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lixzey · 17 days

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Bf!Luke Castellan x Filipina child of Aphrodite!reader please? I haven't seen any of Filipina readers so I'm begging on my knees 🥺

In which she misses home terribly and decides to cook some of her fave food (preferably sinigang, adobo, or like something else! you can do some research, if you'd like 🫶🏻)

And she makes Luke try it! But he's so whiny bcs he hasn't even heard of the dish's name.

Anywaaay, I loved lovelorn!!! Waiting for the next update like 👀 Your writing is just so 🤌🏻 chef's kiss!!

late night cravings

summary: you miss home terribly, so you decide to cook your favorite ulam

warnings: filipina!reader x luke castellan! they're both 19 (set before tlt), they're like on vacation (luke and reader have an apartment in the east village, courtesy of reader’s dad who’s a filipino actor) away from camp duties for a while, swearing (both filipino and english), luke is a picky ass eater, making out, kinda suggestive content

a/n: i got so excited with this 😭 i'm a filipina and an aphrodite kid, so this was so fun to write! I hope you like it!

“What on earth are you cooking?” Luke asks, leaning against the kitchen door frame of the apartment the two of you own. “I woke up to the smell of that.”

You immediately whip your head around to see your boyfriend, half naked and disheveled from sleep. “Well, hello to you too, sunshine,” You chuckle, blowing strands of your hair away from your face.

“It's the middle of the night, princess, and you're cooking something that smells like vomit.” Luke grumbles as he makes his way towards you, still bleary eyed as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“I just missed home,” You giggle, reaching to grab the tongs to flip over the daing na bangus so it doesn’t burn. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Yeah, it smells like shit.” Luke complains, burying his face in your neck. “It’s stinking up the whole place.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” You chuckle, placing the tongs down on a plate, escaping Luke’s grasp and making your way to the kitchen island, leaning against it. “It’s good, I promise.”

Luke stares at the pan. “I am not eating that thing.” He then turns to you, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Where’s the mac and cheese?”

“It’s just milkfish, dummy.” You roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s refusal to eat anything other than mac and cheese. “Also, you finished the last box of mac hours ago, remember?”

“Ramen?” Luke asks, hopeful that there’s still some left other than the fish that’s stinking up the whole apartment.

When you shook your head, literal fear crept onto his handsome face. “Anything else?” He asks, his voice cracking like a teenaged boy going through puberty for the first time, making you burst into a fit of giggles.

“There’s nothing left, you’ve finished everything.” You say through fits of laughter at your boyfriend’s food crisis. “Guess you’ll have to deal with the food I’m gonna cook.”

Luke’s eyes comically widen, like one of those cartoon characters you’ve watched when you were a kid. “There’s more?”

“Yeah,” You nod, jerking your head to the refrigerator littered with lots of printed photos of the dates you and Luke went on over the years you’ve been together. “I marinated some pork for adobo.”

“Ado-what?”

“Adobo, it’s a Filipino staple.” You answer with a chuckle. “It’s pork marinated in vinegar, soy sauce, and some garlic. I added some peppercorns too. My lola used to cook it for me when I was a kid.”

Luke makes his way to you, his large hands creeping onto your waist, lifting you up onto the counter. “As much as you love it, princess, I’m not eating any of it.”

“And why not?” You scoff, raising a brow at him.

“I don’t like it, that’s why.” Luke insists, kissing your forehead. “I’m gonna go and get some real food.”

You sigh, annoyed by your boyfriend’s pickiness in food. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s been choosing what he eats like a child. It was always mac and cheese, chicken, pizza, and burgers. It was a struggle to feed him, honestly. Since he won’t eat anything apart from what he’s used to. Luke was lucky that the dryads serve mac almost with every meal—which is mostly for the kids or a side dish. You’ve tried to incorporate vegetables in his meals but somehow he always notices. It was infuriating, to the point that you just wanted to shove a broccoli floret down his throat.

All of a sudden, the smell of burning infiltrates your sense of smell, triggering the fire alarms simultaneously.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” You frantically mutter, jumping off the kitchen island and running to the burning bangus on the stove. You grab the pan, forgetting it was on the fire for minutes on end. “Putangina!” You swear, abruptly pulling your hand off the pan’s handle.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, here,” Luke grabs the pan with oven mitts, placing it on the counter.

You sigh as you stare at the burnt fish, hearing the pan hiss against the cold surface.

Luke, being the best boyfriend that he is, pulls you in a tight hug, his body heat engulfing you. “It’s okay, princess. It was an accident.”

“I’ve been craving that,” You mumble against his chest. “Stupid fire.”

“You still have the first one you cooked,” Luke points out. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You raise your head, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.” you mumble, lower lip out in a pout.

“Don’t be sad over a burnt fish, alright?”

You glare at him, pinching his side. “It was a tasty fish.”

“Geez, princess,” Luke scowls playfully. “A fish is more important than me?”

“Shut up,” You hiss, rolling your eyes. “I paid five bucks for that.”

Luke raises a brow at you. “When did you even get time to get them?”

“You sleep like a lamb, baby,” You chuckle, turning to walk to the refrigerator. “I went to a Filipino store.”

“There’s one in New York?” Luke asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you said there weren’t any?”

“That was years ago, dummy.” You snort, grabbing the refrigerator handle, opening it. “Anyway, look what I got.”

An array of Filipino snacks filled the middle shelf of the fridge. You had gone all out. It wasn’t often that you splurge on food, but when a craving hits, it hits.

There were some Choco Mallows—chocolate covered marshmallows—your favorite treat as a child that your lola always bought for you. A jar of ube macapuno that you hated as a child but learned to love just recently. Some dried mangoes, pastillas, a jar of wafer sticks—stik o—a slice of brazo de mercedes, and many more.

“How the hell are you even gonna finish all of that?”

You shake your head, smirking. “You and I are gonna eat each and every item that I bought.”

Luke scowls, folding his toned arms over his chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Castellan,” You say, placing your hands on your hips. “You are going to eat whatever I serve you.”

Luke pouts, pairing it off with puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“Nope.”

“That smells like vomit,” Luke complains as you seared the marinated pork for adobo. “And it looks like it too!”

“Quit it,” You say with a murderous glare. “Don’t yap at it until you’ve tasted it.”

“I think I’m going to puke all my guts out,” Luke gags, making his way to the sink.

“For the love of the gods,” You groan, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his childishness. It was just food, and he’s whining about it like there’s no tomorrow.

You turn your attention away from your picky eater of a boyfriend and back to the pan with the pork searing brown nicely. You then grab the remaining liquid from the marinade—which was not much, which it would have to do—pouring it in, causing the pan to hiss at the difference in temperature. You turn the stove down to medium high heat, before leaving it to simmer.

Much to Luke’s misery.

“You aren’t covering it?” Luke asks incredulously. “It’s smelling the place worse than the fish did!”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Luke.” You sigh, grabbing a pouch of dried mangoes before taking a seat on one of the bar stools over the kitchen island. “It’s gonna taste good, I promise.”

“Ugh,” Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gag me.”

“Nah, you’d like it too much.” You giggle, popping a slice of dried mango in your mouth.

Luke scoffs playfully. “Damn right I will, princess.”

“Then stop whining,”

“You love me,” Luke grins as he walks towards you, capturing your lips in his, his hand cupping your face.

You hum as your lips mold with his, your shoulders relaxing as he kisses you.

You pull away from the kiss, pushing him slightly. “You’re distracting me, Castellan,” you sigh dreamily, a soft blush covering your cheeks as your boyfriend looks at you like you’re the only thing in this world.

Luke leans in, his lips brushing against your lips as he trails towards your ear. “Is it working?” he whispers, his breath hot on your skin.

“Luke,” You murmur, placing your hand on his chest. “Stop, I don’t want to burn the adobo.”

Luke chuckles, his fingers tangling with the ends of your hair. “Alright, but later?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “If you promise to taste the adobo and bangus,” You smirk at him, pushing him slightly away from your body as you stand up. “Maybe I’ll let it happen, you know? On this counter.”

“Do I really have to?”

“If you want to bend me over this counter, yes.”

Luke sighs as he reluctantly nods. “Fine, I’ll taste them.”

“That’s a good boy,” You coo, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Go and sit,” you jerk your head towards the bar stool you just stood up from. “It’ll be ready in a few.”

Luke obliges, sitting on the stool with his arms crossed over the other. He grins at you, a mischievous look you know oh so well in his beautiful browns.

Luke was teasing you, the little shit.

You chuckle, shaking your head, before turning to make your way to the stove, swaying your hips as you did—earning a small grunt from Luke behind you.

As you check up on the adobo, you see that almost half of the liquids have evaporated, leaving you with a slightly oily adobo—just the way you liked it. You turned down the heat, grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer to check if the pork was tender.

You poke the fork through the meat effortlessly, making you smile. The perfect adobo.

You quickly grab a plate and load it up with the delicious ulam you’ve grown up with, hoping Luke would appreciate it as much as you did.

“Here it is,” You excitedly announce, serving the adobo with a spoon and fork in front of him with a proud smile etched on your lips. “It’s better with rice, but it’s good on its own too.”

Luke stares at the meat in front of him, as if the adobo was going to attack him if he wasn’t vigilant enough. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

You raise a brow at him. “Like what?”

“Like it’s burnt,”

You sigh, taking a seat beside him. “It’s supposed to look like that, but it isn’t burnt. It’s because of the searing, plus the soy sauce the pork has already absorbed.” You grab the utensils, shoveling a healthy amount of meat and sauce on the spoon using the fork. “Open wide, baby!”

Luke shook his head. “I think I’m okay.”

“Luke,” You growl, raising the adobo filled spoon up to his mouth. “Open your fucking mouth before I shove this spoon down your throat forcibly.”

Luke raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, geez,” he chuckles, opening his mouth up. “Be gentle with me, princess.”

You glare at him before pushing the spoon inside of his mouth. “If you spit that out, you’re sleeping on the damn floor.”

Luke chews the contents of his mouth, his eyes widening. “Fuck, this is good!” He grins as he pulls the plate in front of him and immediately takes another spoonful. “Mhmm, that hits the spot!” Luke says through a mouth full of the savory pork dish you cooked.

“Good, baby?” You giggle, reaching to grab the fork from him to get a bite of your masterpiece. “Don’t finish it all, save some for me!”

“Losers, weepeers, baby,” Luke mumbles through bites. “You sure you didn’t use any love magic on this?”

You recoil, slapping his arm playfully. “I did not use gayuma, Castellan.”

“Gayuma?”

“It’s love magic, in Filipino,” You answer, taking another bite of your food. “I have got to teach you more Filipino words.”

“I’m in love with this—what is it called again?”

“Adobo,” You laugh, taking a bite of the said ulam. “Pork adobo.”

“Pork adobo, I love you!” Luke grins, like it’s the first time he’s ever tried food in eons.

You smile lovingly at your boy, looking all so happy and content. You could spend eternities just staring at him. Seeing Luke happy made you feel complete, like you’ve fulfilled a quest greater than anything the gods could dish out.

You could see a future with the man in front of you. You’ve honestly got nothing figured out, but Luke? He was the only thing you’ve got right in your life. You could see him, being the man you’d marry and spend the rest of your life with. You could see him being the father of your children, a little Luke and a little version of you, running around the front yard while you and Luke watch on the front porch with a multitude of toys sprawled around.

You fell in love with a careless god’s careful son, and he is the best thing that’s ever been yours.

“Princess,” You hear Luke call out to you, snapping you out of your daydreams. You look up, meeting his loving gaze, making your cheeks burn. Gods, it’s not fair of him to make me feel this much.

“Yeah?” You hum, moving your chair closer to him, smiling as you did. “What is it?”

Luke cups your face in his large hands, pulling you in close, barely an inch apart. “I love you.”

Your heart beats rapidly inside your rib cage, wondering how on earth does he manage to still make you feel like that giddy teenager who fell in love with him years ago.

You stare in his eyes for what felt like eons. You could feel Luke’s breath hot on your lips, begging you to seal it inside of him with a kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, a small smile curling onto your lips. “I love you too, baby.” you whisper, before closing in the distance between the two of you.

Luke’s hands make their way down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap, making you gasp. He takes advantage of your lips parting, sliding his tongue in, eager to taste you—even though he’s done it more times than he could count.

His lips were soft, like a cloud grazing yours. He tasted sweet, like cotton candy, but with a hint of smoke and citrus playing at your taste buds. You should have been used to it by now, being in a relationship with Luke for almost three years and all. But his touch numbs you. His touch is like being dipped into the cold ocean, pulling you in—drowning you, until he’s bruised into your mind.

Your hands creep around the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss—if it was even possible given the state of your tongues clashing with one another, fighting to assert dominance. You bite Luke’s lower lip, causing a groan to escape his mouth. You feel this familiar heat pool inside your belly, along with something hard poking your ass.

You pull away from the kiss, lips swollen as you catch your breath. Before you could utter a word, Luke lifts you up on the counter, making you erupt in a fit of giggles. He then presses his forehead against yours, you could hear his slow breaths as your noses bump into each other.

“So, you lettin’ it happen, huh, princess?”

“You didn’t try the other one,” You feign annoyance, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Can’t make an exception for me, princess?” Luke smirks, his fingers delicately brushing against your arms.

“I think I can squeeze you in,” You chuckle, pulling away from him with a teasing grin. “You good with that, mister?”

“I’ll take anything as long as it’s with you.” Luke grabs your waist, pulling you back close to him. “Gods, you are so beautiful.” he whispers, his hand cupping your face.

“I love you,” You murmur, placing your hand on his chest, on the place where his heart rests. “More than anything.”

“You are the best thing in my life.” Luke sighs before leaning in to kiss you again like his life depended on it, wrapping his arms around you like a vice. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling and tugging on his curls as if he was your lifeline.

Luke’s hands fumble with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, momentarily breaking the kiss. He quickly reaches behind, unclasping your bra in one swift movement, tearing the offending fabric off of your breasts.

Luke takes his time to admire your body, as if it was the very first time he’d even seen your breasts out on full display for him, just for him. His cock strained painfully inside of his shorts and boxers, causing a groan to escape his throat. “You see what you do to me, princess?”

You look at him with innocence in your eyes, which at the same time looks sultry and inviting, driving him crazy every time you do. “Who, me?”

“Aren’t you just a little vixen?”

“So, to the room?”

Luke shakes his head, moving towards you, his hands just below your breasts as he smirks. “Here, over the fucking counter.”

tags: @lilmaymayy @ma1dita @sc4rl3ttdafoxx @hottiewifeyyyy

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elbdot · 26 days

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Hello I am back with more lore questions about your comics if u wanna answer 👀 (I looked back, but couldn't find this mentioned so sorry if I just missed it 😅)

I was curious since the comic starts after all the main plot stuff has happened: we know El is the Champ of the Alola League, but did she also do the island challenge trials like in the game or was she just traveling around with Hau while he did his? If she did do the trials did you make up a reason why the kahunas would let her, despite being well over the age limit for it? If she didn't was there some other motivation for her building her team up enough that she could beat the league when it was finished?

We're basically playing out the original story of SM with some changes!

Originally El just wanted a FUCKING VACATION and came from Hoenn after receiving a letter from her mom, to come to Alola and help her move into their newly bought appartement. But then Kukui busted through the door to welcome them and El's mom insisted on her coming with Kukui to get to know the locals while she'd continue setting up the place in the meantime. El didn't have any of her old Pokemon with her, as she heard of the strict laws of letting "invasive species" into Alola and she didn't want to deal with the paperwork, especially since she assumed she'd only stay in Alola for 2-3 weeks at best. Kukui showed her the way to Iki Town, talked about their customs, wanted to introduce her to the island Kahuna. When they couldn't find him, Kukui suggested he might be up Mahalo Trail, but stays behind in case Hala might come back from Hauoli City instead. El checks it out, she meets Lillie, the saving-Nebby-scene plays out where Tapu Koko rescues Nebby and El, El unexpectedly receives the sparkling stone from Tapu Koko that Hala makes a Z-Ring out of. Due to the incident, Hala encourages El to partake in one of Alolas oldest traditions as a way to get accustomed to Alolas culture but also to welcome her into it and keep an eye on her, with Halas and Kukuis interest being sparked by the appearance of their deity. The fact that she's way over the age of regular trial goers is not a problem, Tapu Koko must have given her that stone for a reason so Hala simply follows the will of the Tapus and is interested to see how El's journey will play out.

El feels honored being so welcomed by the Kahuna himself and is also too polite to decline partaking in the island challenge, even though she wasn't really interested in going on anther journey and building a new team of Pokemon...wasn't this supposed to be a vacation aside from helping out her mom??

But her mother is surprisingly supportive of El going on the island challenge, as she feared strangers like them from Kalos might have a hard time fitting in and making friends with the locals. She's okay with El not being able to help out setting up the house, as in her opinion "You're doing your part by learning everything you can about the region and getting to know our new neighbors."

After getting to know Hau the next day during a Festival in Iki Town, El starts to feel more like Hala specifically put them together so someone would keep an eye on Hau while the old Kahuna is unable to. Babysitting it is then. GREAT. But the innocent sweet little sunshine that is our Malasada Boy QUICKLY grows on El and she takes looking after him VERY SERIOUSLY and becomes the Mom-friend of the group. She downright enjoys looking after the shy Lillie and the joyful Hau while getting to see so many of Alolas amazing sights. She also greatly enjoys Kukuis company I might add...

Until she finds out he's taken. FUCK. GODDAMNIT. OF COURSE HE FUCKING IS AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG "No Hau I'm not depressed. No I don't act strangely hostile towards Burnet what are you talking about nooooooo pass me the Malasada Hau. EW. It's BITTER. WHY'D THEY SELL THAT. I HATE IT HERE"

Don't worry, she recovers... El really starts to get into the challenge after a while. She was never a fan of challenging Gyms and greatly enjoys the different Trials she gets to go on instead. Alola quickly becomes her favorite region for the lush beautiful nature, the incredibly kind people and the Pokemon she meets along the way. Her team is unbalanced, but that's what makes her grow more closely together with her Pokemon than any previous team she had before. Beating trainers is a challenge due to the many bug-and flying-types on her team, she has to strategize more than ever before to make it work and be able to defeat the Kahunas. Her Oricorio Sweets would become her Partner Pokemon in the end, when she survived multiple hits from Kukuis Incineroar, holding on to 1 HP multiple times because of how determined the little bird was and how much she loved her trainer, defeating Incineroar in the end.

(This was my OG Team, only Sweets and my Golisopod Titan made it into the comics in the end, her Decidueye and Vikavolt are on Mohn's Pelago, Fletchinder I'd actually still like to include at some point)

El didn't expect to stay in Alola. She didn't expect to build a new team or even join the League or becoming CHAMPION of all things... Let's be real, Kukui didn't really give her much of a choice in joining. After Hau and El finished their island challenge, it was more of a "might as well join the League I just finished building" from the Professor, since before it was built, the final challenge WOULD have taken place on Mount Lanakila anyway. But what surprised El the most, was the fact that, after winning, she was offered the position of Champion by Kukui at all. IF she would have won, she thought, surely they'd not let a stranger like her actually keep the title and defend it. But NOPE. All hail Alolas first champion El I suppose. And with this, it was clear that El had to extend her stay in the region. For an...unforseeable time.

#els alolan adventures #pokemon trainer #pokemon oc #mod #reply #Oh yeah and Team Skull was there too I guess Teehee #They are. Not really that important for this ask tbh LMAO #There's not much to say aside from El being confused but amused by the presence of Team Skull #Until she meets Guz and is TERRIFIED what the fUCK IS THIS GUYS DEAL

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artistmarchalius · 10 months

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British Terms of Endearment ❤️🤍💙

Here’s another one for all the Spider-Verse and Hobie fanfic writers!

Terms of endearment are handed out fairly liberally in the UK and aren’t restricted to people you actually love. You can hear them from all sorts of people, from your very best friend to the person delivering the post. There’s a lot of words to use to be friendly or show someone you care for them.

So here’s an assortment of British terms of endearment! Let’s get started:

Terms of endearment:

Love/Luv - It’s fairly common to use this term of endearment with strangers, it’s not strictly reserved for loved ones. An employee at the garage might ask you “What tires do you need, luv?” or the person working the checkout might say “That’ll be £23.95, love.”

Because of how common it is in everyday conversation, it’s easy to keep using it with the people you do love.

E.g. “Anything for you, love.” Or “Hey there, luv. How was your day?”

Lovely - Used similarly to “Love/Luv”. It’s very common to put “my” in front of it.

E.g. “You alright, my lovely?”

Duck/Ducky - this term is used more commonly around the Midlands of England. I’m adding this to the list because I love it. It’s common to put “me” in front of “duck”.

E.g. “Ducky, come look at this!” Or “Alright there, me duck?” Or “I’ll get that for you, duck.”

Pet - this term is more common around the North East of England. Using this term doesn’t mean you think of the recipient as a pet, it’s just cutesy.

E.g. “That’s okay, pet.”

Sunshine - although it is an affectionate word, I’ve personally seen it used more sarcastically or threateningly. Imagine, you’re watching TV and an East End gangster has come to intimidate someone who grassed them up. It’s dark, they walk menacingly through the door and greet them in a low, gravelly voice: “Hello sunshine.”

It is still used affectionately though. E.g. “Nice to see you, sunshine!”

Treacle - from the Cockney rhyming slang “treacle tart” meaning sweetheart.

E.g. “You alright there, treacle?”

Sweetheart - for those that don’t want to use/don’t know about “treacle”.

E.g. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Princess/beautiful/treasure - these are some East End/Cockeny terms of endearment used typically by the working class and usually towards women. It can feel a bit condescending to be called this, but it’s meant in an inoffensive, friendly way.

E.g. “Thanks for the help, princess!” Or “Nice chatting with you, treasure!”

Dear - Used more by older people. This is another term you might hear from a stranger, especially an older one. Younger people tend to use it more when they want to sound a bit more old timey or posh, often in a comical way. E.g. “Yes, dear.”

It’s more common to hear it used in regards to saying that someone “is a dear”, either in response to being kind or asking them to do something kind. E.g. “You’re such a dear!” Or “Would you be a dear and fetch me my slippers?”

Darling - This is more of an upper class term of endearment, however it can also be abbreviated to “darlin’”, which you might hear more often, especially if you’ve ever been in a London taxi. Like “lovely”, it’s common to put a “my” in front of it.

E.g. “Darling, I read the most ghastly thing in the newspaper this morning.” Or “Alright then, my darlin’, where are we off to?”

Baby/Babe - these are used commonly around the world and we use them here too! In Essex (just east of London) you’ll more commonly hear the other alternative “Babes”. This would be in reference to one person rather than being a pluralisation of “Babe”.

E.g. “Love ya, babes!”

Poppet - often used in reference to a young child or a girl. Can also be in reference to someone sweet.

E.g. “Here you go, poppet.” Or “Don’t fret, poppet, it’ll be alright.”

Mate - interchangeable with “friend”. You can use the term with strangers and friends alike.

E.g. “You doin’ okay, mate?” Or “Shove off, mate!”

Insults: as it most likely is in many parts of the world, it is quite common to jokingly use insults as terms of endearment. I’m talking swear words, creative insults and normal/silly words used in the tone of rude words (an example for the last one: “Stop throwing socks at me, you gammy sausage!” Or “Leave it out, you splunky wimble!” used affectionately. Although you can preface with a swear to make it more spicy). This is probably really obvious but I still wanted to point it out since a lot of the other items on this list can be used with strangers, but this is only done with people you’re close with. I shan’t write any of the rude words here, I aim to be family friendly, but if anyone wants to double check if an insult can be used affectionately or if you want to create a British sounding non-rude/normal word/silly word insult but you don’t know how, don’t be shy, you can send me an ask or a message! I’m happy to proofread!

Words relating to love/romance/feeling amorous:

Fancy - to have a crush or to like someone.

E.g. “I fancy him!” Or “She fancies Justine’s older sister.”

Chat up - to flirt.

E.g. “He was chatting up some girl at the bar.”

Fit - attractive.

E.g. “She’s well fit!”

Peng - attractive/appealing. It’s more frequently applied to people but things like food or clothes can be peng too.

E.g. “He’s well peng!” Or “Those shoes are peng!”

Lush - attractive.

E.g. “He’s so lush!”

Bang tidy - someone who is extremely attractive/sexy. It can also be used to describe something that is of very good quality or beauty.

E.g. “She’s bang tidy!”

So there we go, an assortment of terms of endearment used in Britain! I’ve primarily stuck with terms used in and around London, the South and the South East of England since that’s the area that Hobie would probably be most familiar with. A lot of these terms are also used in America and other parts of the world, so if you’ve seen something here that you already use (and aren’t a member of the UK) then just use this as confirmation that we use the word here too. I’m not trying to say that these words are UK exclusives.

I also want to point out that when you or someone you don’t know uses overly familiar language, it can sometimes feel condescending or uncomfortable. Just because it’s common here, doesn’t always mean it’s appreciated. I don’t want to give the impression that every Brit says they love each other and every other Brit is happy to hear about it. Everyone has their own preferences.

I hope you have found this helpful or at the very least somewhat entertaining. Once again, I’m not an expert, I just want to share the information I have in the hopes that it will help or entertain someone. If you want more British slang info, check out my Cockney rhyming slang post here and my British police slang post here! Let me know if there are other areas of British slang you’d like to hear about!

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lunatvicluna · 5 months

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Hello, hello, my sunshine! I see you liked the idea of headcanon hobbies of tmnt characters. So here goes! Today it's Casey and Liora's turn.

As @somerandomdudelmao suggested to me, he would be a good writer. I would add that he would probably write either some fanfics or an embellished personal diary. It would probably help him organize his thoughts and distinguish between reality and fantasy.

P.S. He's so cool, God, somebody hug that boy. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Liora, on the other hand, would be very good at making candles. I've long wondered if shopping is a hobby, because she definitely likes to dress up and express herself, albeit in a different motif. But since she's a medical student (I'll do a mini comic about her background someday, I promise!) she was attracted to the theory of therapeutic fragrances and incense. So she started making candles. I think she would just furnish her whole space with them and experiment with the smells and the effects of those smells on people.

In the meantime, let me remind you that if you like this one too (the oс are always worse than the original tmnt turtules), I will finish the CassRiseTMNT future version, if there is good activity on this post as well…. yeaaaaaaaaaah.

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

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kerrtesy · 6 months

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A Heads Up

Hello everyone, I hope you all are having a great day or night, whatever time it is for y'all.

Making this post to explain and elaborate on some parts of the recent AU (Bowser's Bodyguard AU, which I'm thinking of renaming) I've been working on. This is going to cover the general story idea, overall vibe, and the games I'm covering with this along with questions I think people may have about the general au.

Don't worry I'll always have this AU tagged, so if you don't like it you can block it easily.

So as stated above this is more of a clarification post and just generally covering my plans for this AU just so people know what to expect.

So I want this AU to be around 6 to 8 main chapters, where I will see if I can combine the Paper and Mario & Luigi universes into one. The first chapter will be on the Mario Movie.

What games will you be covering?

So below are games I definitely want to cover, please note the games are listed in no particular order at the moment.

Super Paper Mario

Paper Mario Thousand Year

Mario and Luigi Superstar Saga

Bowser's Inside Story

Dream Team

All games are going to be rewritten within mind of the character/setup changes. I'm not a huge fan of just writing something that is a paint-by-numbers retelling of the original story; if that's your cup of tea more power too you this is not to throw any shade on that!

For both Superstar Sage and Inside Story I do want to include the side stories the remakes added.

I will say Bowser's Inside Story will be heavily rewritten and I plan on calling it "Fawful's Revenge." The two main reasons are that I'm having Luigi prevent Bowser from eating the vacuum shroom which prevents a lot of the original plot, and I just don't want to draw the inside of Bowser. I don't know what else to say here. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Games that will either be short stories or I'm torn on covering:

Super Mario 2

Mario Galaxy (combining 1 and 2)

Mario RPG

Mario Odyssey

Origami King

Mario Sunshine

Luigi's Mansion 1 & 2

Rabbids Spark of Hope

Paper Mario 64

Super Mario 2 is going to cover Luigi's history with the Shy Guys, particularly with him usurping King Wart. This one might become a full/long chapter.

Mario Galaxy is one that might become a full chapter. It depends on what I end up covering. For instance, at the moment I'm debating on whether to have a semi-character death in it. It's weird because on one hand I don't fully consider this a character death, but it also kind of is because they leave the comic at this point and this does heavily impact the cast. So I'm unsure how to fully label this yet.

Mario RPG is a game I am very intrigued by and I would like to incorporate it into the story, but I do not know the plot of the story so it is on the fence right now. I do have at least a few short comics planned for it.

Mario Odyssey is just going to be a few short comics.

Origami King is where I don't know the full plot, but I'd like to do a comic about Shroom City just for some fun world building.

Mario Sunshine I am so torn on whether it would be a full chapter or just a short. I'm going to have to see where I go with it. Whatever it becomes I do plan on calling the chapter/comic "Obligatory Beach Episode."

Luigi's Mansion I'm going to be combining the first two games. I really want this to be a full chapter, I have just been struggling to plan out a full story for it along with fitting it into the rest of the games. I do want to try, but just in case I can't I'm slapping it into this category.

I need to give Rabbids a Spark of Hope a comic or two as Luigi and Bowser have a mission in there that is solely tied to their characters called "The Brains and the Brawn" which helped me think of their setup in this.

Paper Mario 64 will be another backstory one where Luigi attempts to use the Star Rod to send him home, to mixed results.

Games I am not covering:

Please note the games listed below are NOT because I think they are bad games, it's more because I haven't played them and/or I just don't have good ideas for how to fit them into the story.

Color Splash

Sticker Star

Paper Jam

Partners in Time

For Color Splash and Sticker Star, I just don't know the full plots of these games. Though I might do the train scene that occurs in Color Splash when Mario talks to that one Shy Guy.

Paper Jam is similar to the two listed above where I just don't know the plot and I don't want to deal with the multiverse. As in this I'm trying to combine the Paper universe with the Mario and Luigi universe into one.

Partners in Time could change, but at the moment I'm counting it as not covering as I'm just using the concept and the machine E Gadd builds. It won't deal with time travel, but instead the concept of looking into someone's memories. I don't like covering time travel so I'm just skipping it. Like I said I might cover the Cobalt Star and Princess Shroob, but I don't have a lot of ideas going for this so it might just be skipped entirely with her and her sister as villains.

Will there be shipping?

No, I'm sorry if you were hoping for anything. The most there will be is probably implied Peach x Mario, but that's it for the moment. If any of this changes I'll give a heads up just so no one is caught off guard. But romance isn't really the focus of this comic nor do I want to write romance. Listen just trust me on this you don't want me writing romance, I'm not good at it, this is for the best.

Just in case I am also just going to flat out say this so no one gets mad or feels misled when reading these comics. There will be no Bowser x Luigi in this story. Listen it's a funny and shockingly mostly wholesome ship, but it's not happening here. So I'm sorry if you were hoping for it, but I'm not doing it.

There might be some one-sided Luigi x Daisy (honestly thinking about doing Daisy x Waluigi because their Mario Party team name is Awkward Date and that is hilarious), and/or one-sided Luigi x Peasley, but in this Bowser will be majorly crushing on Peach. Bowser and Luigi are just platonic co-parenting the koopalings (think the Dungeons and Dragon movie with Sofina and Edgin). I just wanted to state this here so everyone is on the same page.

Quick side note: This isn't about shipping, but character-wise Donkey Kong and anything related to his games will only be in the first chapter. I struggle to write him and I don't know how to involve him in the other storylines so I'm just gonna have him chill in his kingdom. He will probably be making a reappearance in Dream Team as that is where I plan to end the comic.

What is the overall story/vibe of the comic?

The main story is going to focus on adventure and learning to love yourself. That's really the main premise. The story itself is going to focus on Luigi learning how to like himself for who he is and reconnecting with Mario and others while going on adventures. The big overall conflict will be the Chaos Heart itself. In this I really want to play around with the concept of the Chaos Heart and what if it didn't just go away after Super Paper Mario. I don't want to say too much about it at the moment as I don't want to spoil that part of the plot.

I feel bad because with the initial comic/sketches of this au, I made it seem a lot more dramatic/angsty than it will be. Sure there's going to be some drama but it really is more focused on the fun of the world, the adventures the characters go on, and the friendships that form out of them. I swear it's not as angsty (or I guess edgy, not sure if it was or not??) as the original comic made it seem so I apologize if that is what you were looking for.

Why I am calling Luigi Mr. L in this?

So in this, I am having Mr. L be more of his 'work mode.' It is designed to be more of a persona he puts on so he can do his job more effectively, but it is also still a part of his personality. I want to include more of his temper which is often portrayed through animations in Mario & Luigi (you know his stomping tantrum animations). Along with a few other notes, like how in the first Luigi's Mansion you kind of find some pretty sassy/sarcastic remarks through the pictures he takes with the Game Boy Horror, along with some of his dialogue in the Paper Mario games. I also want to play into him having a bit of an ego as well (playing more into the Mr. L in Super Paper Mario).

However, at the core, I do want to keep him a more socially awkward, easily frightened, and a very kind person outside of the mask/persona. At the end of the day he really just wants what is best for his friends and family. And that he is always ready to help someone even if he is scared out of his mind (though he might complain about not getting paid, or take a bit of convincing when it comes to dealing with ghosts.) I am also keeping the self-esteem issues, more so dealing with the fact he feels like all he has done is stumble through life making one mistake after another, and never being enough for the people he cares about in his life.

What are the inspirations for this?

Ghibli movies, particularly Howl's Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, and Spirited Away. I love their world building and how they handle character stories.

Magical Girl animes, I cannot stress enough how much the masks and his powers/setup are based on the magical girl shows I grew up on.

Majora's Mask, I want to do quite a bit with the masks themselves in this setup. I'm not going to elaborate much on them yet, because I prefer to reveal how they function in the comics than through this ramble.

Funnily enough, the character design that kicked off this au, or at least Mr. L's design was Death from Puss in Boots the Last Wish. I can explain, it was his cloak and his whistle. I've been playing through Super Paper Mario and I kept wondering what if they incorporated references to Luigi's Mansion more like maybe putting in his whistling, or going with a more horror aesthetic for him. Or even goes more into the concept of shadows as well, playing not only his ties with ghosts but also how Luigi feels like he is constantly in Mario's shadow. And when I saw the Mario Movie and that he was captured by the Shy Guys I was like hey wait a minute, I can do something with that.

So this story is just me playing around with those thoughts. Don't get me wrong though, him building robots to fight you along with the absolute banger of a jazz theme, and his cocky/petty attitude I have no notes and I like how he is done in the game.

So yeah this pretty much covers everything, if you read all of this kudos, I know this was long, but I hope I clarified what this comic is going to be like. Though please note that I have a job and I'm going through school, so this is going to take a bit to get going. I'm still writing out the base story, and I like to have one or two chapters fully drawn before I start posting it. I do plan on posting some of the short comics and doodles while working on the main writing.

Thank you for reading my rambles. I hope you all have a good one! : D

#bowsers bodyguard au #mario and the phantom #i think that might be the new name i call this au #im gonna test it out

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #Aegon Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #Aegon x you #aegon x y/n

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sailoryooons · 1 year

Note

yoonkook crack. jungkook has still not exited his twilight phase and wants to be a cullen soooooo bad. yoongi, an actual hundred-year-old vampire, is tired of him.

❀ Pairing: Human!Jungkook x Vampire!Yoongi

❀ Summary: Jungkook loves reading his smutty vampire comic and so what if he fashions himself a little bit after the main character. Yoongi finds it wildly offensive. Every day he has to watch Jungkook play at being ominous and spooky - and okay, maybe it’s a little cute. But it’s mostly offensive, and Yoongi would know. He’s a vampire, after all.

❀ Word Count: 8,727

❀ Genre: Supernatural, coworkers to lovers, crack, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings:Jungkook is whatever the weeb equivalent is to Vampires - a Veeb, if you will, a little bit of pining, Misc. Vampire Lore I Made Up, Sekhmet vampire theory makes an appearances again, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected anal sex, oral (m. receiving) a lot of fluids and lub and come and spit, ass play (m. receiving), Jungkook cannot pick a position to fuck Yoongi, bottom Yoongi, top Jungkook, like? Random convos about predator/prey dynamic but not really you’ll see what I mean it’s there if u squint, Jungkook basically being a giant vampire nerd and cringe sometimes but it’s cute?

❀ Published: April 5, 2023

❀ A/N: THANK YOU TO M FOR REQUESTING THIS ABSOLUTE FUCKING GONG SHOW OF A FIC. This fic ame about… I actually do not at all remember how we got on this topic but basically we were laughing at the idea of Vampire Nerd JK losing it after finding out Yoongi was a vampire. Jungkook was originally supposed to be Acting More Like A Vampire but I realize it was more of I’m Kind Of Like A Vampire and The Authority On Them. Whatever, I actually like how this turned out and I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT M I LOVE YOU AND WE ARE IN A COMPLETELY NORMAL, MONOGAMOUS, VERY ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP. ALSO WHOOPS I SLIPPED AND MY 1-2K IS OVER 8K I’M EMBARAZZARDDD

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Milestone Event Request Fill |

Min Yoongi hates Jeon Jungkook.

No, that’s not entirely true. What Yoongi hates is Jungkook’s stupid fucking comic books.

Jungkook slinks into the breakroom, eyes sweeping the mostly empty room until they settle on Yoongi and he smiles. Yoongi’s stomach flips at the small - perhaps imagined - light in Jungkook’s eyes as he pulls his backpack tighter and rushes over to the chair opposite Yoongi.

Slinging his backpack on the table, Jungkook winces when he knocks Yoongi’s thermos over. Yoongi catches it, lightning quick as Jungkook looks at him with wide, surprised eyes. He murmurs an apology and Yoongi waves it off, settling back into his chair as Jungkook sits down and begins shuffling through his backpack like a pack rat.

Though Yoongi’s eyes are focused on the pages of his book, the letters swim before him as he observes Jungkook from the edge of his vision. He smells sweet, like honeysuckle. Sunshine. Warmth. He makes little sounds of frustration as he struggles to find what he’s looking for. After several huffs, Yoongi looks up, inky eyes looking at Jungkook who stares at his bag angrily.

“There are Hello Pandas in the cabinet,” Yoongi offers gently. Jungkook looks up, blushing and chewing his lip. Yoongi shrugs as though Jungkook asked a question. “Saw them in there this morning.”

“Cool, thanks, hyung.”

When Jungkook gets up, back facing Yoongi to go to the office pantry, Yoongi allows himself a small, secret smile.

This shared routine of reading at lunch is Yoongi’s favorite. Every day they arrive in a pattern. Yoongi first, sitting at the table closest to the fridge and pulling the chair so it’s back is against the wall. He’ll pull out a book and spend the first five minutes reading, the loud noises of office life no longer a distraction after years of practice.

Second, Jungkook will come in. He’ll look around to assess who is in the breakroom, even though he always sits in the seat across from Yoongi. He’ll get his little snacks - usually Hello Panda cookies or a protein smoothie - and sit next to Yoongi and read his Fang Fucker comics, which he hides away with custom book covers.

So no, Yoongi doesn’t hate Jungkook. Not at all, really. But Yoongi does hate the way that he spots little vampire fang pins on Jungkook’s bags. Sees that he’s wrapped a red ribbon around one of the straps, smelling faintly of dried blood.

Yoongi ignores the pang of hunger in his stomach as Jungkook returns, settling into his chair as Jungkook tears the corner of the package open with his teeth. He does everything with his fucking teeth, and Yoongi has told him dozens of times that Jungkook is going to damage them.

I have sharp teeth, hyung, was always the response, a secret smile on Jungkook’s face.

Now, Jungkook pulls out his book and cracks the spine, the sound whisper-soft against Yoongi’s sharp hearing. Jungkook slouches in his seat, popping a cookie into his mouth as his eyes become hypnotized on the page, book supported by his knees as he brings his feet on the edge of his chair, curled up.

Yoongi’s stomach turns to acid when he sees the comic panels. A crass, horrendous take on vampires, Fang Fuckers follows the story of two lovers separated by the laws of the supernatural. Belle, a human prone to accidents and drawing the attention of anything with a pulse forever pines after Eddie, a vampire always clad in jeans and who is effortlessly cool.

Glancing at Jungkook’s outfit, Yoongi presses his lips in a firm line. Today, Jungkook is dressed in jeans with the ankles rolled, a pair of dirty high-tops on his feet. His t-shirt is tucked loosely into the waist of his jeans, making Yoongi’s eyes linger far too long on Jungkook’s tapered waist. His tattoos are hidden by the sleeves of a jean jacket, worn and soft with time.

Lately, Jungkook lets his hair grow out. It’s wild and wavy, trimmed somewhere between a mullet and a wolf cut. Just like Eddies, Yoongi notes with an eye twitch. Still, it looks good on Jungkook, the way most things do.

The hair and the outfits aren’t the only thing that Jungkook imitates. Yoongi tries to focus on his own book instead of thinking about Jungkook’s little habits. The way Jungkook tells people he’s allergic to garlic, or how he has taken to walking as quietly around the office as possible. In a way, it’s a little bit amusing to watch Jungkook try to be mysterious and vague about how he spends his weekend.

Just yesterday, Yoongi watched Jungkook flinch at the sun as everyone started walking to their cars after work. It had made him roll his eyes, but it is… sort of cute, this little fascination Jungkook has with the undead. The eternal. The absolutely ridiculous and not-at-all-accurate vampires in his little stories.

But it’s also a little insulting. Especially when Jungkook argues with Taehyung about whether or not a stake would actually work on a vampire, or if vampires can see their reflections in a mirror. Yoongi has heard them whispering, tucked away in Jungkook’s cubicle next to Yoongi’s as they search Reddit threads about the best place to look for vampires.

Taehyung walks into the breakroom. He’s in flowy tan trousers, a white t-shirt tucked in, and a soft-looking cardigan. He’s got multi-layered necklaces around his neck that clink as he goes to the fridge, asking what Jungkook is reading.

Jungkook doesn’t look up when he says, “Spiderman.”

“That’s nice,” Taehyung answers, a smirk evident in his voice. Yoongi knows Spiderman is their code for reading their little vampire porn. “New volume?”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook mumbles around a mouthful of Hello Pandas.

The snap of the cookies in his mouth sets Yoongi on edge. He glares at Jungkook, but the younger boy doesn’t notice, crunching away as he drinks in the colorful pages of his little book. Yoongi's jaw ticks. Jungkook’s brow is pulled together and he chews with a frown, the only sign that Yoongi has that he’s enjoying his snack and reading.

There is a steady rhythm to the sounds of the breakroom. It’s Yoongi's favorite place at work. He’s always the first in, making coffee that fills the space with a slightly burnt smell. Taehyung comes in next, smiling and clothes swishing, always bright-eyed. Jungkook is usually the last in, quiet and avoidant as he snatches banana milk from the fridge and vanishes to his cubicle.

The break room isn’t much. The linoleum is peeling, the fridge hums so loud that Yoongi can hear it at his desk, and there’s always a mysterious puddle by the sink. But his coworkers fill the space with their chatter. It’s where he learns about their lives.

It’s where Yoongi learns that Taehyung loves to listen to jazz, humming Ella Fitzgerald while he uses the microwave. It’s where he learns that Jimin is dating Hoseok from product marketing, the room filled with their secret smiles and innocent hands brushing against one another. It’s where he learns that Jungkook liked to read Fang Fucker. Where he learns that Jungkook, sometimes a little distracted, communicates in soft noises rather than words.

The break room is filled with the drama of coworkers and whispers. It’s full of humanity and Yoongi is well… not.

A sudden hiss catches Yoongi’s attention. He smells the blood before he sees it. Taehyung is reaching for a rag at the counter, lemon left on a cutting board with a scarlet-painted knife. Yoongi works his jaw as he watches Taehyung wrap his hand, iron and salt blooming in the air, heavy on Yoongi’s tongue.

Jungkook goes rigid. Yoongi is distracted for a split second, eyes turning from Taehyung tending to his sliced finger as Jungkook launches upward out of his chair and bolts for the door. Yoongi raises his brow, watching it slam shut beside him as Taehyung looks up at the closed door, then swivels to Yoongi.

“Uhhh, can you get me a bandaid?”

Yoongi nods, glaring at the door as he stands. “Sure.”

If there is one thing Yoongi knows, it’s that he is sick of Jungkook playing the part of a vampire.

The love-hate relationship between work happy hours and Yoongi is a complexity Yoongi has yet to unravel. He likes watching his coworkers unwind, sipping drinks through their little black straws and admitting they hate Jeffery from the data team. He thinks it’s sweet when he sees Hoseok get Jimin flustered by whispering something in his ear - something Yoongi wishes he didn’t hear over the roar of the bar but does.

And yet Yoongi doesn’t like the press of people. Doesn’t like the way the sound of their collective voices buzz through him, or the way that he can feel their pulses throbbing behind thin skin, a hypnotic beat only he can hear and feel. It makes him feel crowded and irritable, but he likes watching the bright, burning flame of vitality and life here.

It makes him feel human again, even if he hasn’t been for a very, very long time.

Taehyung is pressed against the bar, telling Jungkook at hyperspeed how he met the very tall, very broad man next to him, who watches Taehyung with soft eyes and a dimple carving a hollow in his cheek. Namjoon. His name is Namjoon, Yoongi remembers.

Yoongi watches over the rim of his glass, sipping his whisky as Jungkook’s finger traces the drops of condensation on his beer bottle, zigzagging around the label, ignoring Taehyung as he rambles on about Virginia Woolf. The movement catches his eye, and Yoongi focuses first on Jungkook's finger, long and slender. Then the tattoos and swirling ink that vanish under his sleeve, then the veins in his hand, pumping O positive through his body.

Though there is a unique note to each blood type, people smell different too. Taehyung smells like sugar, something light and spun like cotton candy. Namjoon smells like lemon and wax, something Yoongi would maybe find in a bookstore. And Jungkook…. Jungkook smells like honeysuckle, growing strong under a warm sun in the middle of spring.

Yoongi’s mouth waters and he looks away, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and waving the bartender down for another. When he turns back to the conversation, Jungkook is scowling, brows pinched, mouth pouted. “That isn’t all I know about wolves,” he huffs in Taehyung's direction. His hands disappear in his jacket sleeves as he fiddles with the string. “And anyway, what would you know?”

Taehyung gives Jungkook a look. “About the same as you? We read the same comics.”

“Ugh, those aren’t the only source material.”

Yoongi puts together that somehow the topic of Virgina Woolf has led them to wolves and vampires. He fights the urge to roll his eyes, but he squeezes his glass a little tighter. Yoongi looks at Namjoon, hoping that Taehyung’s new boyfriend will help.

Instead, Namjoon sips his gin and tonic and cocks his head. “I’ve seen Tae reading those comics. Do they actually have any relevance to the historical lore of the vampire, or is it made up?”

“Oh a ton of it is deep rooted in historical and scientific studies,” Jungkook answers excitedly. Yoongi groans and Jungkook casts him a dubious look over his shoulder. Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek and looks away. “The writer did a ton of research.”

Bullshit, Yoongi thinks but doesn’t say it out loud.

Still, Yoongi listens to Jungkook drone on and on about how the pop culture depictions of vampires originate from the stories and myths of small villages in Romania, furthered by Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Now that makes Yoongi grin into his glass a little, agreeing that almost all of the media surrounding vampires rely heavily on European myths and stories.

He watches the way Jungkook speaks, momentarily hypnotized. Jungkook isn’t an eloquent speaker, stopping often to blush and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear or find his words, chewing on his bottom lip. When he gains confidence, he speaks faster, using his hands more as he speaks, looking back and forth between Namjoon and Taehyung who are a loyal, captive audience.

Yoongi softens a little.

At heart, Jungkook is someone who is a bit of a fanatic. It’s harmless for now, Yoongi thinks. He’s always carefully listening to Jungkook, no matter how annoying it gets. Making sure that he can protect him, that he can pick up when Jungkook is in any real danger.

“Historical research suggests that the first coven of Romanian vampires was called the Ouroborus,” Jungkook says. Yoongi goes rigid. Taehyung looks at Yoongi over Jungkook’s shoulder, tilting his head in a question, but the youngest of their group continues on. “That’s where Stoker got Dracula’s name idea from. It comes from the Romanian word dracul which is the devil but really it’s from the Latin draco for dragon. Really silly, because the dragon looks nothing like the serpent, but I think Dracula was a real figure who started the Our-”

“The Ouroborus are not Romanian, nor was that the point of origin.” Yoongi only belatedly realizes he says this out loud as the group turns to him. Jungkook’s flushed lips are parted and his eyes are round. Yoongi hears the way Jungkook’s heart speeds up, and senses his confusion. Yoongi clears his throat and diverts his eyes, shrugging it off. “That symbol means nothing.”

“The Ouroborus symbol is for eternal life,” Jungkook says slowly, still recovering from the fact that Yoongi has bothered to entertain the conversation. Yoongi already regrets speaking up. The room is noisy and his throat burns. He’s a little hungry, and Jungkook, who turns toward him, smells a little too good. “And the confusion between the snake and the dragon makes perfect sense.”

“The Ouroboros is not eternity. It’s life and death.”

Jungkook frowns and sets his beer on the counter. “Hyung, no it’s not.”

“Ah, whatever. It’s fine, forget I said anything.”

“No, hyung. You’re wrong.”

And oh. Yoongi knows that expression that Jungkook is wearing. His jaw is set and sharp, lips pressed in a firm line. Jungkook stares at Yoongi, eyes intense and fist closed on the bar top, pressing into the sticky, lacquered counter. It’s cute when Jungkook looks like this. He’s determined and frustrated, and Yoongi hears the way Jungkook’s pulse begins to rush and sees the way his jaw flexes.

Jungkook has never turned his argument face on Yoongi. There was nothing to ever argue about. Until now, Yoongi has tolerated Jungkook’s vampire fanaticism in silence. And yet the simple mention of Ouroborus has Yoongi on edge.

“It represents infinity,” Jungkook insists. “The eternity of life of a vampire, the never ending cycle of immortality.”

“It’s the never ending cycle of death and life.” Yoongi’s tone is hard. He feels the overwhelming need for Jungkook to get this right. To not look into Ouruborus. To understand. “The Ouroborus originates as far back as Ancient Egypt when the god Ra created the goddess Sekhmet to destroy and punish humanity. She and her followers were immortal - the eternal representation of death and destruction. And when they couldn’t stop, Ra banished them to the darkness, never to walk in the sun again. Her followers took on the snake eating its tail to represent how their existence would always bring death and destruction.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Vampires didn’t originate in Egypt. That’s not right.”

“They didn’t originate from anywhere, Jungkook. They just are. And they’re not all the same creatures, no matter what your little vampire porn book tells you.”

Yoongi regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Jungkook recoils like he’s been slapped, his expression slipping from frustrated to hurt.

Sighing, Yoongi reaches for Jungkook. Jungkook shrugs him off and throws cash on the bar before looking at Taehyung and Namjoon who watch in mute horror, bystanders to a car crash they can’t control. “See you guys later.”

Shoving his way through the crowd, Jungkook vanishes. Yoongi can still smell him, though. Can hear the way Jungkook’s heart is racing, can taste the anxiety and anger rolling off of him. Yoongi wants to smack his own head against the countertop.

“Well go after him,” Taehyung says, drawing Yoongi’s attention. Taehyung looks him up and down and laughs a little. “You’re hopeless.”

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You obviously hate Jungkook’s obsession with vampires for whatever reason, but you’ve spent the last three years at work circulating him like a little satellite. You think I don’t notice you stocking the cabinet with Hello Pandas? Or putting that nasty banana milk in the fridge? You hate it and yet you indulge in him. So go apologize for making fun of him and make out or something.”

“I…” Yoongi trails off and Taehyung smirks.

“You told Jimin to stop talking about his fascination with tarot two days in because it was annoying you. You’ve let Jungkook talk to you and around you about vampires for three years.”

Yoongi scratches the back of his ear. He can’t blush, but if he could, he would be stained pink from his ears to his nose under Taehyung’s accusations. “Ah. Sorry to ruin the night.”

“Go,” Taehyung grins. “And at least make out for a little, watching you pretend not to notice one another during your little reading lunches is exhausting.”

It’s a cool night, silence blanketing the mostly-empty parking lot. The sun has made her final descent and given way to the moon, which slowly climbs into the sky, bracketed by stars. Yoongi sees Jungkook standing near the entrance to the fenced-in parking lot, looking down at his phone as he toes gravel beneath his shoe. Yoongi hears the soft crunch and he sighs.

Jungkook doesn’t hear him coming. He never does, and this time Yoongi doesn’t announce his arrival or make human noises. Instead, he takes a second to drink in Jungkook. Jungkook is bathed in the halo of a streetlamp that buzzes loudly above their heads. It’s still early night, a little bit of color in the sky near the horizon, but Yoongi only has eyes for Jungkook, who sniffs a little and wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve.

An ache fills Yoongi’s chest when he realizes that Jungkook has been crying. Or at least has shed a single tear. He sees Jungkook swallow thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. He adjusts his backpack, fang and bat pins reflecting in the street lamp.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Jungkook lurches and cries out in alarm, jumping away from Yoongi and whirling around. Yoongi winces when Jungkook stumbles but catches his balance, pulse beating so loudly that Yoongi can’t help but drop his gaze down to where Jungkook’s blood rushes wildly through his jugular, artery pulsing.

“Yeah, well,” Jungkook huffs, scowling. “You did.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah right.” Jungkook turns away and looks at his phone. Yoongi can see him waiting for an Uber.

“Jungkook.”

“I get it,” Jungkook snaps. “You think I’m weird. You don’t like my comics, you don’t like that I find this stuff cool, and you don’t like me. Message received.”

“I never said any of that.”

Jungkook throws a heated glance his way. “Oh, so you do like my comics?”

“No,” Yoongi admits. “Because they’re wrong.” He sees the hurt flicker across Jungkook’s face and Yoongi wants to scream. “I don’t mean wrong because of the sex shit or whatever. I don’t care about that. They’re wrong about vampires. All of it.”

“How would you know?” Jungkook asks the question and Yoongi wants to answer so badly. Wants to blurt it out, wants to admit that he has the stupid answers to Jungkook’s questions. “You don’t know anything about vampires. And then you made fun of me and embarrassed me.”

“You shouldn’t be talking about or looking into Ouroborus.”

“What do you know?”

“I know things.”

“Not about this, you don’t even like vampires.”

“You don’t know what I like.”

“Yeah, because you barely talk to me. We’ve been coworkers for years - sat next to each other for years. I get it, but don’t make fun of the things I like. Don’t talk nonsense just to tease me.”

And oh Yoongi sees it now. Sees the insecurity creep in, sees the boy who thinks that his coworker is taking the thing he loves most and using it as a weapon.

Jungkook seems to fold in on himself, arms hugging around his middle, chin tucking to his neck. He looks so small like this, and Yoongi wants to kick himself. Hasn't Jungkook seen how much Yoongi does like him? Hasn’t he noticed how Yoongi waters the plants on Jungkook’s desk that would have died by now? How he puts his favorite snacks in the break room? How he always makes sure to stay late at the office and walk out together, just to make sure no one hurts Jungkook?

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Yoongi says gently. “You scared me.”

“I-” Jungkook cuts himself off and tilts his head. His earrings catch the light. Delicate like the careful slope of his mouth, like the soft skin of his neck. “Scared you?”

“Most of your rambling about vampires is annoying,” Yoongi admits and Jungkook scrunches his nose. “But harmless. Not able to hurt anyone. Sometimes you’re right. Sometimes you’re wrong. But then tonight you started talking about Ouroborus, and I don’t even know where you heard of that, but you shouldn’t be looking into it. Into them.”

“There are symbols in my comic book,” Jungkook says slowly. His lips are a little pouted, distracting Yoongi from the dangerous subject matter. “And hints. So I looked it up. They’re like, a vampire coven-”

“They’re a cult.” Yoongi is firm. Clenches and unclenches his fist. “Stop looking them up, Jungkook. They love people like you, hypnotized by the mystery and the thrill. Please.”

“How do you know?” Yoongi knew he would ask. Jungkook shakes his head, earrings clinking together. Down the street, a cat yowls at someone walking by. “I thought you hated my vampire stuff. You always make a face when Tae and I talk about it.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“Okay, well I do hate your vampire stuff.”

“Exactly, so why should I take anything you say for fact? I’ve spent hours reading on this stuff-”

“Well I’ve spent two hundred and seven years as a vampire. My anniversary is actually in two weeks.”

Yoongi’s admission hangs heavily between them. Jungkook stares, open mouth. Yoongi suddenly has the very human urge to shift from foot-to-foot. Or to fidget, which isn’t something that he feels often - nervousness isn’t something that he feels often.

Yet he feels it all the time with Jungkook. Feels like squirming in his chair when Jungkook leans on the breakroom table between them, laying his head on his backpack with Fang Fucker tucked in his lap. Feels annoyed when he sees Eddie turning into bats on the pages, misting across panels to save Belle on the other side. Feels fond and happy when Jungkook gets through a presentation without stumbling, especially after Yoongi could hear him practicing in the bathroom all morning.

Jungkook makes Yoongi feel so human. Makes him feel things that he doesn’t need at all, but wants.

“You what?”

The Uber pulls into the parking lot, tires hissing against crackling gravel. Jungkook ignores the car completely, even though Yoongi waves his hand and moves out of the car's way. Headlights flash toward them as Yoongi turns, and Jungkook gasps, leaning backward but not taking a full step.

Yoongi knows what the younger has just seen. A sliver reflection of eyes, flashing in the sudden flooding of light against them. Predator eyes when exposed to light in the dark. Jungkook is squeezing his phone tight in his hands, knuckles white. His heart is racing and he totally ignores it when the driver rolls down the window and asks if he’s Jungkook.

“Prove it,” Jungkook says to Yoongi.

“What? You believe me?”

“Maybe. Prove you’re one and that you’re not just turning this into a joke.” He takes a deep breath. “Prove you’re not making fun of me.”

“I would never-”

“Prove it, Yoongi.”

Yoongi. Not hyung. Yoongi fights a smile at how ferocious Jungkook demands this, hands fisted at his side. Yoongi gestures to the car. “Get in. To wherever you live. I can show you.”

Nodding, Jungkook pops open the door and slides right into the car. Yoongi sighs, looking upward and closing his eyes briefly. Of course Jungkook would get into a car with someone who just told him he was a vampire. Jungkook has no fear of Yoongi, not a single worry in the world. Even as Yoongi slides into the back seat, casting his dark eyes in Jungkook’s direction, there is not a single iota of anxiety in Jungkook’s face or scent.

Just pure, unfettered excitement.

City lights blur by. Yoongi watches Jungkook, flickering shadows and light as they pass by other cars on the road. Jungkook watches Yoongi right back, his dark eyes studying Yoongi as though he could find some sort of visual indicator that Yoongi is the vampire he says he is.

This is dangerous. Yoongi knows that he shouldn’t be indulging. But the crestfallen face Jungkook made when he thought Yoongi was making fun of him and the memory of Jungkook sniffling softly makes Yoongi throw caution to the wind.

Yoongi trusts himself around Jungkook.

They don’t speak until they’re at Jungkook’s apartment and he’s walking over the threshold, flipping on the light. Yoongi remains on the other side of the door and that urge to fidget is back as Yoongi’s anxiety spikes. He doesn’t move, watching as Jungkook holds the door open, his back facing Yoongi.

Idiot, Yoongi thinks, Jungkook not realizing that he has turned his back to a predator.

When Yoongi doesn’t cross, Jungkook looks over his shoulder, head tilted. Puzzled. Yoongi gazes at Jungkook intently, eyes flickering to the floor back up to Jungkook. For a human, Jungkook is perceptive. He tracks Yoongi’s gaze and his mouth forms a soft ‘o’ as he meets Yoongi’s eyes.

“Can you not cross?” Yoongi shakes his head and Jungkook hums, holding the door open wider. “Prove it.”

Yoongi sighs. Lifts his foot and brings it forward, though he already knows what’s going to happen. He meets an invisible barrier, foot stopping in mid air. It feels like kicking a wall, solid and unrelenting. Yoongi puts his foot back down, but Jungkook doesn’t seem satisfied.

Reaching through the door, Jungkook pulls Yoongi by the hand. Yoongi flinches, startled that Jungkook is touching him so freely as he pulls Yoongi’s hand toward the door frame. Jungkook’s hand passes through just fine, but he meets resistance as Yoongi’s hand hits the invisible wall, palm flat and pressing on it.

With a noise somewhere between a gasp and giggle, Jungkook tugs Yoongi’s arm. Yoongi rolls his eyes, but lets Jungkook yank at his jacket sleeve. Nothing he does helps, and Yoongi is stuck with his hand pressed up against the barrier and Jungkook’s long fingers wrapped around his forearms, tugging.

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers. He looks up at Yoongi, stars in his eyes, blush on his face and the most beautiful smile Yoongi has ever seen. “I just have to…?” Yoongi nods, understanding the question. “Come in, hyung.”

Before Yoongi can step through the door, Jungkook tugs Yoongi’s arm. It doesn’t make Yoongi move much. He’s an aged vampire, strong and fast. But it’s cute when Jungkook lets out a squeal as Yoongi steps over the threshold into Jungkook’s home, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jungkook doesn’t bother turning the lights on, getting up close to Yoongi and tilting his head. He’s much taller than Yoongi, though about as broad. This close, Yoongi can hear the blood rushing through Jungkook’s nervous system, a whisper of sound against his hyper-sensitive ears. He can smell Jungkook, sweet and like spring, nearly taste him on his tongue as Jungkook looks at Yoongi’s mouth.

“Fangs?” he asks, because it’s Jungkook. Of course he isn’t afraid that there is an apex predator in his home, that Yoongi could rip him apart and- “Show me.”

Yoongi doesn’t know why he does it. Or maybe he does. Because since Jungkook walked into work three years ago, Yoongi has done nothing but indulge Jungkook in everything. Let’s him ramble about Fang Fucker. Gives him all of his snacks. Let’s Jungkook take Yoongi’s favorite pens that write nice and smooth when Jungkook loses his own pens.

As Yoongi opens his mouth and feels the sharp sting of his fangs gliding through his gums, he realizes that he told Jungkook the truth simply because it’s Jungkook. Because he wanted Jungkook to know. Because it makes Jungkook light up like a solar flare, clapping his hands as he grins at the two, sharpened points that help Yoongi puncture his prey and drink deeply from the artery.

“How do you turn?”

“No.” Jungkook straightens and looks down the wide bridge of his nose at Yoongi, lips downturned. Yoongi’s fangs vanish and he glares. “I’m not telling you that, you’d just try and do it yourself.”

“I’m not suicidal.”

“Who said death was involved? Don’t fish for information, Jungkook.”

The boy at least has the decency to look chagrined. “Fine. I have questions.”

“I’m tired.”

“Do vampires sleep?”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, realizing he has opened himself to the world’s longest line of questioning. “In a way, yes. Not the way humans do.”

“So like a resting trance.”

“That’s…” Yoongi thinks about when he lays down, settling somewhere between waking dreams and fully functioning. The dreams aren’t like the dreams that he had when he was a human. They’re more like memories, flipping through like a scrapbook as he rests. “Yeah, actually. Pretty accurate.”

Jungkook’s grin is wicked. “Learned that from Fang Fucker. I guess it’s pretty accurate after all, huh?”

“No.”

“Will you fuck me?”

If Yoongi was a creature that relied on breathing to live, the air would leave his lungs. He doesn’t gasp anymore, but he would now if he could, blinking two dark eyes up at Jungkook who is grinning, and who has something sharp and mischievous in his gaze.

“What?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Yoongi’s gums ache. “You suddenly find out I’m a vampire and want to fuck me?”

“What? Wait!” Jungkook lurches after Yoongi, who turns on his heel toward the door. He only stops because Jungkook asks. It’s like Jungkook’s word is his command, and Yoongi knows that he could leave. Could vanish from the apartment. And yet he doesn’t. “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t… no.”

“Then how did you mean it? You’re telling me you would ask that if I wasn’t a vampire?”

“No, but not because I don’t want to.” Yoongi cocks his head and Jungkook’s face flushes. He hides behind both of his hands and lets out an aggravated sound. “Ugh! I just, I got excited and it was the first thing I could think of and yeah, I do want to fuck you because sex with a vampire like - is it like the comic books? I would love to know.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi says gently, but it goes unheard.

“But that’s totally not why I want to in general, hyung. Taehyung thinks that you have a crush on me, and it made me so nervous at first because I always thought you were so pretty and quiet and maybe a little bit scary, but now I realize that maybe you’re not scary, you’re just a vampire.”

Yoongi says Jungkook’s name again, but the boy is on a roll, ranting into his hands and hiding his embarrassment from Yoongi as best as he can. Yoongi is no longer irritated, though, as Jungkook continues mumbling and smelling like honeysuckle.

“And I totally have a crush on you, which is why when I thought you were making fun of me I got so upset and had to get out of there. I didn’t want you to see me cry even though crying is totally okay, but you’re always so unemotional and I thought it would annoy you more. And then you’re all here like ‘I’m a vampire’ and it fried my brain and I don’t know? We’re in my apartment, so sex seems like-”

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks up from where his face is buried in his palms. Eyes wide, innocent. Mouth parted, slick-shined with his spit. Yoongi’s eyes drop to Jungkook’s mouth. Wants to know if he tastes just as sweet as he smells. Wants to know what the shape of his mouth is like, wants to feel the soft and hard lines of Jungkook’s body hiding under the cotton of his shirt.

Yoongi isn’t like Eddie in Fang Fucker, who kept trying to hide from the desire for Belle. Yoongi isn’t scared of himself. He knows what he’s capable of, he is good at control. He’s been alive long enough to have mastered himself, and he isn’t worried about snapping Jungkook’s neck or taking a bite.

So Yoongi doesn’t fight some long-winded internal war. Doesn’t feel guilty when he slides toward Jungkook, letting his feet move him vampire-smooth. Jungkook sucks in a little bit of air. Watches how Yoongi settles up close to him, tilting his head up.

Jungkook’s breath is warm and is as sweet as his blood smells. Jungkook shivers and Yoongi grins. This close, he can ount each and every one of Jungkook’s long, silky soft eyelashes.

“You,” Yoong murmurs, voice low and soft. “Can fuck me, Jungkook. I will be doing none of the work.”

“Really?”

Yoongi looks down at Jungkook’s mouth again and hums, zeroing in on it.

Jungkook wastes no time. Yoongi watches Jungkook close his eyes and lean in. He has a brief second to smile, to lean up into it, pushing onto his tiptoes to meet Jungkook’s eager mouth. Jungkook’s lips are soft soft, tasting faintly like cherry chapstick that he must have applied in the parking lot waiting for his car and a little bit like beer.

Yoongi doesn’t mind, humming delightly as Jungkook pulls Yoongi toward him. Yoongi lets him, Jungkook pressing their waists together as his hands loop around Yoongi’s back, holding him there. Jungkook is a messy kisser, but he’s eager and gentle, tongue licking at the seam of Yoongi’s mouth until Yoongi opens up.

Jungkook brushes his tongue gently across Yoongi’s teeth, feeling for the sharpness of fangs. Yoongi huffs in Jungkook’s mouth, pushing him slightly and making Jungkook stumble a few inches. Jungkook is shadowed in the dark of his living room, eyes half-lidded and mouth shining in Yoongi’s spit.

“I’m not biting you.”

Jungkook grins, his tongue poking through his teeth as he wiggles his eyebrows. “Bet you want to though, huh? Wanna bite me, hyung?”

“I’m not one of your little fictional vampires,” Yoongi assures Jungkook, who pulls at Yoongi’s shirt to bring him closer. Their chests are pressed together, Yoongi looking up as Jungkook bends down to steal another sloppy, open mouth kiss. “I have control and I’m not worried about it.”

“Control, huh?” Jungkook tugs Yoongi's hand. “I bet you have lots of stamina too.”

Yoongi feels like he’s walking on air when he follows Jungkook to his bedroom. He takes in multiple things at once, able to flick his gaze across the room and see all of the details of Jungkook’s life at the same time that Jungkook tugs on Yoongi’s sleeve, making a soft noise that indicates he wants Yoongi to move faster.

Jungkook’s room has a boyish charm. His bed is pressed up against the wall, a single lamp over it with a stack of comics on the nightstand. His sheets smell clean, though vaguely of floral soap. There are comic panels pressed in glass and displayed in wooden frames over the bed: Spiderman, Scarlet Witch, Fang Fuckers.

Near the bathroom, there’s a meticulously organized bookcase, teeming with comic books and actual books. Yoongi sees the names flash by as Jungkook nudges Yoongi toward the bed and huffs when he realizes he can’t simply shove Yoongi onto the mattress. The vampire laughs and sits down as Jungkook sheds his jean jacket, letting it hit the floor.

It pleases Yoongi that Jungkook’s room isn’t messy, though a little disheveled. There seems to be an organized chaos to it, to Jungkook. He likes that, the way that Jungkook is at the nexus of impossible spectrums. LIke now, when Jungkook looks shy and innocent as he drops to his knees in front of Yoongi, looking up at him through dark lashes.

Jungkook’s hair curls so elegantly across his forehead. Yoongi reaches forward, carding his hands through the silk strands. It’s just as soft as he thought and he smiles, leaning down to catch Jungkook’s mouth again, tongues tangled and the wet smack of their kisses sending heat into Yoongi’s stomach, making his cock stir.

Of course Jungkook can get Yoongi semi-hard by just kissing. But what really does it, is when Jungkook breaks from the kiss, a string of spit between them for a moment. Yoongi watches it break before his eyes zero in on Jungkook’s tattooed hands going for the button on Yoongi’s jeans.

“Wanna suck you off,” Jungkook admits, fingers working the zipper. Yoongi leans back on his arms, watching Jungkook with rapt attention.

He is so fucking beautiful. The ink on his arms is exquisite, moving in artistic whorls of mostly black art with some pieces of color splashed in. Yoongi thinks that the pair of them are a lot like Jungkook’s tattoos. Yoongi is the stark, unchanging black and Jungkook is the bright, splatter of color and life.

Yoongi’s hands go to Jungkook’s arms, fingers tracing the color. Jungkook pauses trying to get Yoongi’s pants off, letting Yoongi feel him. Jungkook is so warm, vitality humming in his veins under paper-thin skin. Jungkook ducks forward, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s wrist, Jungkook’s mouth eager to place butterfly-soft kisses on Yoongi’s skin.

It makes Yoongi smile. He can’t remember the last time he was intimate with someone. It doesn’t matter. He lets Jungkook feel his skin.

“You're warm,” Jungkook notes, turning his attention to tugging on Yoongi’s jeans. Yoongi lifts his hips, helping him pull them down his thighs and knees, fabric scraping. It feels so good, the heat of Jungkook’s hands, the taste of his excitement in the air. “Not cold at all.”

“We live between life and death,” Yoongi sighs, head tilting back as Jungkook rips off Yoongi’s shoes. Jungkook’s sweet scent mixes with the headiness of his arousal. Every inch of Yoongi’s skin is like an exposed wire, especially when Jungkook places open mouth kisses to Yoongi’s thighs, making him twitch. “We are neither entirely dead nor entirely alive. I adapt to the temperature around me.”

“Fascinating,” Jungkook mumbles as his mouth leaves wet stains, inching toward Yoongi’s briefs.

Yoongi is throbbing. He feels light-headed and shaky when he lifts his head. Jungkook is eager between his legs, pressing his palms against Yoongi’s thighs to spread him open more, to give himself more room. Yoongi lets himself be pried open, watches with parted lips as Jungkook dips forward, licking at the damp spot on his briefs.

A curse drips from Yoongi’s mouth and his lids flutter. He’s determined to watch Jungkook, slack-jawed as the shy little Jungkook Yoongi knows is replaced with an eager, hungry thing. Jungkook mouths at Yoongi’s cock over the fabric, making his hips lift from the bed, a moan falling out of his mouth.

Jungkook looks up, mouth wet and eyes sparkling. “You sound pretty.”

“You look pretty.”

Yoongi smiles when Jungkook’s nose and cheeks turn cherry blossom pink. “Are vampires always so nice?”

“No.” Jungkook skims his hand up Yoongi’s thigh, skating over to grip Yoongi firmly, massaging through what suddenly feels like the world's thinnest fabric. Yoongi hisses between his teeth, eyes shutting as Jungkook teases him. “And you don’t want a mean vampire.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook agrees. “I want,” he continues slowly, pulling at the fabric of Yoongi’s briefs. “A sweet, gentle vampire. Who is very quiet and likes to read his books mysteriously. Who secretly does things around the office for everyone and- fuck you have a thick dick.”

Jungkook stumbles on his cute little monologue, making Yoongi laugh. It comes out closer to a growl, startling Jungkook. Yoongi’s cock bobs against his shirt, precum smearing on the dark fabric. The brown tip is aching for Jungkook’s mouth, inches away and panting.

“That was sweet.”

Jungkook looks up at him, fingers digging into Yoongi’s thigh where he holds his legs open. “You’re sweet. You’re nice. And you…” Jungkook turns his face away, trying to hide that he is furiously blushing again. Yoongi can see it though, can make out every single detail on Jungkook’s face and it makes him melt. “Whatever, I’m going to suck your dick now.”

Laughter dies in Yoongi’s throat, replaced by a deep groan that comes rumbling out of him as Jungkook licks the underside of Yoongi’s shaft, tongue flat and eager. Sparks slide up his back as he clutches the sheets. Jungkook mouths up the side of Yoongi’s cock, hand going to grip at the base, tongue laving, hungry, determined.

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers. Jungkook giggles, pulling Yoongi’s swollen tip toward his mouth. He licks around the head happily, Jungkook nearly humming in delight.

Yoongi’s mind is blank. He watches, entranced and hips squirming as Jungkook takes Yoongi’s cock into his mouth proper, hollowing his cheeks and giving an experimental suck. Yoongi’s hips come off of the bed, and Jungkook whines, retracting his mouth with a wet sound as he blinks up at Yoongi.

“No,” is all he mumbles in Yoongi’s general direction before he’s back on him, taking Yoongi into his mouth and down to the back of his throat. Yoongi doesn’t move his hips, anchored to the spot like Jungkook wants.

“Holy shit!” Yoongi curses.

He can tell Jungkook loves this. His throat twitches around Yoongi and his eyes water, looking up at the vampire as he pulls back a little. His tongue scrapes the sensitive underside of Yoongi’s dick and Yoongi thinks he might come just like this.

Jungkook seems to lose himself in a messy, wet rhythm. He closes his eyes, lashline shining with unshed tears every time the crown of Yoongi’s cock kisses the back of Jungkook’s throat, feels the soft, dewy spot as Jungkook swallows Yoongi deep.

Curses across many languages spill from Yoongi’s lips. He falls backward on the bed, moaning up toward the ceiling. Jungkook is loud, his ravenous mouth stretched tight around Yoongi, drool escaping the sides of taught lips and dripping down to Yoongi’s balls.

“Your fucking mouth,” Yoongi whispers, voice broken as he trembles under Jungkook’s ministrations.

Jungkook pulls off Yoongi with a wet-pop. “Wanna fuck you.” He licks up Yoongi’s precum again. “Can I fuck you, hyung?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi has no reservations. Hei can protect Jungkook, from both Yoongi himself and anything else. There is no fear there, only want. Only desire that has been burning for three fucking years that he sat next to Jungkook, the cute boy who poured over his vampire comics.

The whisper of clothes is loud in the room. Jungkook presses himself against Yoongi, crawls on top of him and cages him in. His mouth is filled with the taste of Yoongi’s precum and his own unique taste, but Yoongi devours him, biting into Jungkook’s bottom lip, pulling back and letting Jungkook grind into him.

Jungkook is warm, like the sun is trapped underneath his skin. Yoongi hasn’t felt the warmth of human skin like this in so long. He leans into Jungkook, hands pressed on the smooth, strong planes of Jungkook’s back as the younger grabs lube from his nightstand and pops the cap open with ease.

Cool, slick fingers prod at Yoongi’s tight rim and he lets out a rumble, drawing innocent eyes toward him. Yoongi grins and nips Jungkook’s mouth, wiggling his hips to chase Jungkook’s hesitant fingers. “Come on,” Yoongi urges, starving for it. Aching to be fucking filled, to have Jungkook closer. “Loosen hyung up.”

Jungkook whimpers, ever eager to follow instruction. He presses a finger in, sinking to the second knuckle and Yoongi sighs, head going slack as he lets Jungkook experiment, sliding his finger in and out gently. It feels good, but Yoongi wants more. Yoongi needs more. Hasn’t had this in years, hasn’t ever had Jungkook.

“More.”

It’s all Jungkook needs, growing confident and gently fucking into Yoongi’s tight walls with a set pace. Yoongi is spiraling. Feels like he can’t catch his breath, though he doesn’t need it. He vibrates at a new frequency as Jungkook slides in another digit, the wet squelch mixing with their moans.

Yoongi pulls Jungkook’s mouth to his, teeth clacking, tongues uncoordinated, noses bumping together as Jungkook stretches Yoongi. It feels good, especially when Jungkook reaches that soft spot in Yoongi, making his stomach lurch and his feet dig into his bed.

“There?”

“There,” Yoongi agrees in high-keen.

Determined, Jungkook gets after it. Busies his mouth with sucking Yoongi’s flesh raw, nipping, licking his way around the expanse of Yoongi’s throat. Jungkook seems to particularly favor the sensitive spot over Yoongi’s jugular and Yoongi laugh-moans when Jungkook’s teeth drag against where Yoongi’s pulse would be.

“Fuck me,” Yoongi begs. “Just fuck me, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

They’re a tangle of slick limbs. Yoongi tastes sweat on Jungkook’s skin, his tongue heavy in his mouth as Jungkook jostles him up his bed, pushing his thighs open, splaying him open butterfly-perfect.

Jungkook’s eyes are soft and curious, looking down at where Yoongi lays marked and messy, pliant for Jungkook, eager hole gaping, cock weeping. Yoongi pulls at Jungkook’s hands. Makes a soft sound. Wants him, begs for him quietly.

With a soft smirk, Jungkook fists his own cock a few times, pumping his thick, long length. Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement, chewing on his bottom lip, waiting and wanting. He knows is going to feel perfect, wants to feel the push and drag-

Jungkook’s tip catches the rim of Yoongi’s ass and he sighs. Digs his fingers into Jungkook’s skin and pulls. He is careful with his pressure, always regulating what he’s doing, never touching Jungkook hard enough to bruise. The smile on Jungkook’s face as he ducks his head to watch his cock sink into the heat of Yoongi is enough for Yoongi to know that Jungkook knows. Knows Yoongi has this under control. Knows that at any moment, Yoongi could take over. Could ruin Jungkook and leave him dripping and broken.

That’s not what Yoongi wants. He wants this. The pressure of Jungkook filling him up, tight squeeze, light burn, walls hugging and fluttering. He feels Jungkook deep, never ending, ceaseless. And then Jungkook’s tapered hips are pressed against Yoongi’s ass, stilling as Yoongi fights around the stretch.

“Come on,” Yoongi pants, a human habit that had slipped in between the distraction of Jungkook splitting him open. “Come on, Kook.”

Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s the way he whispers the plea or if it’s the nickname, but Jungkook sheds his hesitance. He presses Yoongi’s thighs to the mattress, putting his weight into him. It feels good, to have the heavy feeling of Jungkook on top of him, especially when he starts fucking Yoongi in earnest.

The world turns to liquid. At least, that’s how it feels as Yoongi turns molten under Jungkook. The younger fucks Yoongi hard, face fixed in a snarl as he grabs at Yoongi’s thighs, fingers slipping on lube-slick skin. Yoongi’s eyes roll backward, letting Jungkook’s thrust lull him somewhere like a dream.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses. “You like being fucked like this, huh? Big dangerous vampire, split open by me, huh?”

“Yes.” It’s a raspy note stuck in Yoongi’s throat, so he nods. Babbles something else. He doesn’t know.

With a huff of laughter, Jungkook pulls out. Yoongi’s eyes fly open, a protest on his lips, ready to snarl that he felt good, that he felt full. Jungkook cuts him off, flipping Yoongi over, handling him as though Jungkook were the predator here.

Before Yoongi can think much, Jungkook is prying his ass cheeks apart, spitting right on his already wet hole. Yoongi keens and Jungkook chuckles behind him, sliding back in and fuck it feels so good.

With a hand grabbing Yoongi’s hips to lift him, Jungkook powers into him, the snap of his hips fast and efficient. The sounds he makes puts Yoongi’s world on a spinning top, going round and round. Jungkook sounds so pretty, whining as he adjusts himself so he’s fucking deeper into Yoongi.

Warmth blooms inside of Yoongi and he lets out a scream. Jungkook hits his prostate head on and it feels like he’s unraveling, pressing his face into the sheets and arching his back. He scrambles backwards, pushing himself onto Jungkook’s cock, desperate for more more more.

Just as Yoongi starts to crest toward the peak of his orgasm, Jungkook shifts again. Yoongi growls and Jungkook ignores it entirely, pulling out of Yoongi with a wet mess and turning him around. He lifts Yoongi easily and the vampire loves it. Loves how Jungkook handles him, instructing Yoongi to loop his legs around his waist. Loves when he holds onto Jungkook’s shoulders, shining with sweat as Jungkook fucks up into him, his hands bounding Yoongi in his lap.

It’s so deep that Yoongi thinks he might die. Perhaps one can kill a vampire after all. It wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, head sinking into Jungkook’s shoulder. The smell of honeysuckle flooding his senses. The feeling of Jungkook fucking him with everything he has. The soft feeling of Jungkook nosing Yoongi’s hair in contrast with the way he slams Yoongi down into his lap.

Overwhelmed, Yoongi comes suddenly. A snarl rips out of him and his fingers tighten a little, but not enough to do more than bruise. Not enough to hurt Jungkook - never hurt Jungkook. He shudders as Jungkook quickens his pace, chases his orgasm, driving Yoongi toward overstimulation.

Yoongi squirms and squeals, fights Jungkook - but not really. Not in any way that tells Jungkook Yoongi is actually trying to get away, because they both know that he can. Jungkook laughs, pinning Yoongi down and sinking deep into the heart of him where he comes with a long groan, face dropping into Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi feels the rough wetness of Jungkook’s tongue, licking a stripe up his neck. Despite himself, Yoongi laughs and rolls his eyes, feeling alive and brighter than ever.

“Beast,” he jests, slapping Jungkook’s side.

Jungkook sloppily kisses his way to Yoongi’s mouth, letting himself soften inside, not willing to pull out. Their mouths mingled together, not really kissing, not really not kissing. Just tangled tongues, sometimes just mouths pressed against one another.

“So you like being handled, huh?” Jungkook asks, eyes fluttering open. Yoongi looks up at them. This close, he can see all the different shades of brown, layer after layer of shades. “Vampire likes being a pillow princess?”

“And you like being rough and fast,” Yoongi shoots back. “Makes you feel like a predator, huh?”

Jungkook’s nose goes red. Yoongi likes it when Jungkook’s face reddens. So full of blood and life and lust. “A little.”

When Jungkook pulls out, it’s an audible, wet mess. Yoongi feels the spill out of him. Doesn’t care. Likes the debauchery of it. Plus, he’s distracted when Jungkook lays down next to him, head on Yoongi’s chest. He isn’t going anywhere, seeking the comfort of Yoongi’s arm as Jungkook’s heart rate begins to die down.

“So,” Jungkook says airly. “I guess this makes me a fang fucker?”

Yoongi groans. “Not those fucking comic books.”

“I have so many more things I wanna try, hyung.” Jungkook looks up at him, eyes glittering. “Give me ten minutes. I wanna see how long you can ride me.”

Yoongi huffs, but there’s mirth in it.

So Yoongi doesn’t hate Jeon Jungkook at all. Not one little bit.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #yoonkook smut #yoonkook fanfic #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #vampire yoongi #halis milestone requests #minors dni #minors dont read #yoonkook #yoongi x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi

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