops & Backroom Metaphysics—we’re all dead—outside by the bus stop Eugene stared thru childhood— where the Evangelist preached madly for 3 decades, hard-haired, cracked & true to his mean Bible—chalked Prepare to Meet Thy God on civic pave— or God is Love on the railroad overpass concrete—he raved like I would rave, the lone Evangelist—Death on City Hall—) But Gene, young,—been Montclair Teachers College 4 years—taught half year & quit to go ahead in life—afraid of Discipline Problems—dark sex Italian students, raw girls getting laid, no English, sonnets disregarded—and he did not know much—just that he lost— so broke his life in two and paid for Law—read huge blue books and rode the ancient elevator 13 miles away in Newark & studied up hard for the future just found the Scream of Naomi on his failure doorstep, for the final time, Naomi gone, us lonely—home—him sitting there— Then have some chicken soup, Eugene. The Man of Evangel wails in front of City Hall. And this year Lou has poetic loves of suburb middle age—in secret—music from his 1937 book—Sincere—he longs for beauty— No love since Naomi screamed—since 1923?—now lost in Greystone ward—new shock for her—Electricity, following the 40 Insulin. And Metrazol had made her fat. So that a few years later she came home again—we’d much advanced and planned—I waited for that day—my Mother again to cook & —play the piano—sing at mandolin—Lung Stew, & Stenka Razin, & the communist line on the war with Finland—and Louis in debt—,uspected to he poisoned money—mysterious capitalisms —& walked down the long front hall & looked at the furniture. She never remembered it all. Some amnesia. Examined the doilies—and the dining room set was sold— the Mahogany table—20 years love—gone to the junk man—we still had the piano—and the book of Poe—and the Mandolin, tho needed some string, dusty— She went to the backroom to lie down in

bed and ruminate, or nap, hide—I went in with her, not leave her by herself—lay in bed next to her—shades pulled, dusky, late afternoon—Louis in front room at desk, waiting—perhaps boiling chicken for supper— ‘Don’t be afraid of me because I’m just coming back home from the mental hospital—I’m your mother—’ Poor love, lost—a fear—I lay there—Said, ‘I love you Naomi,’—stiff, next to her arm. I would have cried, was this the comfortless lone union?—Nervous, and she got up soon. Was she ever satisfied? And—by herself sat on the new couch by the front windows, uneasy—cheek leaning on her hand—narrowing eye—at what fate that day— Picking her tooth with her nail, lips formed an O, suspicion—thought’s old worn vagina—absent sideglance of eye—some evil debt written in the wall, unpaid—& the aged breasts of Newark come near— May have heard radio gossip thru the wires in her head, controlled by 3 big sticks left in her back by gangsters in amnesia, thru the hospital—caused pain between her shoulders— Into her head—Roosevelt should know her case, she told me—Afraid to kill her, now, that the government knew their names—traced back to Hitler—wanted to leave Louis’ house forever. One night, sudden attack—her noise in the bathroom—like croaking up her soul—convulsions and red vomit coming out of her mouth—diarrhea water exploding from her behind—on all fours in front of the toilet—urine running between her legs—left retching on the tile floor smeared with her black feces—unfainted— At forty, varicosed, nude, fat, doomed, hiding outside the apartment door near the elevator calling Police, yelling for her girlfriend Rose to help— Once locked herself in with razor or iodine—could hear her cough in tears at sink—Lou broke through glass green-painted door, we pulled her out to the bedroom. Then quiet for months that winter—walks, alone, nearby on Broadway, read Daily Worker—Broke her arm, fell on icy street— Began to scheme escape from cosmic financial murder-plots—later she ran away to the Bronx to her sister Elanor. And there’s another saga of late Naomi in New York. Or thru Elanor or the Workmen’s Circle, where she worked, ad-dressing envelopes, she made out—went shopping for Campbell’s tomato soup—saved money Louis mailed her— Later she found a boyfriend, and he was a doctor—Dr. Isaac worked for National Maritime Union—now Italian bald and pudgy old doll—who was himself an orphan—but they kicked him out—Old cruelties— Sloppier, sat around on bed or chair, in corset dreaming to herself—‘I’m hot—I’m getting fat—I used to have such a beautiful figure before I went to the hospital—You should have seen me in Woodbine—’ This in a furnished room around the NMU hall, 1943. Looking at naked baby pictures in the magazine—baby powder advertisements, strained lamb carrots—‘I will think nothing but beautiful thoughts.’ Revolving her head round and round on her neck at window light in summertime, in hypnotize, in doven-dream recall— ‘I touch his cheek, I touch his cheek, he touches my lips with his hand, I think beautiful thoughts, the baby has a beautiful hand.’— Or a No-shake of her body, disgust—some thought of Buchenwald—some insulin passes thru her head—a grimace nerve shudder at Involuntary (as shudder when I piss)—bad chemical in her cortex—‘No don’t think of that. He’s a rat.’ Naomi: ‘And when we die we become an onion, a cabbage, a carrot, or a squash, a vegetable.’ I come downtown from Columbia and agree. She reads the Bible, thinks beautiful thoughts all day. ‘Yesterday I saw God. What did he look like? Well, in the afternoon I climbed up a ladder—he has a cheap cabin in the country, like Monroe, N.Y. the chicken farms in the wood. He was a lonely old man with a white beard. ‘I cooked supper for him. I made him a nice supper—lentil soup, vegetables, bread & butter—miltz—he sat down at the table and ate, he was sad. ‘I told him, Look at all those fightings and killings down there, What’s the matter? Why don’t you put a stop to it? ‘I try, he said—That’s all he could do, he looked tired. He’s a bachelor so long, and he likes lentil

soup.’ Serving me meanwhile, a plate of cold fish—chopped raw cabbage dript with tapwater—smelly tomatoes—week-old health food—grated beets & carrots with leaky juice, warm—more and more disconsolate food—I can’t eat it for nausea sometimes—the Charity of her hands stinking with Manhattan, madness, desire to please me, cold undercooked fish—pale red near the bones. Her smells—and oft naked in the room, so that I stare ahead, or turn a book ignoring her. One time I thought she was trying to make me come lay her—flirting to herself at sink—lay back on huge bed that filled most of the room, dress up round her hips, big slash of hair, scars of operations, pancreas, belly wounds, abortions, appendix, stitching of incisions pulling down in the fat like hideous thick zippers—ragged long lips between her legs—What, even, smell of asshole? I was cold—later revolted a little, not much—seemed perhaps a good idea to try—know the Monster of the Beginning Womb—Perhaps—that way. Would she care? She needs a lover. Yisborach, v’yistabach, v’yispoar, v’yisroman, v’yisnaseh, v’yishador, v’yishalleh, v’yishallol, sh’meh d’kudsho, b’rich hu. And Louis reestablishing himself in Paterson grimy apartment in negro district—living in dark rooms—but found himself a girl he later married, falling in love again—tho sere & shy—hurt with 20 years Naomi’s mad idealism. Once I came home, after longtime in N.Y., he’s lonely—sitting in the bedroom, he at desk chair turned round to face me—weeps, tears in red eyes under his glasses— That we’d left him—Gene gone strangely into army—she out on her own in N.Y., almost childish in her furnished room. So Louis walked downtown to postoffice to get mail, taught in highschool—stayed at poetry desk, forlorn—ate grief at Bickford’s all these years—are gone. Eugene got out of the Army, came home changed and lone—cut off his nose in jewish operation—for years stopped girls on Broadway for cups of coffee to get laid—Went to NYU, serious there, to finish Law.— And Gene lived with her, ate naked fishcakes, cheap, while she got crazier—He got thin, or felt helpless, Naomi striking 1920 poses at the moon, half-naked in the next bed. bit his nails and studied—was the weird nurse-son—Next year he moved to a room near Columbia—though she wanted to live with her children— ‘Listen to your mother’s plea, I beg you’—Louis still sending her checks—I was in bughouse that year 8 months—my own visions unmentioned in this here Lament— But then went half mad—Hitler in her room, she saw his mustache in the sink—afraid of Dr. Isaac now, suspecting that he was in on the Newark plot—went up to Bronx to live near Elanor’s Rheumatic Heart— And Uncle Max never got up before noon, tho Naomi at 6 A.M. was listening to the radio for spies—or searching the windowsill, for in the empty lot downstairs, an old man creeps with his bag stuffing packages of garbage in his hanging black overcoat. Max’s sister Edie works—17 years bookkeeper at Gimbels—lived downstairs in apartment house, divorced—so Edie took in Naomi on Rochambeau Ave— Woodlawn Cemetery across the street, vast dale of graves where Poe once—Last stop on Bronx subway—lots of communists in that area. Who enrolled for painting classes at night in Bronx Adult High School—walked alone under Van Cortlandt Elevated line to class—paints Naomiisms— Humans sitting on the grass in some Camp No-Worry summers yore—saints with droopy faces and long-ill-fitting pants, from hospital— Brides in front of Lower East Side with short grooms—lost El trains running over the Babylonian apartment rooftops in the Bronx— Sad paintings—but she expressed herself. Her mandolin gone, all strings broke in her head, she tried. Toward Beauty? or some old life Message? But started kicking Elanor, and Elanor had heart trouble—came upstairs and asked her about Spydom for hours,—Elanor frazzled. Max away at office, accounting for cigar stores till at night. ‘I am a great woman—am truly a beautiful soul—and because of that they (Hitler, Grandma, Hearst, the Capitalists, Franco, Daily News, the ’20s, Mussolini, the living

dead) want to shut me up—Buba’s the head of a spider network—’ Kicking the girls, Edie & Elanor—Woke Edie at midnite to tell her she was a spy and Elanor a rat. Edie worked all day and couldn’t take it—She was organizing the union.—And Elanor began dying, upstairs in bed. The relatives call me up, she’s getting worse—I was the only one left—Went on the subway with Eugene to see her, ate stale fish— ‘My sister whispers in the radio—Louis must be in the apartment—his mother tells him what to say—LIARS!—I cooked for my two children—I played the mandolin—’ Last night the nightingale woke me / Last night when all was still / it sang in the golden moonlight / from on the wintry hill. She did. I pushed her against the door and shouted ‘DON’T KICK ELANOR!’—she stared at me—Contempt—die—disbelief her sons are so naive, so dumb—‘Elanor is the worst spy! She’s taking orders!’ ‘—No wires in the room!’—I’m yelling at her—last ditch, Eugene listening on the bed—what can he do to escape that fatal Mama—‘You’ve been away from Louis years already—Grandma’s too old to walk—’ We’re all alive at once then—even me & Gene & Naomi in one mythological Cousinesque room—screaming at each other in the Forever—I in Columbia jacket, she half undressed. I banging against her head which saw Radios, Sticks, Hitlers—the gamut of Hallucinations—for real—her own universe—no road that goes elsewhere—to my own—No America, not even a world— That you go as all men, as Van Gogh, as mad Hannah, all the same—to the last doom—Thunder, Spirits, lightning! I’ve seen your grave! O strange Naomi! My own—cracked grave! Shema Y’Israel—I am Svul Avrum—you—in death? Your last night in the darkness of the Bronx—I phonecalled—thru hospital to secret police that came, when you and I were alone, shrieking at Elanor in my ear—who breathed hard in her own bed, got thin— Nor will forget, the doorknock, at your fright of spies,—Law advancing, on my honor—Eternity entering the room—you running to the bathroom undressed, hiding in protest from the last heroic fate— staring at my eyes, betrayed—the final cops of madness rescuing me—from your foot against the broken heart of Elanor, your voice at Edie weary of Gimbels coming home to broken radio—and Louis needing a poor divorce, he wants to get married soon—Eugene dreaming, hiding at 125 St., suing negroes for money on crud furniture, defending black girls— Protests from the bathroom—Said you were sane—dressing in a cotton robe, your shoes, then new, your purse and newspaper clippingsno—your honesty— as you vainly made your lips more real with lipstick, looking in the mirror to see if the Insanity was Me or a earful of police. or Grandma spying at 78—Your vision—Her climbing over the walls of the cemetery with political kidnapper’s bag—or what you saw on the walls of the Bronx, in pink nightgown at midnight, staring out the window on the empty lot— Ah Rochambeau Ave.—Playground of Phantoms—last apartment in the Bronx for spies—last home for Elanor or Naomi, here these communist sisters lost their revolution— ‘All right—put on your coat Mrs.—let’s go—We have the wagon downstairs—you want to come with her to the station?’ The ride then—held Naomi’s hand, and held her head to my breast, I’m taller—kissed her and said I did it for the best—Elanor sick—and Max with heart condition—Needs— To me—‘Why did you do this?’—‘Yes Mrs., your son will have to leave you in an hour’—The Ambulance came in a few hours—drove off at 4 A.M. to some Bellevue in the night downtown—gone to the hospital forever. I saw her led away—she waved, tears in her eyes. Two years, after a trip to Mexico—bleak in the flat plain near Brentwood, scrub brush and grass around the unused RR train track to the crazyhouse— new brick 20 story central building—lost on the vast lawns of madtown on Long Island—huge cities of the moon. Asylum spreads out giant wings above the path to a minute black hole—the door—entrance thru crotch— I went in—smelt funny—the halls again—up elevator—to a glass door on a Women’s Ward—to Naomi—Two nurses buxom white—They led her out, Naomi

stared—and I gaspt—She’d had a stroke— Too thin, shrunk on her bones—age come to Naomi—now broken into white hair—loose dress on her skeleton—face sunk, old! withered—cheek of crone— One hand stiff—heaviness of forties & menopause reduced by one heart stroke, lame now—wrinkles—a scar on her head, the lobotomy—ruin, the hand dipping downwards to death— O Russian faced, woman on the grass, your long black hair is crowned with flowers, the mandolin is on your knees— Communist beauty, sit here married in the summer among daisies, promised happiness at hand— holy mother, now you smile on your love, your world is born anew, children run naked in the field spotted with dandelions, they eat in the plum tree grove at the end of the meadow and find a cabin where a white-haired negro teaches the mystery of his rainbarrel— blessed daughter come to America, I long to hear your voice again, remembering your mother’s music, in the Song of the Natural Front— O glorious muse that bore me from the womb, gave suck first mystic life & taught me talk and music, from whose pained head I first took Vision— Tortured and beaten in the skull—What mad hallucinations of the damned that drive me out of my own skull to seek Eternity till I find Peace for Thee, O Poetry—and for all humankind call on the Origin Death which is the mother of the universe!—Now wear your nakedness forever, white flowers in your hair, your marriage sealed behind the sky—no revolution might destroy that maidenhood— O beautiful Garbo of my Karma—all photographs from 1920 in Camp Nicht-Gedeiget here unchanged—with all the teachers from Vewark—Nor Elanor be gone, nor Max await his specter—nor Louis retire from this High School— Back! You! Naomi! Skull on you! Gaunt immortality and revolution come—small broken woman—the ashen indoor eyes of hospitals, ward grayness on skin— ‘Are you a spy?’ I sat at the sour table, eyes filling with tears—‘Who are you? Did Louis send you?—The wires—’ in her hair, as she beat on her head—‘I’m not a bad girl—don’t murder me!—I hear the ceiling—I raised two children—’ Two years since I’d been there—I started to cry—She stared—nurse broke up the meeting a moment—I went into the bathroom to hide, against the toilet white walls ‘The Horror’ I weeping—to see her again—‘The Horror’—as if she were dead thru funeral rot in—‘The Horror!’ I came back she yelled more—they led her away—‘You’re not Allen—’ I watched her face—but she passed by me, not looking— Opened the door to the ward,—she went thru without a glance back, quiet suddenly—I stared out—she looked old—the verge of the grave—‘All the Horror!’ Another year, I left N.Y.—on West Coast in Berkeley cottage dreamed of her soul—that, thru life, in what form it stood in that body, ashen or manic, gone beyond joy— near its death—with eyes—was my own love in its form, the Naomi, my mother on earth still—sent her long letter—& wrote hymns to the mad—Work of the merciful Lord of Poetry. that causes the broken grass to be green, or the rock to break in grass—or the Sun to be constant to earth—Sun of all sunflowers and days on bright iron bridges—what shines on old hospitals—as on my yard— Returning from San Francisco one night, Orlovsky in my room—Whalen in his peaceful chair—a telegram from Gene, Naomi dead— Outside I bent my head to the ground under the bushes near the garage—knew she was better— at last—not left to look on Earth alone—2 years of solitude—no one, at age nearing 60—old woman of skulls—once long-tressed Naomi of Bible— or Ruth who wept in America—Rebecca aged in Newark—David remembering his Harp, now lawyer at Yale or Srul Avrum—Israel Abraham—myself—to sing in the wilderness toward God—O Elohim!—so to the end—2 days after her death I got her letter— Strange Prophecies anew! She wrote—‘The key is in the window, the key is in the sunlight at the window—I have the key—Get married Allen don’t take drugs—the key is in the bars, in the sunlight in the window. Love, your mother’ which is Naomi— Hymmnn In the world which He has created according to his will Blessed Praised Magnified Lauded

Exalted the Name of the Holy One Blessed is He! In the house in Newark Blessed is He! In the madhouse Blessed is He! In the house of Death Blessed is He! Blessed be He in homosexuality! Blessed be He in Paranoia! Blessed be He in the city! Blessed be He in the Book! Blessed be He who dwells in the shadow! Blessed be He! Blessed be He! Blessed be you Naomi in tears! Blessed be you Naomi in fears! Blessed Blessed Blessed in sickness! Blessed be you Naomi in Hospitals! Blessed be you Naomi in solitude! Blest be your triumph! Blest be your bars! Blest be your last years’ loneliness! Blest be your failure! Best be your stroke! Blest be the close of your eye! Blest be the gaunt of your cheek! Blest be your withered thighs! Blessed be Thee Naomi in Death! Blessed be Death! Blessed be Death! Blessed be He Who leads all sorrow to Heaven! Blessed be He in the end! Blessed be He who builds Heaven in Darkness! Blessed Blessed Blessed be He! Blessed be He! Blessed be Death on us All! III Only to have not forgotten the beginning in which she drank cheap sodas in the morgues of Newark, only to have seen her weeping on gray tables in long wards of her universe only to have known the weird ideas of Hitler at the door, the wires in her head, the three big sticks rammed down her back, the voices in the ceiling shrieking out her ugly early lays for 30 years, only to have seen the time-jumps, memory lapse, the crash of wars, the roar and silence of a vast electric shock, only to have seen her painting crude pictures of Elevateds running over the rooftops of the Bronx her brothers dead in Riverside or Russia, her lone in Long Island writing a last letter—and her image in the sunlight at the window ‘The key is in the sunlight at the window in the bars the key is in the sunlight,’ only to have come to that dark night on iron bed by stroke when the sun gone down on Long Island and the vast Atlantic roars outside the great call of Being to its own to come back out of the Nightmare—divided creation—with her head lain on a pillow of the hospital to die —in one last glimpse—all Earth one everlasting Light in the familiar black-out—no tears for this vision— But that the key should be left behind—at the window—the key in the sunlight—to the living—that can take that slice of light in hand—and turn the door—and look back see Creation glistening backwards to the same grave, size of universe, size of the tick of the hospital's clock on the archway over the white door— IV O mother what have I left out O mother what have I forgotten O mother farewell with a long black shoe farewell with Communist Party and a broken stocking farewell with six dark hairs on the wen of your breast farewell with your old dress and a long black beard around the vagina farewell with your sagging belly with your fear of Hitler with your mouth of bad short stories with your fingers of rotten mandolins with your arms of fat Paterson porches with your belly of strikes and smokestacks with your chin of Trotsky and the Spanish War with your voice singing for the decaying overbroken workers with your nose of bad lay with your nose of the smell of the pickles of Newark with your eyes with your eyes of Russia with your eyes of no money with your eyes of false China with your eyes of Aunt Elanor with your eyes of starving India with your eyes pissing in the park with your eyes of America taking a fall with your eyes of your failure at the piano with your eyes of your relatives in California with your eyes of Ma Rainey dying in an aumbulance with your eyes of Czechoslovakia attacked by robots with your eyes going to painting class at night in the Bronx with your eyes of the killer Grandma you see on the horizon from the Fire-Escape with your eyes running naked out of the apartment screaming into the hall with your eyes being led away by policemen to an aumbulance with your eyes strapped down on the operating table with your eyes with the pancreas removed with your eyes of appendix operation with your eyes of abortion with your eyes of ovaries removed with your eyes of shock with your

eyes of lobotomy with your eyes of divorce with your eyes of stroke with your eyes alone with your eyes with your eyes with your Death full of Flowers V Caw caw caw crows shriek in the white sun over grave stones in Long Island Lord Lord Lord Naomi underneath this grass my halflife and my own as hers caw caw my eye be buried in the same Ground where I stand in Angel Lord Lord great Eye that stares on All and moves in a black cloud caw caw strange cry of Beings flung up into sky over the waving trees Lord Lord O Grinder of giant Beyonds my voice in a boundless field in Sheol Caw caw the call of Time rent out of foot and wing an instant in the universe Lord Lord an echo in the sky the wind through ragged leaves the roar of memory caw caw all years my birth a dream caw caw New York the bus the broken shoe the vast highschool caw caw all Visions of the Lord Lord Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord Paris, December 1957—New York, 1959

#im a collector im a maniac #poetry #not mine

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rahleeyah · 3 years

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Same anon as before. I’m mainly just pissed I think because, after El left, everything magically went great for him, good money, his marriage is suddenly perfect. All the while they put Liv though f-ing hell, yes she has Noah now but she was put through so much again and again and still is. While they gave El a perfect life in Rome.

And now instead of making sure Liv is okay after finding out about Simon he goes and sets up a date with Angela because he has “deep feelings”...why do they keep doing this? And after dropping and I love you to Liv last episode... Also the dinner scene that was teased a ton got cut.

I would love to find out down the track that Elliot's life in Rome wasn't as rosy as they make it out to be. I think they did that as a way to sharpen his initial grief at losing Kathy, like giving them a fairytale life somehow makes it even harder to bear losing her. But you're absolutely right, compared to everything Liv has been thru...shit ain't right. And I want, more than anything, for her to tell Elliot that. He needs to know!!! When he first finds out about Simon he is clearly shaken and he is earnest when he says I'm sorry to Liv but they're on the job and she doesn't really give them a chance to linger in that moment. That was not the time to address it. But god, when will the time come???? OC is his show and so Liv is only there as an extension of him really, but that's so frustrating bc SVU has been avoiding the issue of her feelings wrt to him and OC isn't gonna dig into her pain. but we need it!! Please!!!

I really do think what's happening with Elliot makes sense from the standpoint of his grief/confusion. Like. Something like this happens, sometimes people kinda...lose it. He is spiralling. He is searching for comfort. He is chasing something, he just doesn't know what it is. He gets shot at, he fights with Liv, he sees that Liv doubts him now in a way she hasn't before, Bell tells him to choose someone else to move on with, Angela is beautiful and smart and interesting and understands his grief and doesn't judge it for and crucially she isn't trying to make him a better man. He doesn't have to work on himself with her, he doesn't have to face his feelings; it is dangerous and not healthy and he does step back from her bc he realizes it's not a good idea at all.

Yes, ok, they agreed to go to dinner, but she really manipulated the hell out of that man bc he went there to tell her no more and by the time she was finished with him she had him agreeing to going out - but going dutch. Like that matters, Elliot. if she really is the villain, she got him right where are wants him lmao

I really, really think we're approaching a tipping point with this. I'm not sold on whether or not Angela actually is responsible (I really hope she is BC THAT WOULD BE FASCINATING if she was the mastermind all along) where Elliot is gonna get a handle on his toxic behavior. He's lashing out, bouncing from one thing to the next, but he is also in some ways starting to settle. He's starting to see a way out. He's starting to worry about people other than himself.

Listen he didn't have to pull Liv's chair out for her. He didn't have to hold her hand. The whole thing with them being shot at really just seems like an excuse to let him cover her and then protect her with IAB. They keep making these very deliberate choices and I still feel like it's building to something. They've got time to let this all unfold.

I do wanna know what the diner scene was lmao it reminds me of the "are you in love with detective stabler" line in Philadelphia being edited between the promos and airing. And I haaaaaate that, I would rather no teaser at all than a teaser for something we're never gonna get.

They have all the elements here - the letter, the I love you, all those references to Tucker, Simon - to do something really, really compelling before these epis are done. Will they? We'll see. I feel confident that by the time this ends nothing will be certain; gotta have something for next season. I also feel fairly confident Angela won't be in s2 of OC; the case is amping up and they're on a timeline to get it wrapped up now, and I think I read somewhere that if OC gets picked up each season will be centered on a different case, so he'd move on from Wheatley. And maybe they'd keep Angela around but it feels more likely they'd do a full change up and we won't see her again.

Shit, maybe she'll die.

Just gotta wait and see fam.

#anonymous

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aespawpaq · 3 years

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Netflix and Chill (3)

IMAX and CLIMAX

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; sh is an avid history channel viewer, sh hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, sh goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

Sunghoon sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Sunghoon’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

Sunghoon scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Sunghoon greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Isa swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Isa, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Sunghoon picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Sunghoon’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Sunghoon invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Sunghoon not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Sunghoon is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Sunghoonie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Sunghoon was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Sunghoon rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Sunghoon, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Sunghoon’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Sunghoon apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Sunghoon’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Sunghoon laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

——

You rarely use the key Sunghoon gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Sunghoon’s house were either the result of Sunghoon picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Sunghoon inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

His mom was going to kill him.

“ Sunghoon?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Sunghoon had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, hoon, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Heeseung would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Sunghoon goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Sunghoon doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Sunghoon’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “hoon, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Sunghoon’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Sunghoon sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

Sunghoon scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Sunghoon sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Sunghoon crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Sunghoon’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Sunghoon quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Sunghoon clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Sunghoon will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Sunghoon is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Sunghoon has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Sunghoon scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Sunghoon falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

Sunghoon says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Sunghoon sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Sunghoon laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Sunghoon teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Sunghoon has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

Sunghoon groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Sunghoon preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Sunghoon, you always came first. Sunghoon’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Sunghoon was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Sunghoon grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Sunghoon’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Sunghoon kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Sunghoon was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Sunghoon rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Sunghoon’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

Any other day Sunghoon would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today… well.

You were playing a different game.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

The action makes Sunghoon scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Sunghoon, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Sunghoon never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Sunghoon had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Sunghoon gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

Sunghoon was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Sunghoon leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Sunghoon smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Sunghoon sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Sunghoon hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Sunghoon doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Sunghoon adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Sunghoon‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Sunghoon, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Sunghoon finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

Sensing your uncertainty, Sunghoon tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Sunghoon kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Sunghoon takes your wrists in his hands.

Sunghoon mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Sunghoon that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Sunghoon smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “hoon!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Sunghoon’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Sunghoon either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “ Sunghoon, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Sunghoon wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

Sunghoon chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Sunghoon reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Sunghoon’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

Behind you Sunghoon tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Sunghoon scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

“And?” Sunghoon asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Sunghoon snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Sunghoon barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “hoon— Sunghoon!”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Sunghoon nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Park Sunghoon, maybe Isa was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Sunghoon is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Sunghoon responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your hoon now.”

“My… hoon,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Sunghoon chases both your second orgasms.

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Sunghoon hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Sunghoon catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

Sunghoon laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don’t wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Park Sunghoon,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Sunghoon’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

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