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flowerandblood · 7 months

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Daughter, Lover, Sister (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm’s End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother’s army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: masturbation, angst, sexual tension, rape attempt, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond’s words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm’s End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter tells the story of what happened between the events of the Brother, Lover, Son oneshot, which is from the same AU.

Part two of Brother, Lover, Son oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm’s End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

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When the first year had passed since his father had sent him to Storm's End to train in the arts of warfare under the tutelage of Lord Baratheon, he himself did not know how he felt about it.

On the one hand, the anger and sadness that had been churning in his heart when he had arrived at their fortress was still alive in him, but on the other hand, he was catching himself thinking that he had become used to this place, to its sounds, its smells, his bed and his chamber.

He had become accustomed to training daily with Royce under Borros' guidance, usually accompanied by his youngest daughter learning archery alongside them. When their sparring was over and Aemond went to rest Royce would stay with her sometimes, training her in sword fighting.

He had also become accustomed to her presence.

If he had to describe her he would say she was wild and bubbling with energy, everything pleased and excited her, Royce said she had the nature of an explorer and he partly agreed with him.

He was surprised to find that she remembered exactly what he said to her, including when he talked about something concerning King's Landing or his heritage, and sometimes she would ask him about it, wanting to know more.

"Who chooses the dragon's egg for the newborns?" She asked one day as she lay on the floor of the library next to the table at which he sat, she had scattered sheets of parchment in front of her on which she had drawn various characters and scenes with coloured pastels in sweeping, sure movements.

He looked down at her from his book, wondering where the question had suddenly come from.

"Parents." He replied dryly, returning to the paragraph he had finished on.

"And how do they know that the one they chose is the right one?" She asked further without even looking at him, wiggling her legs, wondering which shade of yellow would best match the colour of Cassandra's hair, which she had just portrayed with straight lines.

She finally decided on a warm, sunny shade and with intense movements began to apply the colour around her head, not caring too much about the accuracy of her hairstyle.

He looked at her, thinking about this question. He had never given it much thought and found it actually quite an interesting issue. He shifted in his seat and grunted, embarrassed that he couldn't give her a confident answer.

"I don't know. They just have a hunch." He muttered finally, deciding that was the best explanation.

He tried not to think about the fact that perhaps if his father had chosen a different egg for him, a dragon would have hatched from it. However, that was no longer relevant.

Now he had Vhagar.

He heard her mutter with curiosity, turning her head, considering his words.

"From your egg hatched Vhagar?" She asked finally, leaning over her pastel box again. He pressed his lips together at her words, frustrated; he had been pretending to read for several minutes, involuntarily focused on their exchange.

"No." He said coolly, turning the page with a sudden, aggressive movement.

He felt her glance at him, sensing his frustration, and she spoke no more, all around them only the sound of pastels rubbing against parchment.

When his Name Day had come, he hadn't expected anyone to know about it. As usual, he got a gift from his mother, who gave him some new books, he also got a new leather belt from Ser Criston.

He was surprised, however, when Lord Borros summoned him to his chamber. He had never been in his quarters before.

As he entered, Borros rose from his chair standing right next to the window and commanded him with a movement of his hand to come closer. Aemond saw that there were five daggers of various lengths on the table, each with a different handle, but all containing a dragon motif. He blinked, surprised to feel his heart pound hard as Lord Baratheon began to speak.

"Each of these daggers symbolises something. The qualities every boy must have to become a true men. Honour. Courage. Wisdom. Justice. Humility. May each of these daggers remind you of these things. They are my gift to you." He said in a low, throaty voice, and he swallowed loudly, stepping closer to the table.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen such beautifully crafted weapons, the dragon-like figures wrapped around the handles in different ways, but when he took each one in his hand they were comfortable and light, he spun them easily between his fingers.

He didn't know what to say, so he simply thanked him.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he had been looking at them all day, enthralled by their detail, watching them closely. For some reason he felt proud, he felt noticed, seen. He had no idea how he knew that today was the day, but he felt grateful that he had shown him some kind of fatherly affect and interest.

He was surprised once again at their evening feast, in addition to the usual hot dishes he saw large platters of cakes, Borros thundered that today they were celebrating Prince Aemond's Name Day, and then each of his children came up to hand him gifts.

He did not open them, accepting them only and laying them down beside him, embarrassed and confused, not knowing what to say or where to look, never before had anyone celebrated this important day for him so pompously.

At the very end, Borros' youngest daughter approached him, a large piece of paper in her hand. She took a chair that stood not far away, moved it with a loud sound of wood rubbing against the stone floor and sat down next to him, evidently recognising that she had to explain to him exactly what he was about to look at.

She placed a sheet of paper in front of him which was all filled with drawings. He recognised himself in the figure with the blue hair and the eyepatch; he was in each of the scenes.

"Here you are flying through the skies on your great dragon burning your cruel enemies." She said pointing her finger at his figure riding dragon in such a tone of voice as if she had just been explaining war strategy to him, something very serious and requiring focus. He felt his lips involuntarily twitch in a smile, but tried not to laugh.

"Here we are you, me and Royce, here you are when you are sword fighting and you are very focused then. Here are you and me when I jump on you suddenly and you get very angry, oh, and here, here are us as you read to me in the library about dragons that time." She spoke quickly and paused after a moment, reminding herself that she had to swallow her saliva.

"And here is all our family." She finished her explanation and looked at him proudly, a wide smile on her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and although he felt amusement at seeing these naïve, simple, childlike drawings, he also felt a tightness in his throat at her words and the way she introduced him.

Here is our whole family.

She didn't position him sideways in the drawing, he was standing among them, next to her and Royce, and although his face was the only one that didn't express contentment, he felt some kind of warmth from this portrayal, he knew that she had put all her effort and abilities into it, wanting to give him something of herself.

He thought with surprise that he was somehow touched.

"Please, do you mean that you want to give our prince these scribbles? Give it to me, forgive her, my prince, don't laugh at her, she's just a child." Cassandra said impatiently, as if she had just chastised her own child, her sister pressed her drawing to her chest crumpling it, horror in her eyes and tears at her words.

"No, I drew it and it's my gift!" She mumbled in despair, hurt by what she had said and that she thought her present was unworthy of him when she had clearly put her whole heart into it.

Borros told Cassandra to sit down and leave her little sister alone. Aemond looked at her uncertainly, but she didn't give him back his gift, just took it and ran out of the hall with a loud, distraught sob, Royce stood up with a loud sigh saying he would follow her.

He ate his cake to the end and then said he would retire to bed. He returned to his chamber with all the rest of the gifts he had received and began to unwrap them.

From Royce he received a war-themed book, from Cassandra an embroidered handkerchief, from Maris an ornate wooden box, from Ellyn new black leather gloves and from Floris a lock of her hair.

He wondered if Royce had already reassured his little sister.

He heard a quiet knock and, fearing it was Floris, answered nothing, but heard Royce's voice a moment later on the other side of his door.

"May I come in?"

He got up from his bed, putting the book he had got from him aside and opened the door, letting him in. For a moment he seemed troubled and didn't know how to put into words what he wanted to say.

"Listen. I know it's her childish invention, but she's been excited about drawing it for you for days. She threw out some of her drawings saying they weren't good enough and that this one was perfect. I understand it's probably just a scribble to you, but right now she's suffering terribly thinking you share Cassandra's opinion, but even if that's the case, just accept it, put it away, do what you want with it." He said, shrugging his shoulders, and he sighed heavily, rolling his eye.

As Royce left he moved towards her chamber and knocked loudly.

"Go away, Royce!" He heard her angry mumble, clearly still reliving her painful humiliation.

"I came for my gift. It's rude to give and then take away." He said loudly and coldly, heard her get up suddenly and run quickly to the door. She opened it, her big eyes looking up at him, her face all red. She looked at the piece of paper she held in her hands with an expression of hopelessness.

"I crumpled it up a bit…then, at dinner and…I'll draw a new one, alright?" She muttered, and he held out his hand with an expression of impatience on his face.

"I want this one. Give it back or I'll take it from you by force." He said angrily. She whined in despair and gave him back her work, starting to cry loudly again, closing the door in front of his face with a loud slam.

He returned to his chamber and sat on his bed, looking at the crumpled sheet of paper with representations of his figure. He folded it in half and tucked it under his pillow, sometimes looking at it when he missed King's Landing, feeling a kind of comfort then.

A few years passed and his Name Day was always celebrated in a similar way. It frustrated him that he was then required to interact more than usual, nevertheless there was something pleasant about the fact that they always remembered about him. Especially as he was no exception, the Name Day of each of Borros' children, including himself, was celebrated.

However, when the Name Day of his youngest daughter arrived, when she had finally reached an age where she could attend feasts and dances organised by her father, and young boys could vie for her hand, Borros organised several days of hunting, which would end with a great feast and revelry.

Although he had witnessed how she was changing, how she was slowly ceasing to be a child and becoming a woman, it was only at this point that it occurred to him that this transformation had already happened.

He was surprised to find that her shape had already become girlish, the outline of her breasts had become clear and full, her hips wider. Although she still looked like a child next to her sisters, it was from her that he could not turn his gaze away.

During the hunt, she ran up to him when she saw that he was going to pour himself some water in the stream, joining him, apparently wanting to say something to him in private.

"I have an idea what gift you could give me for my Name Day!" She called out cheerfully, smiling from ear to ear, contentment and warmth in her gaze. He raised an eyebrow, putting his beaker in the water.

"Indeed?" He asked ironically, rising, taking a few deep sips of water. He wanted to avoid her, but she moved behind him, speaking further.

"I want to fly on Vhagar's back into the skies!" She said lightly, as if she was talking about what she was going to eat for dinner.

He choked in surprise and started coughing loudly, covering his mouth with his hand, looking at her in disbelief. She wanted to pat him on the back, but he moved away, shaking his head.

"You've gone mad. What kind of insolent demands are these?" He asked frustrated, but she didn't seem to care about his reaction. She stepped closer to him, her eyes shining.

"It's not a demand, it's my dream. And when is a better time to fulfil it than on my Name Day?" She asked softly, and he shook his head and snorted, chuckling under his breath in disbelief.

"I'm not here to fulfil your desires. I'm surprised you're not embarrassed to ask for something like that." He growled, sidestepping her by bumping his shoulder against hers, her quiet hiss answered him.

What was she thinking?

Who was she to ride his dragon with him?

Her sisters had begged him for years to take them to her liege, but he had never agreed, and she thought he would let her fly on her back?

She saw that she had upset him and stayed away from him all day, talking to her father and her brother. He felt a sense of frustration, however, seeing her stopped by one of the tents by a lord who had been watching her all day.

A cocky young lad whom he remembered well from Borros' feasts in Storm's End.

He knew he had a similar attitude to women as Aegon, and she was innocent and naive, unable to see the subtext in his words and gestures.

He felt shivers of discomfort pass through him every time the boy leaned over her, whispering something in her ear. She looked at him puzzled and laughed, clearly not knowing herself what she thought of his words.

Only after a moment did he realise that his hands were clenched into fists, that he had been looking at them for a long time like an imbecile.

He figured it wasn't his problem, turning away, reminded of how much she had taken him out of balance, taking a deep sip of wine from a metal goblet.

However, he felt a tingling in his fingers when he heard his laughter, his hand on hers, saying something to her quickly, pulling her towards the fire, clearly wanting to show her something.

He clenched his teeth, feeling anxious and uncomfortable, tense, as if something was about to happen. He thought he wasn't her brother, but the idea that this boy could do to her what Aegon was doing to his servants made him feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

He was immensely relieved when he saw her move towards him, leaving the boy alone, apparently figuring out his intentions at last.

He grunted loudly, taking another sip of wine greedily, pretending not to feel his fingers trembling, his heart pounding like mad as she sat down beside him on the large wooden bench at the huge oak table, her father's vassals on the other side drinking wine.

He swallowed quietly without looking at her, feeling a surprisingly pleasant shudder when her thigh pressed against his, her arm against his shoulder. He figured there wasn't much space on the bench and that was why she'd done it, that there was no undertone to it, but he felt a painful pulsing in his trousers anyway.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you." She said quietly, and he hummed under his breath with his gaze fixed ahead.

He didn't dare to look at her.

"Will you forgive me, my prince?" She asked softly, using the right phrase at last, usually calling him simply her brother.

Satisfied with this change, he nodded and felt her body move closer to his.

He did not move away.

He fought the strenuous urge to place his hand on her thigh and cursed in his mind, wondering what the hell he was thinking, what right he had to touch her like that.

Their relationship went back to normal, which meant that the two of them were talking to Royce at the same table. Her father gave permission for her to try wine for the first time and Royce decided that they would accompany her on this new experience. He poured her a full cup without a second thought, and Aemond looked at it with raised eyebrows.

"Isn't that too much?" He asked uncertainly, Royce laughed out loud.

"After all, if she doesn't want to drink to the end, she won't. Nobody's going to make her. Here here!" He said, raising his cup, Aemond and she also took a sip, both of them watching her reaction curiously.

She coughed, wrinkling her brow, uncertainty on her face as to what she thought of the taste that had just melted in her mouth.

"Tart. And I feel like it's warm in my stomach right now." She said in surprise, looking questioningly at her brother, for the first time feeling the intoxicating effects of alcohol. Royce took another deep sip from his goblet with amusement.

"Oh, you're going to get very warm." He laughed and indeed she did.

Although she didn't drink much, her tongue soon began to tangle, Aemond watched from the sidelines as she danced with her brother by the fire along with other couples to the music of local musicians and fiddlers.

She seemed more joyful and happy than ever, sweat droplets on her face from exertion, she and Royce complemented each other perfectly in the dance, moving with energy and vigour.

She said something in Royce's ear and pointed to the woods, Royce laughed and nodded, clearly understanding that she had to go there to settle her needs quickly.

Royce asked one of her cousins to dance and Aemond, meanwhile, led her away with his eyes. He pressed his lips together as he saw the same boy she had spoken to earlier following her into the darkness.

He stood up suddenly, furious, the alcohol bubbling in his head, making the figures around him seem indistinct. He walked off into the forest, walking between the trees and looking around, hearing the sound of a river not far away. After a moment, someone's mumbling reached his ears.

"− oh, I can manage on my own − no − please don't −" She muttered wearily, he saw her silhouette and above her his, trying to untie the fabric of her trousers, her hands clenched on his wrists in a helpless gesture of defence, she was barely holding herself up.

Aemond walked up to him and slammed his head with all his might against the tree trunk she was leaning against, he heard her loud squeal of terror, she looked at him with big eyes. Only now did he realise that she was breathing loudly, shaking all over, looking at him in horror.

"− I didn't − I swear I didn't − it's not what you think − he −" She mumbled out, and he felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that she believed he'd accused her of wanting it, of being guilty.

She squealed as the material of her trousers began to slide off her hips and she caught it quickly, almost falling over, barely catching her balance through the alcohol.

He caught her with his heart pounding, feeling a strange kind of pain in his chest, seeing her so vulnerable, helpless and terrified, her breathing uneven and loud, on the verge of crying.

He helped her tie back her trousers and readjusted her chemise. Pushed by some sudden, hot feeling he blamed on alcohol he pulled her close and snuggled her into himself, sinking his hand into her hair, her fingers tightening on the material of his leather jacket.

"Did he touch you?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she shook her head.

She sniffed with her nose, drawing in the air loudly, he could hear her crying, her body soft and warm, smelling of her scent and the wine that made his head spin. His manhood pulsed hard feeling the closeness of her body, his semi-conscious mind wondering if she felt it.

He looked with a cold, indifferent gaze towards the boy, who began to rise from his knees with a quiet hiss, clutching his head.

"Lord Baratheon will find out about what you were trying to do." He hissed, lifting her up by her hips, allowing himself to be embraced by his neck, heading towards the camp.

The boy behind him exclaimed that he hadn't done anything and that she was the one encouraging him, but he decided he would deal with it later, feeling her all quivering in his arms.

"− don't tell father − what he will think of me − please −" She whispered helplessly in his ear, her cheek nestled against his face, he was hot, pleasant tickling shivers ran through his whole body.

He headed towards her tent from behind, walking in the shadows between the trees so that no one would notice them. He waited until the guards had passed to the other side and slipped inside.

He walked with her to her bedding spread on the soft grass and slowly laid her down on it, but her arms still held him close, wrapped around his neck.

"− you have to let go of me − I have to leave −" He whispered, but at his words she hugged him even tighter, his nose against her cheek, he could smell the pleasant aroma of her soft hair.

They both breathed through their mouths, he could feel their bodies trembling. He knew they were both drunk, however he couldn't help what he felt, the fact that he had become completely hard lying like this between her thighs, feeling the warmth of her body beneath him.

Her grip finally eased, her hands falling inertly on either side of her head. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her, her face far too close to his, her pink, glossy lips parted slightly, her gaze dreamy, tender, warm. He thought it was the alcohol and that he should get up, but instead he looked at her fighting with himself and what he desired.

"− sleep −" He said coolly, getting up at last, deciding that no one could find them in such a position. He rose, her gaze watching him vigilantly, her chest rising and falling slowly, her hair scattered in disarray around her head.

He thought with pain that she no longer looked like a child, but like a woman, a lover, gentle and soft, he imagined how warm she must have been inside, that her kisses would have been sweet and hot, moist with her saliva.

He felt ashamed of his thoughts, anger and frustration building up inside him. She was one of Borros' daughters, he could have chosen her as his wife.

So why did it seem inappropriate to him?

Everyone expected him to choose Ellyn, she was his equal, beautiful and clever, humble and sweet, perfectly mannered, she would certainly fulfil the role of his wife with full devotion.

But Ellyn was too fragile in his eyes, too delicate, she was afraid of his harsh answers and cold disposition, she thought he treated her that way because she had done something wrong or he wasn't fond of her, when in fact that was his way of being.

It was her youngest sister who really understood him, she could read his expressions accurately, guessing when he was content, tired or frustrated. She reacted to his anger with laughter, she wasn't afraid of him despite the fact that he was much taller and stronger than her.

His stern, harsh words didn't impress her and didn't seem to hurt her because she knew they didn't stem from his feelings for her but from his nature.

He was not a pleasant, cheerful or talkative person and he did not want to be. He knew that Ellyn would live in the hope that she would change him, that with her he would become a gentle, laughing, joyful man. He realised that this would never happen, that they would both tire of each other.

He felt nothing for her, except a kind of brotherly concern.

This stood in stark opposition to what he felt now, looking at her, completely drunk, standing in her tent, watching her face, her gaze fixed on him, yet there was something in him that he had not seen before, something he was hot from, some kind of desire and affection that he wanted so badly to see.

He turned and walked away, feeling that he was on the verge of doing something very bad.

He did well to do so, for he ran straight into a terrified Royce, his eyes wide open.

"Have you seen her anywhere? I've been looking for both her and you, but she's nowhere to be found…"

"She's in her tent. She felt worse and I led her there. She's sleeping." He said lowly, turning his face away, trying to sound indifferent, his fingers rubbing against each other nervously.

"I'm worried about something else, though."

He couldn't hide a mischievous, dark smirk of satisfaction when Borros burst furiously into the tent of the boy's father, who was trying to insult and abuse his daughter.

Borros as far as his children were concerned was like a great, enraged bear, capable of tearing apart anyone in his path. He ordered them to leave the hunt immediately.

He said that he would remember this insult forever and that they had nothing left to look for in his fortress.

When it was all over he surprised him by coming up to him and patting him on his shoulder.

"Thank you for going after them, for protecting her. I've never been more proud of you, son." He said lowly, somehow touched, and he looked at him wide-eyed, not expecting those words at all, completely frozen. He merely nodded and returned to his tent when Lord Baratheon told him to rest.

He thought Borros would have killed him if he had known what he was thinking about as he fucked himself with his own hand lying on his bedding.

That he imagined he had not left her tent then, but stayed with her, that he had kissed her, that he had touched her neck with his lips, her soft breasts, that he had touched her with his fingers, down there, and then sunk between her thighs and listened to her sweet moans that ripped from her throat with each of his thrusts.

He came hard panting loudly, his semen spilling down his hand, his whole body trembling, sweaty and welted, filled with fulfilment and pleasure.

Never before in his life had he come so hard.

The next day, he and she avoided each other's gazes at the breakfast they ate with Borros and Royce, knowing that what had happened between them was not entirely innocent. He figured they would both blame the alcohol for sure and simply not revisit the subject.

That's exactly what happened.

The last day of her Name Day celebrations was a big feast where she was finally officially allowed to sit at a table, drink and dance like a grown woman. She entered through a side entrance and he felt his throat tighten at the sight of her.

The cut of her gown caused its fabric to hug her waist beneath her breasts, covered only by a thin white chemise, her sleeves tied to her dress with coloured ribbons had slits from under which the white fabric shone through.

He thought with amazement that at the same time it was a very daring choice, even defiant, on the other hand she looked proud and magnificent, her gown shimmered pearly and was embroidered with bright stones.

He looked away, taking a deep sip of wine from his cup.

In keeping with tradition, she was asked to dance again and again. The right of her first dance was of course with Borros and Royce, but then various lords and knights began to approach her, demanding to experience the same pleasure with her.

She accepted their hands with joy and delight, radiating happiness, dancing with verve and lightness. He tried to divert his attention from the sting of jealousy every time he looked at the hands of the men lying on her waist, touching her palms.

He didn't recognise himself, but fought strenuously against the thought of asking her to dance, even though he hadn't done it with any of her sisters and knew they would take it as an insult.

He hesitated, assuming on the one hand that he had been close with her and Royce forever, on the other hand he feared that the guests would take it as an expression of his will, his proof that he had already chosen Lord Baratheon's daughter whom he wished to marry.

He shuddered as Royce leaned over him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I ordered a beautiful dagger for her with a deer motif on the hilt. She's always dreamed of one, I'm curious to see if she'll like it." He said excitedly, running a hand over his chin, and he hummed at his words.

Gifts for her sisters were always chosen by his mother, and usually it was jewellery or gowns from King's Landing.

For her, however, he had decided to choose the gifts himself, and had ordered some interesting books for her from the Citadel about dragons flying through the centuries in Westeros, with beautiful, rich illustrations, knowing that she wanted to expand her knowledge on the subject.

He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had approached them with a smile, all welted and settled over them, warmth, contentment and fatigue beaming from her face, her breasts hidden under the thin material of her white chemise rising and falling with effort, making him unable to look away.

"I see you're not complaining about the lack of dancing, sister." Royce said in amusement, she laughed heartily and shook her head, taking the goblet from him, taking a deep sip of wine.

"No, but I'm terribly hot. I've come to hide with you, to give me at least a moment's peace." She said softly, standing between them, placing her hands on the backs of their chairs and sighed loudly.

Borros, seeing her, stood up and walked over to her, grasping her face in his large, rough hands, looking at her proudly.

"My beautiful child. When did you grow up like this? Who will you dance with now? Has our prince already asked for this honour?" He asked with joy, and he almost choked on the sip of wine he had just taken, looking at him shocked, his daughter shook her head quickly, turning suddenly pale, feeling the discomfort of the whole situation, knowing that he had never danced with anyone.

"Father." She laughed, trying to turn it into a joke, Royce pressed his lips together, turning his gaze away, not wanting to look at it. Borros blinked as if he didn't understand what she meant, that she wished him to stop discussing it.

"As I understand it then, our prince does not consider you a sufficiently worthy partner for him." He said coldly, the atmosphere suddenly becoming very heavy, he pressed his lips together at his words, feeling the tension throughout his body, his heart pounding like mad.

"Father, please." She mumbled, horrified and ashamed of his words, of the fact that he was trying to force him to do something he didn't want to do.

He stood up furiously, reaching his hand out to her, and she shook her head.

"Are you refusing me?" He asked with a sneer, saw that her eyes had turned red, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled slightly.

It wasn't her fault and he knew it, but he was furious anyway.

She placed her hand on his palm and together they descended the stairs to the stone floor, as he had feared, causing a general sensation and confusion.

"Forgive him, please, I don't know what's gotten into him." She whispered in a trembling voice, he could feel her fingers shaking in his hand, he stood before her and bowed, music echoed around them.

They took the right position, their two hands entwined above their heads, two lying on their waists, they rotated to the rhythm, changing to the opposite position every few bars, moving the other way.

She looked at him and cried, and he felt an ache in his heart, felt that he wanted it and didn't want it at the same time, she looked so beautiful and so helpless, her gown shining silvery in the torchlight.

"Don't cry." He whispered a little more softly, moving back towards her to the rhythm of the music and grabbing her again with the embrace of his arm, he felt the touch of her hand on his waist again. "Don't cry."

They turned again, this time he pulled her closer to him, so that if he leaned in more their foreheads would touch, her misty, sad gaze fixed on him, only on him.

"Forgive me." She whispered with difficulty, and he pressed his lips together, wondering if she was apologising to him for being forced to dance against his will, or for some other reason that she, like him, hid deep in her heart.

If he could, if they were alone, he would have leaned over and kissed her wet cheek, and then the other, and then he would have sunk into her soft lips, thus showing her how wrong she was, how much she did not understand the reason for his frustration and anger.

He found with some kind of despair that the music had ended too soon, too abruptly. They bowed to each other, and, following good manners, he escorted her to her seat.

She threw him one quick distraught, apologetic look, and he didn't know what he could say, so he said nothing and sat down again next to Royce, taking a deep sip of wine. Royce grunted loudly.

"Forgive our father. He…"

"Let's not talk about it." He interrupted him mid-sentence, and Royce sighed heavily and nodded, knowing that getting anything out of him would have no effect.

The feasting and dancing continued, his gaze drawn to Floris, who stood up after a moment, moving towards her youngest sister. He saw her leaning over her, whispering something in her ear, pain, humiliation, disbelief running through her face, her brow arching in shame. Whatever she said to her made her get up and leave the hall.

She did not return.

Borros became concerned when he noticed her absence and, as usual, Royce was the one who went to check on her. Aemond looked intensely at Floris, who gave him a brief, satisfied look and smiled. He clenched his hand into a fist at this sight and looked expectantly at Royce when he returned, sitting back down next to him.

"She won't open the door for me. She said she was unwell and wanted to rest, that it was because of the wine." He explained to his father, and he nodded.

Aemond knew it wasn't the wine.

As he walked back to his chamber he stopped in front of her door, listening for any sounds, but all he heard was silence. He wondered whether to knock or ask her what her sister had said, but decided in the end that it was none of his concern.

He was already about to move on, tired and discouraged, when he heard the sound of the lock clicking open and the door opened, she stood in front of him in nothing but her nightgown and she jumped up, terrified.

He stared at her with wide eyes, at the barely visible silhouette of her naked body, and was unable to look away, his voice caught in his throat, he had no idea how to explain what he was doing at her door. She seemed as shocked as he was, so for a moment they just looked at each other.

"Something happened?" She asked uncertainly, apparently wanting to understand for what reason he was still standing there and not moving. He licked his lips involuntarily, feeling that they were dry from anxiety, and swallowed quietly.

"What did Floris tell you?" He asked feigning indifference, pretending not to feel his heart pounding as he played with his fingers in a gesture of nervousness and insecurity.

She pressed her lips together at his question and tensed all over, lowering her gaze. She was silent for a moment.

"…that I'm a whore. That she heard I went with a men alone between the trees at night while hunting. And that she knows I asked my father to persuade you to dance with me." She said in a trembling voice, shaking her head. "But that's not true, I…"

"I know." He replied dryly, clenching his hands into fists, not wanting her to explain herself to him.

"Get dressed in your training attire. I'll be waiting for you at the side entrance to the courtyard if you still want to see Vhagar." He said finally and set off ahead, not even giving her time to think, not waiting for her answer.

He had no idea what had possessed him to propose this. He didn't have a clue why the words suddenly burst out of his mouth, but he realised that after what had happened between them on the hunt, what he had felt, he wanted to be alone with her, without Royce, without her father, without Floris.

Just him and her.

To see how he would feel about it.

He waited for her in his long, black leather coat. He finally heard her uncertain footsteps, she had tied her long hair in a braid to keep it out of her way, her gaze uncertain and excited.

They moved ahead without a word, the night was clear and beautiful, moonless, only stars above them.

"Do you still want this?"

She swallowed loudly, looking at him surprised, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"What are you asking?"

"About whether you still want to ride the dragon."

She pressed her lips together at his question, tears in her eyes, though he did not know for what reason. She nodded her head quickly, in her eyes some kind of gratitude, tenderness and warmth that made him hot.

He felt her small fingers grasp his hand uncertainly, he felt that her skin was cold, so he thought nothing would happen if he warmed her, he deceived himself that this would speak well of him as a man.

He intertwined their fingers thinking that he had to keep her close, that he couldn't let her get sick or Borros would kill him. He did not look at her, thinking only of how soft her skin was.

When they finally reached the hill where Vhagar had just rested, sleeping a stony sleep, they both stopped a short distance away so she could admire her silhouette from afar.

He felt her fingers squeeze his skin tighter, she hugged his arm and he stroked her hand with his thumb, as if this reassuring gesture towards her was the most natural thing in the world.

What was he doing?

Vhagar sensed his scent and slowly raised her large head, turning towards them, warm steam escaping from her nostrils as she exhaled. She knew there was a stranger with him, and looked curiously at the small figure standing behind him, for he had never yet allowed anyone but himself to approach her.

He felt her body pressed against his side and he glanced up at her, her eyes wide, disbelief painted on her face, one of her hands entwined with his fingers, the other clenched on his arm. He thought with satisfaction that she could not get a word out.

"Lykirī, Vhagar." He said aloud, glancing at his dragoness, who was watching them vigilantly, her head raised high in the air resembling a great hill, her eyes glowing uneasily in the starlight.

"Come." He whispered to her and they moved ahead, led away by the gaze of her reptilian eyes, heading towards the ropes that hung from his saddle positioned on her back.

"You have to climb up there. Do you think you can do it?" He asked quietly, and she nodded. She grabbed one of the ropes and slowly began to pull herself up, clasping her legs against her large dragon scales.

"Won't she start breathing fire?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Not unless I order her to, so you'd better not get on my nerves and concentrate on climbing." He said dryly, and she snorted at his words, continuing to climb.

He belayed her from below, and when she finally climbed onto the seat, he climbed behind her with a few sure, quick movements, sitting down behind her. He wrapped a few ropes around her waist, sighing heavily, hoping it would be enough to keep her from falling.

"Hold on to the front of the saddle and don't scream so you don't distract her. Do you understand?" He asked lowly, trying to concentrate, gripping the ropes he was guiding her with in his hands and trying not think about how her buttocks were pushing against his manhood, which had already become hard the moment he sat behind her, the closeness of her body making it impossible for him to gather his thoughts.

She nodded, doing exactly what he had condemned, tense and excited.

"Sōves, Vhagar!" He thundered, and the dragoness rose lazily on her great paws, spreading her wings, beginning to run ahead, everything around them trembling and shaking, the wind in their hair, he saw that she curled up in front of him and pressed her face against his saddle, clenching her eyes.

He felt like laughing at the sight.

Suddenly, with a single, powerful movement of her wings, she lifted herself with difficulty into the air, then higher and higher, until finally as they rose above the clouds he commanded her to level flight and they began to glide through the skies. Only then did he realise that he had pressed his face against her neck, that his whole lungs were filled with her scent.

He couldn't help how pleasurable it was.

"You can open your eyes. The worst is behind us." He said loudly knowing that she could barely hear him over the wheezing wind around them, she uncertainly lifted her head and looked around in disbelief, breathing unevenly, her whole body quivering.

She dared to look above her and saw only stars, beautiful, luminous, spreading across the black sky.

He felt her move back, laying her head on his shoulder so that she could still look up, their wind-cold cheeks pressed against each other, their hair flowing. He felt something wet on his skin and when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye he saw tears running down her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.

"Whenever I was a child I always imagined that my mother, after her death, became one of the stars and shone in the sky." She choked out with difficulty, and he felt a tightening in his throat suddenly understanding why soaring into the sky was her dream.

She wanted to be closer to her.

"Since everyone says that good people go to the heavens and live among the gods, that means she is there." She whispered, and he involuntarily put his arms around her waist, hugged his nose to her face, and they lasted like that in this amazingly tender close embrace, the kind she had only shared with Royce so far.

Looking at them he wondered what it was like.

And now that she was so close, he only dreamed of pressing her lips to his own.

He shuddered as he felt her hands on his, her fingers thoughtfully beginning to run over his skin, shivers ran through him at her innocent, tender touch.

He had never been so close to anyone.

He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her at this moment.

"Thank you, brother." She whispered, looking up at him, and he felt a tightness in his throat and a rage, a helplessness at the thought that this was how she saw him, that she didn't see him as a men, just another Royce.

He imagined slipping his tongue between those wonderfully glossy, full lips, clinging tightly to her mouth and sucking on its fleshy texture, the tips of their tongues licking each other in a lewd, sticky kiss.

He swallowed loudly and pressed his forehead to her temple.

He didn't want to be her brother.

He wanted to be her lover.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

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cookies-over-yonder · 6 months

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"... In that moment, you, and Taylor, and Nick all realize that there is no fixing this. That this is as good as it's going to get. That you are all stuck with each other in the forms that you are now. You see daddy magic—that same daddy magic that exited Ron and Terry's body, emanate from their bodies like a fine mist, coalesce into the air, and then zip into the jar and fill it up a little bit more because that's what your relationship is."

The Close Family and Closure: An Analysis and Breakdown of Taylor's Issues in Hell or High Father

...and the way he addresses and, in Taylor fashion, downplays the problem, and denies its lack of solution.

(I have transcribed the majority of this scene, and below the cut is my line-by-line breakdown and analysis, as well as some other tid-bits.)

hello! ever since i got into dndads, taylor has been my favourite. i found his extreme escapism and dumb confidence fascinating, and as you may know, i love finding scenarios for him to break. it's, like, at least half of my fics at this point.

this episode is my favourite episode, it broke me, and it pieced me back together but Wrong in all the right ways.

this analysis is focusing on the taylor of it all. the motivation behind his words and the changes in his cadence and the denial that still, despite everything, refuses to fade.

i've never written an analysis post structured like this, so do let me know if you like it. i just... i really love taylor.

okay, let's go!

1. "Well...''

Nicky: … I didn't see a lot of Taylor's growing up and that was—that was fi—like we're cool now right, Taylor? Taylor: Fuck yeah dawg— Nicky: See?

to start off, taylor's instinctive answer is to agree with nicky. because well, yeah, they're chill now, that's true, so of course the first thing he does is agree. and i gotta say that i was expecting taylor to leave it at that, because he's not one to dig deeper when he doesn't need to, and even when he does.

Taylor: Well…

taylor says this immediately after his first answer and oh ny god i got SO excited. but this ain't about me. anyway. taylor finally admitting that they're actually not 100% cool is such a big fucking step argh i am so proud of him forever and also so sad for him forever...

Nicky: What? Look, I'm back now, and I'm super tight, and we hang out, and we can do samurai shit together, and we're fuckin'—we're tight as fuck.

this part makes me so sad because nicky is so ignorant to how his absence has affected taylor despite his frustrations at glenn for not being there. and also, this sort of reasoning would have worked on convincing taylor back in early season two. in fact, it did!

[Season 2 Episode 10: Dad Me To Hell]

taylor is completely satisfied with this reason because it feeds into his main character syndrome. his dad left to protect him. what better reason is there? and now he's back and there and able to do cool shit with him, so everything is perfect, right?

but the next thing taylor says is so fucking heartbreaking:

Taylor: If I'm gonna be honest, Dad, I've kinda been hoping and keeping an eye out for time travel magic so that we could go back in time, and you could be there for me.

the way he trails off as he says it, and he loses his confidence in his words... it shows an unfamiliar shyness. we've never seen taylor be this vulnerable before. and to think that he'd been holding out hope for time travel magic to fix his childhood? that perfectly aligns with the idea that taylor is so stuck in his anime escapist fantasy that he can't accept what's real. and magic is real, so therefore he must be able to fix his past, right? it's not impossible for there to be time travel (see. end of season 1 + see. attack on titanic.) but taylor doesn't realize that this is something that can't be fixed so easily, even if that magic were available. he doesn't believe that this can't be fixed. more on this later.

Nicky: [grunts and falls] Uh… um… I didn't know you felt that way. Taylor: Yeah, you know, it's just, when I was practicing my jutsus I could have used some pointers. Nicky: Yeah, but like— Taylor: As a result, I've developed a number of very bad habits that I'm told are very hard to break. And, you know, just watching YouTube videos is not the same as having a dad who can fight.

in the past, taylor has used anime to cope with his absent father, and he relied on the fictional characters to bring him the same comfort a father might bring (this was mentioned by freddie in one of the teen talks and while i've been relistening i've yet to find it. do forgive me as i am merely mortal) while this isn't directly referring to that, i still feel it's worth mentioning, as taylor is confronting his own unhealthy coping mechanism and acknowledging that no, youtube videos aren't a replacement for a dad. he couldn't fill the absence of a father with anything else in his life no matter how hard he tried.

also, taylor is smart. he knows that he has unhealthy coping mechanisms or "bad habits" that he can't break and he knows that they're caused by nicky's absence. i just wonder how long he's been stewing over that, you know?

as shown earlier, when taylor first met nicky and found out why he wasn't there, he accepted it immediately, knowing it was the coolest reason for a father to be absent and only fueled his protagonism.

but now, taylor's confronting his own issues surrounding nicky, and explicitly addressing them to nicky.

*wipes a tear*

i'm so proud of him.

Nicky: Wha—I mean, if it's training you want, we can train you, and like, you see your grandpa there— Taylor: [sighs] It's too late. I needed to start when I was three to five years old like true ninja warriors.

there is something so cutting about the way taylor says it's too late. he's talking about training to be a ninja warrior on the surface, yes, but that's not it.

it's too late. it's too late for nicky to witness his upbringing. it's too late for taylor to grow up with a loving father figure. it's too late.

and taylor knows that, and he's saying it, but he's still masking it with it being about training to become a ninja when in reality it's so much more.

this is just one example of the way he downplays the issue. he zeroes in on just one aspect of his life that nicky wasn't a part of, and speaks as if it's the main issue, when really it's only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

Nicky: Oh, well, I mean— Taylor: So I'm already trying to play catch-up a little bit, but you know, I guess it's water under the bridge. But you know, if there is time travel magic, then you know, maybe, or if you find it, you could maybe… pick me up on the way back… to the past, and you know maybe we could do childhood all over again.

taylor is playing catch-up with training, but he's also playing catch-up with having a father in his life.

and again, he downplays it, says it's water under the bridge, when it's so very clear how deeply this has been affecting him his entire life.

and to top it all off, he brings up time travel again. and the way he says this is so un-taylorlike it's jarring. the uncertainty of the maybes, the trailing off, the voice so quiet you almost can't hear it...

he thinks there's still a chance to redo it and fix things, but i feel that deep down he knows it's impossible, that it doesn't work like that, and yet he's still grasping at straws to try and make things better.

it's... it's really sad. i feel really sad for him.

and the way he says he wants to redo childhood. as opposed to only talking about training, here he actually says he wants to do childhood all over again, and it's so, so quiet. and taylor is never shy. it's so clear how badly he's hurting over this.

god. okay.

2. "I didn't even know where you were."

Glenn: So we're cool. Nicky: So, we're cool. Glenn: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nicky: We're just three cool guys. Taylor: Well…

i love how taylor isn't backing down on the fact that nicky fucked him up. like the gates are open and they can't close back up that easily. he's not accepting them just being three cool guys.

Taylor: Well, I'm just saying—you know, I could have, y'know—not to put too fine a point on it, but Dad, I would have appreciated if, you know… I didn't even know where you were. I 23&me-d my ass, and they sent me a picture of fire, and the cops showed up! There was a white van parked outside of our house for three years!

again, i really notice the change in the way taylor speaks, he's more unsure, quieter, and uses more filler words (such as "y'know"), and it feels as if he feels bad about making nicky confront his faults as a father but he's pushing through it anyway, because he has to.

and i absolutely love the throwback to episode ONE with the 23&me test! like this had been brewing from the start! i just think it's fantastic for it all to build up to this. like yeah. taylor didn't know WHO nicky was or WHERE nicky was and trying to figure it out only led to more danger for him.

Nicky: [gets on one knee and puts his hand on Taylor's shoulder] I guess I never got to properly apologize to you, did I?

Taylor: Well, an apology won't really turn back time, and I don't know how I feel—I would rather have the time travel magic.

this is so cutting. like, yeah, an apology won't cut it, and taylor immediately circles back to time travel magic, as if it could fix what's broken when it really, really can't.

i also find the trend of time when it comes to the close boys to be very fascinating. glenn got locked up in time prison, nicky's childhood was split into two timelines, and taylor thinks time travel can fix his broken relationship with his father?

god damn.

Nicky: Well, I didn't even get to explain—I was in Hell. I was worried that these fuckers [pointing at the other kiddads]— Taylor: Yeah, those fuckers. Nicky: —would have chased after me if I'd gotten out of hell. Taylor: So you're telling me that these fuckers kept you away from me all these years? Nicky: Yeah, you know what? It was these motherfuckers! They are the reason I didn't get to spend time with you because they betrayed me! Taylor: That makes sense; I just saw the memory! Yeah, yeah!

thinking about how taylor immediately agrees with nicky in blaming the others for his absence, because, well, yeah, shit's complicated and they are definitely part of the reason, but the fact that taylor is so on board of whole heartedly blaming them after chewing into his dad about not being there is just so sad. like yeah, of course he doesn't want to be upset at nicky. and it hurts so much that he is.

god.

oh my god.

okay, now, i didn't transcribe the entirety of taylor's memory, i actually summarized it and quoted some key aspects of it, so here:

Taylor's first belt ceremony. He's performing, and he finishes, and he bows, and he looks up. His mom is there. He's sniffling a bit and Cass asks him if he's okay and comments on how he moved all the way up to green belt, and he says he knows. He looks over to the kid who was supposed to get green belt but didn't because of him. The kid is whining, and then his dad comes in and gives him a big hug and—

"It's okay son, I saw how hard you worked, and in my eyes, you're a black belt. Come on, let's get ice cream."

The kid says thanks and they hug and then they leave and Taylor watches them leaving through the window and sees the child and father and mother smiling together. Taylor looks down at and then throws away his green belt.

"I think I'm done with karate."

Taylor gets kicked out.

that line that the father said to his child really hit me, because taylor never heard nicky say that to him. ever. and that was all that he wanted, really. like, "i saw how hard you worked," as in, i was there, watching you, practicing with you, supporting you, i saw you, i see you, i'm here, i'm here with you. and "in my eyes, you're a black belt," in my eyes, you've worked so hard, in my eyes, you deserve more than what you got, in my eyes, you're strong, in my eyes, you're capable.

things nicky never saw, and things nicky never told him.

and then, well, taylor quits.

a memory defining taylor's relationship with nicky. a memory where he wasn't there. a memory where he didn't see taylor's growth. a memory where taylor gave up on an ambition. a memory of absence.

anyways.

Nicky: I'm really sorry— Taylor: I'm kind of sensing a pattern here to be honest. Nicky: Yeah, I'm thinking that maybe the things that your granddad did, I do now. I'm thinking maybe I fucked up in the exact same way… Taylor: [lays a hand on Nicky] I think you fucked up in the same way too. Nicky: Okay. Well that's good. That's good for us.

god. oh my god. the fuckign pattern. i'm so sorry this part makes me lose my coherency all i can think of is how sad it makes me idk idk guys im sorry. you get it. taylor saying yeah you fucked up in the same way and nicky learning that and accepting it. oh my fucking god. like. i dont know theres something about the acceptance of it that really gets me. at the start of the conversation nicky denied it, and here he is, after seeing a memory of taylor doing something he wasn't there for, and now he's like yeah, yeah. i did fuck up royally.

3. "...there is no fixing this."

Glenn: What if we started over? What if we tried to kinda give it a little bit of a reset, and try and make some new memories together, as this sort of team of three? What do you think about that? Is it stupid? I dunno.

Nicky: What kinda memories are you talking about?

Glenn: Well I was thinking we all go to Disneyland, the happiest place on earth, and start everything off on the right foot! It's been so long since I've been to Disneyland, and, I dunno, let me show you all the secrets. Let me show you all the hidden Mickeys. I never got to show Taylor how to get over nine-hundred-thousand points on the Buzz Lightyear ride. And you! Nick, I never showed you the secret entrance into Club 33 that only I know about, and it requires you to go through the sewers a little bit.

I mean, what do you say? Maybe we can do something about this whole fucked up Close family. Maybe we could bring it on back a little bit. What do you guys think?

Nicky: Yeah, sure, yeah I mean, I like Disneyland as much as the next guy. What do you think Taylor?

Taylor: What's Disneyland? I don't understand, what's Disneyland?

now listen, i know that taylor not knowing what disneyland is was just because of the whole doodlerized world thing, but i feel like it also really highlights the disconnect here. like, glenn wasn't around much in nick's life but they knew each other and yes glenn went to disneyland without nick a lot and yes nick liked universal better and if i got into their relationship it would take far too long and i don't feel particularly equipped to tackle that which is why i'm focusing on taylor, but i think that taylor asking what disneyland is highlights the disconnect between him and nicky. nicky and glenn are talking about something that taylor is completely lost on, and to me it really shows the disconnect between all of them. first off, nicky likes universal studios better than disney, second of all, taylor doesn't even know what disneyland is. they grew up in different realms, and they grew up around different people, and nicky was never there, which means there's so much taylor knows that nicky doesn't, and so much nicky knows that taylor doesn't and so much of that knowledge and those experiences can never or will never be shared.

Nicky: Oh yeah, good point, I guess it's on a previously Doodlerized world now with a bunch of really fucked up shit in it.

Glenn: I'm just saying that like—give me a chance. Give me a chance to try and make up for all the—well—you know what? No, no, no, no, no, I can't make up for any of that stuff.

it's true. this solution is like putting icing on top of an overdone cupcake. temporarily sweet but it's still bitter and burnt. (i'm sorry if that doesn't make sense, i don't bake.) but like when you burn something you can't just. un-burn it. sure you can put icing and sprinkles and all the fun stuff and maybe you can wash out the taste but that doesn't change the state of what's underneath.

that's their relationship to me.

Anthony: As you're saying this, without even wanting it to, tears are rolling down your cheeks, and in that moment, you, and Taylor, and Nick all realize that there is no fixing this. That this is as good as it's going to get. That you are all stuck with each other in the forms that you are now. You see daddy magic—that same daddy magic that exited Ron and Terry's body, emanate from their bodies like a fine mist, coalesce into the air, and then zip into the jar and fill it up a little bit more because that's what your relationship is.

ah yes, finally, we reach the end.

this is what their relationship is. it's comprised of missing connections and missed experiences and misplaced memories and absences and longing and searching and finding one another only for it to be too late. it is comprised of absence as opposed to love or hate or anything in between. the nothingness that is absence is their relationship

how depressing.

if i'm honest, i think nicky still has a chance. obviously he can't fix anything with taylor, but i really do hope that he tries to be proactive in taking part in taylor's life from here on out, that is, if taylor even survives this next episode, oooh scary.... hahaha anyways.

i hope everyone enjoyed this essay! i started writing it the day the episode came out but schoolwork kinda took over me.

i wanted to get it out before this episode's teen talk so that's why i finished it tonight, but i may reblog with more thoughts, who knows! we'll see! :3c

i do also encourage you guys to check out my art for this episode specifically inspired by that last anthony quote there.

and of course my thoughts are not the objective truth, i am a mere university student, ignoring my school essays to write one for tumblr <3

bye-bye! <3 :3c

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndaddies #hell and high father #dndads analysis #analysis #cookies analyses #cookies rambles <3 #taylor swift dndads #glenn close #nicky foster #nick close #nicholas foster #cookies writes and cookies wrongs

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yujeong · 5 months

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VegasPete and Childhood's End: a deranged attempt at connecting two completely unrelated things

Hello there, fellow VP enthusiasts. This post here is my remaining 2 braincells trying to come up with ways the silly, little book known as Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke and the silly, little couple known as VegasPete are connected, and how the show chose this book for Vegas to be reading in episode 11 for reasons beyond its title. I swear it's true, I asked Pond, he told me about it, trust me. I said in the tags of this post that I have started reading the book because I have a fic idea I wanted to write (which will happen next year now, after I finish the book), and after I shared my observations on the kindergarten mafia server, I thought to myself why not make a Tumblr post too? So, here I am. I would like to clarify that I will be spoiling major parts of the book, obviously, so anyone who doesn't want to get spoiled, don't read this post and the ones after it. Also, this is the version of the book I bought like 5 days ago from a well-known bookshop at the center of Athens, which sells English books too, bless them. Just so you know what my source is. (Unfortunately, getting the version Vegas was reading might be difficult - if not impossible - in Greece to find, because I believe it's one of the first editions? I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I have the book in my hands, which is what counts.) If I make any mistakes in regards to the information I'll provide about the book, the story and the characters, I apologize in advance. It'll probably be me not being careful enough while reading it and missing sth. So, without any further delay, here we go:

The basic premise of the book is a concept that's become cliche in the recent years: aliens called the Overlords have taken over the Earth, bringing prosperity to it but leaving humans with having no actual freedom in their choices. So, reading up to page 34, we learn that there's a specific Overlord called Karellen who's responsible for ruling the Earth, and we also get introduced to Stormgren who's the intermediary between Karellen and the human race, with the title of "Secretary". At first, I had made the connection of Vegas being Stormgren and Karellen (or the Overlords in general) being Gun, because Stormgren trusts Karellen with ruling the human race, just as Vegas idolizes his father who can totally bring prosperity to the family and make it better by force (an important element since the Overlords just came and declared themselves the rulers of the planet and took over). Also, there's an element of secrecy with Karellen, because it's been 5 years since he arrived on Earth but no one, not even Stormgren, knows what he looks like. This causes Stormgren to be a bit suspicious of Karellen, which he rarely shows and tries to push the feeling down when it resurfaces. In the same way, I thought this could connect to Gun who's hiding stuff from Vegas - Porsche anyone? - which Vegas will start having thoughts about post ep 11. All of that is fine and good, BUT I wouldn't be a Pete girlie if I didn't try to include my boy in this. I think all of the above I mentioned is more about Pete than Vegas. And, judging by how obsessed Vegas became with Pete post ep 10 - after their masks fell off and he saw who Pete truly was - I am confident in my belief that Vegas reading Childhood's End would think of Pete, not himself (sth he already does at this point but you get what I'm saying). SO, Stormgren is actually Pete, who follows Karellen's words almost blindly, and almost is an important word here because in the book, he does argue back about things and is vocal about his opinions, even if Karellen smartly turns them down. Karellen is generally very softly spoken, polite and very human like in the way he talks, so in my opinion he resembles Korn way more than Gun. There's also a character who calls Stormgren out on his blind faith in Karellen, and if this isn't Vegas telling Pete that "there's no such thing as honesty", I don't know what it is. Now, for the fun part: Stormgren gets kidnapped by a group of humans who want the Overlords to leave and not only is the dude semi-casual about it on the surface while keeping his panic under wraps, in the end his captors, after explaining how they got him and what their plan is, throw a pack of cards at him and ask him to play poker with him, which causes Stormgren to laugh like he hasn't laughed in years. I'm just imagining Vegas reading this and shaking his head, putting on his clown shoes, thinking: these guys are so stupid, encouraging their captive be this nonchalant around them, I would never.

#then ep 12 comes along and Vegas is humoring his captive who's a sassy little shit making fun of him for his blood type #Good thing Vegas is pretty because clown make up doesn't look good on just about anybody #this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in my life I think #but it's so much fun enjoying a book and connecting it to your blorbos at the same time #Childhoood's End is unironically a pretty entertaining book so far #I recommend it regardless of my brainrot #stay tuned for the next post when I get to read some more #kinnporche the series #pete phongsakorn saengtham #vegas theerapanyakul #vegaspete #Childhood's End #kinnporsche meta

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lazywriter7 · 10 months

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Cap-Ironman Rec Week - Wonderous Wednesday

Strap in for some AU’s everybody! My favourite part of this theme might be that every fanfic is technically someone’s alternate universe, and boy does this ship have some absolute knockouts. one foot in (and one foot back) by kehinki

This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to Tony, but it's in the top five.

Notes: This feels like one of the first soulmate AU’s I ever read for this ship, and a really formative one. Love the world building, the character progression, and there are a couple scenes that have stayed incredibly clear in my memory over the years of going back to it over and over again. Bulletproof by foxxcub At age fifteen, Steve Rogers had been in love with Tony Stark. By age twenty, he’d (mostly) gotten over it. And then he promptly became Tony Stark's fuck buddy. Notes: It takes real talent to keep the characterisation on-point and the magic alive in a no superpowers AU, but the world and its people is so richly depicted in this fic that it just feels true to Steve and Tony. An old favourite, and one I have much joy revisiting.

Genesis by teaberryblue

Reluctant to make the truth about their secret weapon known, the American Government tells the world that Captain America is a man named Steve Rogers. According to public record, he died, tragically, in 1945, and he became legend.

In 1998, the Avengers find a body trapped in ice.

She's alive.

Her name is Eve.

She has Captain America's shield. Notes: Like the best kinds of AUs, Eve in this story is so beautifully and identifiably Steve but also different, in such a compelling way. Her journey into the modern world is itself worth the ‘price’ of entry, but then Tony enters the picture! Just love, love, love. The Ghosts of War by scifigrl47 Steven Rogers never wanted to be king, but he knows his duty, and he does it well. Lord Tony Stark, the king's appointed consort, does his duty as well, even though he'd enjoy his duty more if it actually involved sleeping with the king. As it doesn't, he's just resigned. The war that made Steve king and cost him nearly everything may be over, but a meeting of old enemies might stir up some ghosts none of them are prepared for. Notes: Ooh, kings and sorcerers, what’s not to love? I love how well each character here ‘slots’ into their designated role, and how we get some lovely superhero style identity porn but set in this world instead. And of course, both Steve and Tony are note-perfect. Big recommend! Counterpart by sara_holmes coun•ter•part [koun-ter-pahrt] [noun] 1. a person or thing closely resembling another, especially in function. 2. a copy; duplicate. 3. one of two parts that fit, complete, or complement one another.Just because Hydra used the DNA of a Captain America from another dimension to create a lab-grown, six-year-old super-soldier, it doesn't mean that said six-year old super-soldier is biologically Steve's, right?(Where Steve wants to ban Clint from bringing things home from alternative dimensions, until he doesn't.) Note: I love this fic’s take on accidental kid acquisition - Steve goes through so many understandably mixed feelings here. Steve and Tony are an established pair who navigate the trials as well as the rewards of parenthood, featuring an excellent supporting cast, and it’s just a lovely read overall. Slipping Off The Page Into Your Hands by Sineala Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth. Notes: Soulmate AU plus identity porn, oh my oh my :D This is just a rollicking ride with all the feels, pining, dumb decisions and sweet catharsis you could ever hope for. Man I love AUs so much. This Is My Least Favourite You by Kiyaar In Steve's fantasies, he never travels to the future because Tony never violates him. Tony never violates him because there are no incursions. There are no incursions because there are no Avengers. There are no Avengers and so there can be no love and no pain and no heartbreak. You can’t miss what you’ve never had. Notes: Look, I love canon divergence fix-its. Thrive on them. This is not that - this is when the only thing you can do with the twisted corpse of canon is make it much, much worse and then revel in the pain. Great writing, A+ pain, no regrets. Issues by so_shhy In which Steve has a crippling crush on Tony Stark, Tony is oblivious and obnoxious, and Bucky expresses his disapproval via passive-aggressive comics. Notes: An absolutely delightful modern/no abilities AU in which Steve and Bucky write some comics featuring a superhero team called the Avengers, and Steve can’t help himself from... ahem, being a little too loving in his artistic depictions of Iron Man. So entertaining, I cackled multiple times, and Bucky’s outsider POV is particularly great. Looking for Heaven by foxxcub

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done. Notes: This one’s another wonderful trip down nostalgia lane. Regency meets marriage of convenience, with all the trappings that premise would entail and a delight from start to finish. Not Such a Compromise by Pookaseraph The death of her brother, Lt. James Barnes, has placed Miss Stephanie Rogers in the difficult position of needing to find a husband to see to it that her and her mother are taken care of. Miss Roger was not built for such a compromise, but perhaps Mr. Anthony Stark will not be such a compromise after all. Notes: Yes, it’s another Regency AU, what about it? :D Despite the trappings of gender and class, Stephanie remains so very Steve in how she moves through the world, and the premise enhances the miscommunication between the two, but in a way that is a joy to see resolved. Just a thoroughly enjoyable read. 99 problems (and the dice ain't one) by kellifer_fic Tony's life is almost perfect. He lives in a converted warehouse full of friends (and one frenemy), has a job that leaves him plenty of time to think about other things and a regular Friday night campaign. If his best friend, Steve Rogers, hadn't moved away to New York and left him behind, then perfection would've been achieved. Tony can roll with the punches though and he's almost all the way over that little bump in the road (shut up Bruce, he totally is) when Steve moves back, looking taller and broader and more confident than ever and Tony's left with a converted warehouse full of friends (and one frenemy), a job that leaves him plenty of time to think about other things, a regular Friday night campaign and the uncomfortable realization that maybe he's in love with his best friend and has been since he was sixteen. Notes: I call this the sitcom AU if only because of the setup, but the general themes of Tony trying to cope with changes in his life and status quo are funny as well as really resonant to all those (us) who aren’t superheroes. And a fantastic ensemble to fill the world out <3 And that’s that. Shower all the authors with some love and well-deserved compliments!

#capimrecweek #stevetony #stony #steve/tony #fic recs #steve rogers #tony stark

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heartscrypt · 11 months

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Jamie, don't worry. Just like you, I've been thinking about JamiAzu and I, too, have not been able to create any content.

The best thing to do is to chew them in your head until something manifests on your canvas or paper. Alternatively, you can use this ask as an opportunity to talk about them. (I would love to hear your scenarios and headcanons because you understand them like I do.)

oh my god ok OKAY so. i had this fic idea rolling around in my head and the premise was basically like. the aftermath of twst events that didn't feature jamil or azul really heavily / only had small cameos but it was just jamil n azul reflecting (and maybe bonding) afterwards.

this whole thing was inspired by azul getting rejected by eliza in the phantom bride event LOL bc i thought jamil would get a kick out of it. i wanted to cover more events like wish upon a star (which i might talk about in a later post) or harveston or port fest but the phantom bride part i have like. Fully mapped out.

i only have this excerpt because. i lost motivation but if anyone wants to take this fic concept and do it justice they can :3 id just like to be tagged and credited

full outline is under the read more because God it is long. sorry. its also kind of incomprehensible because im incomprehensible about these two

but the ficlet for the first event, phantom bride, was going to take place a few hours after where the event canonically ends. jamil finds out azul got sooo rejected and laughs at him under his breath for a bit. says its because eliza could sense that he was fake as fuck all the time. azul gets frustrated and flustered bc the guy he wants so bad is currently mocking him for having NOOOO game. he's like "yeah well. you didn't participate b/c of kalim so you don't know what impossible standards she had"

jamils still used to deflecting when it comes to his competence so he'd dismissively say that of course he wouldn't have been a suitable candidate to woo the ghost even if kalim was guaranteed to not be involved. he's not that kind of guy. azul's Jamil Bullshit radar is ACTIVATED. he immediately insists that jamil absolutely Could've swayed eliza into wearing the ring and starts praising all of jamil's qualities with such a Genuine belief in jamil's abilities until jamil is the flustered one trying to beat azul's compliments off of him with a stick.

this part is really funny to me because in my head there's a scene before where jamil is telling azul that his approach failed because he always came off as disingenuous. and then here in this scene azul's so genuine that jamil's taken aback and in his head he's like "if he approached eliza the way he's approaching me NOW there's no way he would've failed." and then he promptly refuses to think about the implications of that thought for the rest of the fic. lol

anyways through the power of lovebombing and a few appeals to jamil's competitive side, azul goads jamil into demonstrating how he would've approached eliza to get the ghost sealing ring on her finger. jamil's pretending to be a suitor. one of jamil's rings (he's a jewelry guy no way he doesn't have a few rings) plays the role of the ghost sealing ring. and of course azul is the Substitute Eliza in their little pretend scenario so we get. these two indirectly flirting with each other in the weirdest fucking way possible. roleplay.

also there's a funny bit of azul mimicking something eliza actually did mid-scenario and jamil breaking out of character to be like "No Way ok Time out no way you aren't fucking with me right now" and azul responding like "no she really did say that" and jamil getting the most longsuffering expression on his face before slipping back into his princely character.

azul enjoys being the one "chased" by jamil for a change but he's always cognizant of the facade jamil's wearing while playing the role of eliza's prince. knows that that's just as much Not the true jamil as the "dutiful servant" jamil was, and is in return so totally lovestruck by how GOOD jamil is at being manipulative. not even swooned by the princely way jamils acting. he's falling head over heels for the fact that he KNOWS jamil is acting and in reality could not care less and yet is able to pull off such a convincing display. because azul's fucking crazy and his taste in men actually sucks so bad he sees all the red flags in jamil as fun little collectibles. he's mentally like "its so frustratingly attractive when he says something with that little smirk smile and we both know he's lying straight to my face but i cant call him out on it." GIRL. YOU ARE SO FAILCRINGE

on jamils end of things. yes he is pretending to be a "prince" for "eliza" but he's also hyperaware that this is azul pretending to be eliza for the sake of the scenario so. he gets a little sneaky. a little underhanded. starts doing and saying things that are targeted to catch Specifically azul off guard so azul gets flustered and breaks character for a split second. this is solely to fuck with azul and has Noooo other reason behind it (nevermind the fact that there is a giddy feeling jamil gets when he's able to crack the facade azul wears to see the real, vulnerable azul hiding underneath).

they go back and forth for a while, jamil pushing forward relentlessly while azul pulls away but always stays close (a complete reversal of their usual dynamic). but then jamil says something that's so completely him and definitely not part of the facade and azul forgets himself for a moment, forgets that they're playing pretend. lets his guard down completely. from jamils perspective, this startles him a little because he wasn't expecting it and he certainly wasn't expecting for azul to seem so convincingly enamored by him (it's because azul actually is but like jamil's kind of operating under the assumption that azul is incredibly fake all the time) and he REALLY doesn't know what to do with the realization that he likes the way azul is looking at him right now a lot more than he probably should like attention coming from someone he supposedly hates.

so he panics internally, shoves the ring onto azul's finger while azul is distracted, and tells him he can stop acting now because jamil proved his point that he Could've gotten the ring on eliza. azul snaps out of it and is like "ah. Yes. Acting. I'm so good at it Wouldn't you agree jamil" (hes pretending his inner monologue rn doesn't mainly consist of distressed dramatic bitch wailing and screaming. hes embarrassed abt being so vulnerable when they're both supposed to be acting he wants to crawl into an octopus pot and never come out). jamil's reply is smth like "yeah yeah whatever of course you're used to acting b/c you're a fraud" (his inner monologue also sounds like distressed screaming btw. less dramatic and more Full of dread and horror). moment of awkward silence where they just aren't looking at each other but azul's hand is still in jamil's (since jamil had to take his hand to put the ring on). worst handholding experience ever. 0/10

jamil breaks the silence. "i prefer it when you're not acting". on the surface its just a casual dig at azul's role at eliza but like THE WAY he says it. means something more. azul picks up on that, thinks back to all the times during the scene where jamil got him to break character for a second, the smug satisfaction on his face when azul sputtered or faltered. his first conclusion is "he wants me so bad" because he's delusional but then he reels it back a little and only says "i prefer your true self as well." jamil knows what THAT means well enough. he's starting to get suspicions that their dynamic isn't just "guy who is trying to exploit someone he sees as an opportunity x guy who fucking hates him because the other guy is a slimeball". he isn't sold on azul's intentions being all that pure though. he needs to bide his time, hang back and see whether this moment was a fluke.

they r still holding hands btw. neither of them has pulled away yet. jamil's the first to look down and Acknowledge it, silently swiping his thumb over the ring on azul's finger. drops the other's hand. says very nonchalantly that azul is going to keep the ring. azuls like "? haha i couldn't Possibly keep this. it's your ring". jamil smirks. says "keep it as a consolation prize. and a reminder of how badly you embarrassed yourself today". looks up through his eyelashes to watch for a reaction. azuls head nearly explodes. jamil knows in his gut that once azul recovers he's going to be Fucking Insufferable for the next few weeks flaunting that ring around everywhere and playing up the bond between himself and jamil but as he leaves, he can't find himself caring all that much about that as long as the other Does wear the ring.

#twst #jamiazu #jamie talks #txt post #the public forum #heartsprocess #oh my god sorry this is just like. Paragraphs of delusion #my bad guys. im crazy #rocking back and forth Never let me write fic #WHO LET THEM COOK 🔥🔥🔥 GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN #also immediately after drafting this i did realize azul wears gloves. my bad #ring over glove is not a good look #(jamil) allowing the guy i '“hate'' to regularly hang around me and enduring his conversation for reasons the haters will never understand #their flirting is like Actually psychological warfare #its so funny CAN YOU TWO BE NORMAL #NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE A MIND GAME

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fearowkenya · 9 months

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Cold-blooded, ruthlessly efficient, and cruel in its methods. These are words that can be applied to an alligator, sizing up its target as it lurks beneath the surface and waits for the perfect opportunity to drag it into the depths. The same words can equally apply to Shuuji’s father, who never stops watching his every move, judging Shuuji for missteps he doesn’t even know he’s making as he tries to live up to unclear and impossible expectations.

Stressed, scared senseless, and operating entirely on adrenaline. These are words that can be applied to somebody attempting to escape from an alligator, desperate for a shred of hope. The same words can equally apply to a participant in a game of capture the flag, where one team’s lone survivor fights for their life in hopes that a singular small success will turn the tides.

Shuuji gets a weird text at the worst possible time. Ryo risks his neck for the sake of the team. There’s alligators.

yeah im not posting the entire fic under the readmore , im not prepared to spend another two hours of trial-and-error on formatting. anyway i have so much to say about digisurvive but im unfortunately not the type to talk about stuff unprompted until im much more confident n comfortable. instead i'll talk about the First Ficwriting Experience Since 2016

ive seen all four endings but i havent done what im calling my Victory Lap playthrough yet. what i mean by Victory Lap is that i got my guys at lvl 80+ and the only real purpose of going thru it all again is to see any early-game missed dialogue and take unnecessarily-meticulous character notes

im not about to claim to be a Blorbo Expert w a PhD or anything but i think ive got a pretty solid understanding of the bulk of the characters and can manage a pretty accurate portrayal . shuuji and ryo are definitely the easiest characters for me to write , and im anticipating that the same will be true for kaito. i cant say for certain tho since i havent explored his voice much yet but im more or less confident that i can do a good job

at first i was like oh god oh fuck i cant write aoi but i thought about it for 2 seconds and it turns out that uhhhhhhhh i was a lot like her when i was a teenager. the insecurities are exactly the same, it is so horrifyingly uncanny. so for me, saki is the one that i find the most difficult to characterize and i love that because it seems so deliberate. this girl DOES NOT want you to perceive her and is doing her best to ensure that you do not notice that she has anything to hide. if you are good at writing saki, i have a lot of respect for your tremendous power

but thankfully sakis presence in this is minimal so i dont have to worry about that just yet. what i AM worried about are my formatting choices. i think theres a lot of potential in fucking around with indentation, typeface, and text placement, so im taking a swing at trying to push it further than i have before. i think it can serve so well to imply when something is happening, what else is happening at the same time, and how it makes the characters feel without having to outright say so. i dont want it looking like a geronimo stilton book tho so i gotta learn to strike a balance lmao

SO much of the way i enjoy character portrayal comes from tone and nonverbal communication, especially really subtle stuff like eye movement and body language. i think it can be so challenging to write that stuff in a way that doesn't feel clunky or encumber the pacing. the thing im practicing right now is saying stuff without saying it, and also trying to improve my imagery & symbolic language. im having a lot of fun with it

mkay im actually late for work so i need to post this damn thing and move on my with my day. thanks for your time!!

#digimon survive #ryo tominaga #shuuji kayama #digimon #drops this in the digisurvive tag like roadkill . heres my offering. i havent posted fic since 2016 #under the readmore you can find me talking into the void

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land-of-sinners · 2 months

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You know what fuck it, I’m going to make an entire post talking about this for a second cause I like dissecting my own characters;

Serenity’s entire character arc is all about reclaiming her independence and becoming her own woman, one that’s worthy of recognition for her accomplishments without being associated with someone else; her father’s daughter, Vox’s errand girl, the Princess’s charity case, the Radio Demon’s girlfriend, and so on and so forth.

Obviously she rejects the first two examples of this; her father didn’t make her who she is, she became the kind of person she is despite her father. And Vox did technically help her when she first dropped into Hell, but Serenity made her own business from the ground up. Yes he gave her the idea, but she’s the one that made it a reality. But everyone still associates her with Vox because of how often he employs her service since she’s freelance and rejected his original contract.

Now the last two are complicated because they’re people that Serenity actually cares about and likes. Serenity is far more vocal than other people about her active participation at the hotel, almost like she’s proud to be under Charlie’s wing and working her way to redemption. But with how cynical Hell’s populous is, seeing it as no more than a joke, the term “charity case” got thrown around a lot mostly in news outlets about the hotel and the “poor sinners” hosted under the Princess’s care. This led to a degrading view of Serenity’s participation, framing it as her being completely dependent on Charlie’s help, almost like a leech. Serenity obviously doesn’t take well to that and grew a more “I could take care of myself before, I could take care of myself if the hotel fails too” mentality, still appreciating Charlie’s help but also feels it to be a bit overbearing.

And then there’s her entire relationship with Alastor. The Radio Demon. One of the most powerful and recognized Overlords who dropped into Hell.

Now unlike the others, Serenity pretty much expected the kind of reputation she would get even before becoming official with him. She already anticipated how the general public would react, which if anything is why she was hesitant in the first place. Not only did she have to be weary of Alastor’s true intentions to protect herself, but after accepting, she also had to be prepared for the inevitable association people would have when regarding her relationship. Getting to a point where her own name was hardly ever used, being seen as another one of Alastor’s associates at best, or property he owned at worst. Mind you it does partially benefit Serenity, being known as someone not to be fucked with less they attract the wrath of the Radio Demon himself. But that’s never been the point to Serenity, she never wanted to be feared, she never wanted to be famous. She wanted her own fucking name to be spoken!

Now going all the way back to the second post I referenced with the tags; this problem only gets worse when Alastor decides to propose to Serenity, and she immediately gets fucking terrified not because she doesn’t love or isn’t committed to him. But she knows that it would be next to impossible to reclaim any independence once she became “the Radio Demon’s wife”. (But again I am writing a whole fic for this concept so to avoid spoiling or rehashing too much, I’ll summarize it). TLDR; Alastor agrees to be patient with her now knowing what she needs in order to feel secure, and Serenity finally decides to make a name for herself in Hell’s hierarchy. Which we find later down the line, will finally come in the form of Serenity getting redeemed and choosing to stay in Hell as an ‘angelic sinner’. Now with the power and status to receive notoriety from Hell’s general public, Serenity finally felt secure enough to accept Alastor’s proposal. Couple that with Charlie handing over the hotel and its mission onto Serenity as a sort of engagement gift, deciding to focus her efforts more on preparing herself to rule Hell alongside Vaggie.

#I really don’t know how to tag this in a way it’ll be seen #hazbin hotel #self shipping #self shipping community #self ship community #self insert #Hazbin oc #Serenity #original character #s/i

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selkiewife · 1 year

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tell me please, about Ros and Reek, glass garden/houses ( It’s sounds amazig) and gloves angst porn ( i wouldn't be me if I didn't ask about it haha) ❤️

Ahhh! Thank you so much for the ask, @alwayssmiled!

Ros and Reek

So I was rewatching Season 1 of Game of Thrones and during the scene where Ros leaves for Kingslanding, Theon tells Ros: "Yes she'll be very popular until some fat lord comes to visit with a big belly and a little prick and he can't get it up so he knocks all your teeth out." And I just lost my shit with the potential foreshadowing of that line! And then I remembered reading that before season 5 aired, there were theories that the show would use Ros in the Jeyne Poole storyline- since they had already used her to stand in for other characters such as Alayaya. The theory was that Little Finger would use Ros as a proxy for Sansa. And so this AU began forming in my head which is based on the show, but more book stuff is incorporated as well. I just kept having this image in my head when they meet again and Theon is the one with his teeth knocked out and it goes from there... I think it would be very very interesting to explore how incorporating Ros changes the dynamic- just as having Sansa there changed things vs Jeyne in the books. I like that there is still the element of "person who no one cares about" with Ros- but to possibly an even greater extent than Jeyne- because she is lowborn and older. And I also really love the past relationship between Theon and Ros and think that would be really interesting to explore.

Glass Gardens/Glass Houses

This is a book based fic that takes place in my imagined "dream of spring" era. They won against the WW but their lands and society have been completely devastated. Theon is helping to rebuild Winterfell and he is assigned to help rebuild the glass gardens- to grow food (to sow essentially.) During the fic, there will be flashbacks that explain how Bran skinchanged him at certain points for reasons I am still working out. But it was apparently in service of the greater good/to help win the war against the army of the dead. However, this experience has left Theon's mind broken in a way that Ramsay was never able to do. So this is not the laughing in Stannis' face defiant Theon. And that in itself is devastating. There are a lot of unhappy reunions as well! He sees Palla and Beth and Jeyne again and there is so much angst. He watches Jeyne reunite with them- I suppose there is some bittersweet hopefulness for the three girls. But it's the idea of trying to deal with the impossible task of "making amends" when he really can't with a body and mind that has been punished to its limits already. But maybe he can still get something to grow...

Gloves Angst Porn

This was another one inspired by the Greysnow Week prompts that I was unable to finish. It is a show based fic that branches out a bit into book territory because of changed circumstances- Theon is recaptured by Ramsay and tortured after helping Sansa escape. Jon and Sansa find him again after retaking Winterfell. This is actually my first attempt to write porn for Jon and Theon but, in true me fashion it is going to get QUITE the angst filled lead up. Multiple chapters of angst filled lead up lol. There is a little of it below the cut but it's rough:

“Take off your gloves.”

When Jon gives a command it must be obeyed, and yet Reek falters. He can’t say why. Shame? Embarrassment? But Jon has seen him shamed, seen his humiliation more times than Reek can count. It was Jon himself who pulled him off of the saltire after he and Sansa had defeated Ramsay. Somehow though, it never gets any easier.

He turns from where he was feeding the fire and faces Jon.

“My lord?” He asks softly, hoping that he might have misheard him.

Jon stands with his brow creased, studying papers strewn about the desk. He isn’t even looking at him, but at Reek’s question, he raises his eyes.

It is all Reek can do not to shrink back. Jon wants him to be Theon now. Just as Ramsay before him wanted Theon to be Reek. But it is hard to remember. Not his name but.. well, what Theon did what Theon meant. He use to rhyme in his head to remember Reek. Reek, Reek it rhymes with sneak and leak and freak. Theon does not rhyme with anything.

When he tries to grasp the sense of Theon he is met with a void. And the memories of past deeds. People hurt, ghosts clinging to his cloak. Traitor, Murderer. They don’t rhyme but they are true. Still, he is not supposed to be those things anymore. So what is he to do? Reek at least rhymes with seek.

He tries to keep eye contact like Jon wants him too but he fails and drops his eyes like the dog he is. (You shouldn’t make direct eye contact, unless you want to appear to be a threat. And you should never appear to be a threat toward your master. You must wait until your master gives you leave to look.)

“Take off your gloves. I need to see your hands.”

When Reek hesitates again, Jon adds, “Please.”

Because there is nothing else he can do, he turns back toward the fire and begins to peel off the black leather. He can’t tell why he feels the need to turn away from Jon as if he were removing his shirt or trousers. And as soon as he realizes how this modesty must seem to Jon he flushes.

Reek seeks a memory. He tries to grasp the boy he use to be, with his easy confidence and sassy mouth, who could always make Jon flustered with a lewd word or jape. But of course, that boy is no longer there, just this wreck of an old man who trembles if you look at him the wrong way. And if he did truly act like Theon, would Jon let him stay? Jon thought Theon was an ass. And Theon betrayed Robb and burned Winterfell. No that was Ramsay… it’s difficult to keep the different truths in order.

When Theon is finished removing his gloves, he holds his hands up for Jon as if he is confessing a crime. In a way he is. These are ugly hands that bear all the markings of his punishments, the games he would play with Ramsay. Reek made these hands a ruin as much as Ramsay did, for in the end, he was always the one pleading for a finger to be severed. He always made me beg.

Jon studies his hands and Reek studies Jon’s face, trying to discern whether his expression holds disappointment. Jon takes one of his hands in his and Reek shivers.

“Have you been taking care of them? Not biting them I hope?”

Reek swallows. “… A little…I’m sorry… I…”

“Fine,” Jon says gruffly, shutting him up. Jon is trying to make him better, like Ramsay before him tried. And that is good. But Reek knows he will never punish him for things like this, and that is good too.

Jon turns Reek’s hand over and then takes the other one in his other hand. He traces his gloved fingers over the stumps. It’s not as if he is seeing me naked Reek reminds himself. Finally Jon stops and Reek remembers to breathe.

Jon turns and goes back to his desk. He takes a feather and begins writing before he pronounces his sentence. “Tomorrow you will begin training again, with the bow.”

#ask answered #wip game #my wips #theon greyjoy #jon snow #palla #jeyne poole #beth cassel #ros #theon x ros #greysnow #tw torture mention

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delulu-forthe-solulu · 5 months

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Somewhere to put my Dazai headcanon.

So I'll start off by saying that this is a personal hc. it's not canon or anything like that please don't @me. Having said that, let's move on.

Dazai hc/bsd fic idea, etc whatever_ so no one gets depressed out of nowhere and whatnot, not to mention his mysterious past, etc, etc, so what if…. he remembers all the AUs he created for Oda, well somethings gotta give so what if the show isn’t actually entirely the true og verse, or maybe it could be; so anyways he got his hands on ‘The Book’ and went on this journey and created so many worlds just for him, so the Book in a sense is God’s book and this world is the story written down in its pages and we’re all the characters there, so one can’t deal so long with such an artifact and remain the same and I feel as though not many can actually even handle it even if they want to. So in a sense, he is a pseudo god almost/somewhat, in that he is functionally immortal, in the sense that nothing can kill him.

Nothing can remain unchanged, but the Book should rewrite the universe for the writer and I believe no one would properly remember not even the writer, for the previous world no longer truly exists and never actually did since it’s been erased, like pencil lines from a book. So he kept meeting Oda in every world and got attached and would rewrite the world for him not remembering the previous timeline, until at one point he slowly started to retain his memories, first in half-remembered bits and pieces and later in its entirety till he even started remembering the forgotten timelines too. The Beast AU was the only one where he could save him by forcing himself to stay away, and the show is actually his final closure he decided to get peace cause after all these worldlines he is tired, that’s where the suicidal tendencies come in. My dude is just tired of life at this point, he’s lived too long and suffered too much, made worse by the fact that he can’t actually die(cause ding ding ding, he’s immortal), thus the blaise attitude toward his life being in danger added on the fact that he’s gone through terrifying and dangerous shit too many times and too many times in too many different flavours to really be worried.

I hc that he was more cautious in the og verse and somewhat more serious as in personality wise and about death(back then the only trauma was his own shitty asf childhood and issues with his seeming psychopathy(in the medical sense)). Now he is in short basically a pseudo god in that,....think of it like this, God is the only one who can make change to the book that is the world, this book being made using pages cut from the fabrics of reality itself bound in a cover to hold the immense weight of the power and responsibility it holds, so one man kept finding this book over and over again even though he retained no memory of the previous worldline(s), that doesn’t make senses; so with every attempt his very being itself changed as the book injected parts of the realities into him and bit by bit bound him to the story that was his world meaning that he is literally tied to the universe itself and invulnerable to the Book’s changes and shifts as an author should be, for the author changes the book and it’s world not the other way around, now the thing is that he cannot supersede the true author of the Book who made it, that is impossible, but the Book and it’s powers can now no longer entirely influence him and he is functionally immortal, with the only thing one can do to kill him is destroy their universe, not worldline or timeline no, but the entire universe(multiverse) itself and every world, universe and timeline within it, basically destroying the true book of the true authour itself(why do I say true author, well the Book isn’t the true book of the worldline but more of a drafts book a segment of its power, no one other that God could have or use or even see the true book).That’s where No Longer Human comes from as well in the sense that it is meant literally that he is no longer human but something else, the ability being the invulnerability to the Book and all power connected to it, that is how he can nullify all abilities in that they cannot affect him at all.(all the abilities are connected to the book obv in that they are allowed a connection to it to draw power in their specific manner from it, abilities are basically after all like twists in reality itself so it all comes from the book but you cannot change it, that’s true, I mean thing ok its like this, killing a man with a touch doesn’t make sense, you’re basically twisting reality into giving you what you want by changing it, it is watered down and done through hoops and obstacles in such a way that no comes close to directly changing or connecting to it and thus the only way you can rewrite the world line is by writing in it directly so no one actually rewrites worldlines by using their abilities). This is also why he is considered special even though people don’t know anything, because once you truly think about it his existence doesn’t make sense as an anti-ability is in direct contrast to an ability itself being its direct antithesis and (unknowing to other people) the Book itself because he is in a sense somewhat free from its constraints and changes and abilities(more of a halfway selective(by the book)thing).

Note that this might seem disjointed, that's cause the hc literally possessed me till I wrote it down so I apologise for the word vomit. Again I'll add that this is a headcanon meaning it's not canon, I mean I wouldn't mind it being canon, but like Ik there ain't a snowball's chance in hell that'll happen. Ik I've been reaching pretty far with some of these but still. So yeah, I hope y'all were at least somewhat able to make sense of that. Thanks for reading this mess.

Have a good day folks.

#Bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd beast #beast au #The Book #headcanon #bsd headcanon #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #beast dazai

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constitutionalweasleymonarchy · 2 years

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I’ve always loved Ron (I still do!) but the way you describe Percy is making it so hard to choose which one I love more. They are so alike I’m so many ways, than they would like to admit. I feel as Ron was close to Percy when he was smaller and after the war of course. Percy would always protect Ron from the twins bullying tactics and that’s something that I always hope is true.

Plus, you are amazing at painting a picture of Percy. Like the way he wants to prove others wrong and let the woman (or women, “Days That End in Y”, God Damn Percy you animal 🥵🥵. I bet Molly would have a heart attack if she knew about her son’s multiple relationships! Its almost if he’s the hope of the family, minus the p. 👀 😂) know that he is different from the rest of his family.

He’s such an underrated character and I truly love the way you write him. You show his flaws, attributes and most importantly his heart in each of your fics. You’ve made me fall in love with Percy/Audrey, I’ll love to read more of your work!

Seriously, now it’s difficult for me to choose between Ron and Percy, especially since I realize I relate to the both of them. Do you have a preference? Also, what was the first thing that made you fall in love with Percy?

Love, love, love the way you write Percy and your writing is amazing ❤️ ❤️

❤️

I hope you have a good night/day

I’ve always loved Ron (I still do!) but the way you describe Percy is making it so hard to choose which one I love more.

This is such an incredible compliment!! 🤩

Lmao at Molly finding out about Percy's action. I think he's still the least of her concerns probably. Remember the twins using "magic" tricks to hit on Muggles in the village? And hey, Days That End In Y Percy has a respectable three committed relationships before settling down, with a few ✨intrigues✨ sprinkled in there. 😋 (I kid, of course. BUT if you'd like to read more about Percy being the, um, town broomstick, I am begging you to read A Touch of Mystery by @edie-k !)

It's impossible for me to have a preference between Ron and Percy. As HP characters go, Ron is like my first real love, the one you never forget. When I was reading the books, I was actively bummed out whenever he wasn't on the page. Percy's the one who snuck up on me. I wasn't into him the way I am now upon my first reading of the books, but I was fond of his appearances. Maybe it's because I, too, was a driven, studious rule-follower when I was younger, but I never found him insufferable, and was kind of surprised, in a way, by readers buying into the:

...treatment of him.

Anyway, nobody wants to hear me rant yet again about narrator bias and active reading. The point is, I think when I really got into him was when I started writing my Percy/Audrey fic Irrational back in 2009. That's right, I decided to write about him before I fully loved him. I wanted to write a romance and at that time I hadn't seen a lot of Percy-centric romance fics and I thought it would be fun to explore him and the person who would love him for who he is. I didn't want him to become reformed/ transformed/ whatever by Audrey. I wanted to celebrate his inherent worth.

And with that frame of mind -- plus going back through the books to revisit his scenes (and seeing the really actually great, endearing guy staring us right in the face in black & white, whose actions and mannerisms aren't nearly as worthy of ridicule as a younger sibling's jibes would suggest) -- it was impossible not to love him.

Anyway, your comment has me all 🥹🥰 over here, and I thank you for these fun questions!

#percy weasley #I love this character a totally normal amount #hp fanfic #hp fic recs #ask me #ronsgirlfriday

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surrealsunday · 1 year

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@how-mytearsricochet ... Apologies this response is late! I wanted to give my answers proper time and thought! So I’m going to paste that part of your previous ask below:

I’m more than curious to hear about your opinion at this point of the storyline and I’m practically dying to know the behind-of-the-scene details because it will never cease to fascinate me your writing process and your line of thought: were you frustrated with some of the characters and their actions at some point? Has it been challenging to write scenes like that, do compromises to make it follow a precise timeline given that this time you had to follow a predetermined script ecc

None of your other versions of Elu had ever been through such a horrible messy betrayal as this one; how did that make you feel as an Elu stan and/or as an author? Can you picture it as something one of your versions of Eliott and Lucas (I don’t mean the ones we’ve already met, I mean hypothetical ones that could be born by your hand) would be capable of do eventually (betraying Lucas’s trust)?

So how did “10 Things” was born exactly? What put this specific idea in your mind -The Chosen One- and consequently translated into action? Do you have any other Elu ideas/drafts we don’t know anything about?

Was there anything you would’ve liked to change and/or point out of the OG script? I’ve found insightful the way you pointed out at the very beginning how shitty was for Arthur and Bas as “friends” to act like that behind Lucas’ back -and essentially at his expense-, although I’ve forgiven Bas the very moment Eliott make him notice it, and it was clear Bas never actually thought what kind of friend the deal made him look like and was starting to feel bad (Bas is a baby, you can’t stay mad at a baby 😭); color me naïve or shallow but I admit although I watched it countless times, I’ve never given a lot of thoughts about how ethically moral was the deal from that point of view lol but uhm at least Cameron and Michael weren’t Kat’s friends in the movie.

How did you pick the topic between Lucas and Charles, where did it come from? (if we’re speaking about that, I’m quite curious about Lucas and Doctor Moreau as well; how do you pick Lucas’ different personal trauma? do they come later in the process or are they part of the initial process of building up a specific AU?)

You said once that long stories drain the hell out of you as a writer, did that happen with 10 Things in its own way? How much do you think you have invested, given but also gained, grown as a writer from this experience?

So I’m going to start with how the idea of 10 Things came about and how the story developed. But keep in mind that I am super chaotic in how I write and not organized at all lol. I fly by the seat of my pants and often my best ideas come as I am writing. I am very visual so most of the time I have scenes playing out in my head long before I try to write them. And if a scene won’t play in my head I find it nearly impossible to write (which did happen to me a few times with this fic which is part of why it took me much longer than usual to write).

I thought following a movie premise would make the writing process a lot easier becuase the outline is right there for me. And in some ways that was definitely true. Especially when I started the fic. I knew I was never going to follow the movie line-by-line or scene-by-scene because that would have bored me completely and it’s just really not my thing, but I was still able to follow of rough outline of how things were going to go.

Now of course my own ideas coming into play did complicate things a bit. I didn’t have any problem coming up with ideas. Those came very naturally (like how each character would work into things, what role they would play, the background story for Lucas and Charles, etc). But figuring out how I was shifting those storylines in my own world did occassionally stump me. It actually became harder to follow a movie premise because I am used to just sort of letting the characters go and I see what happens. Here I wanted to keep things more concise and I wanted to stick to a similar breakdown of plotpoints so it was almost like forcing myself to be more organized than I would be normally with writing. It worked out and I did still enjoy, but I definitely had moments of needing to stop myself and asking ‘ok, but what are you trying to get out of this scene?’ Because it’s not enough for me to say, ‘The scene was in the movie.’ I need to have a reason for that scene existing and it needs to impact and move the story forward in some way. Doing that while not doing my usual ‘Oops now it’s a 200k story’ was a challenge lol.

10 Things was really just born from me rewatching the film and I s2g 9/10 I watch things and immediately think ‘ooohhh but what if this was elu’? It’s just how my brain works lol. Hyperfixation is a funny beast. So it wasn’t anything more complicated than that. But why I chose to actually write it is that I thought it would be an easier (ha!), more light-hearted (hah!!!) fic and I was in the mood for that at the time as I had just finished Mood Tattoo.

Also I found it fascinating that you said none of my other Elu’s have ever had such a horrible messy betrayal. Like that is very true but honestly I didn’t really think it explicitly like that when I wrote it. So I wasn’t intimidated by that at all. Tbh I think my main thought was, ‘Oh yes, opportunity for some delicious angst.’ And it was interesting going into that knowing that the reader (at least those familiar with the movie) would know where the angst was coming from and would generally know when it was going to hit. It made me wonder if it would still have an impact. Obviously I changed things and I didn’t flinch from making it painful, but I wasn’t too worried about it being as messy as it became either. I’m not sure if that’s just because I had confidence as a writer tho lol. I think it is more that I write as I go and then I step back at the end and look at the whole product.

In terms of things I would change about the OG 10 Things movie, tbh I think most of what I would change was likely scenes that were cut. Like Bianca’s role in the betrayal of Kat and their very precarious relationship... that shit is never really resolved. And I understand why it wasn’t because it was a huge can of worms and the movie wasn’t as focused on that but damn...

I’m honestly not sure if there were other things I would change. It’s an interesting question. I think I would have liked to see a bit more from Patrick in between when Kat finds out the truth and when she confesses her feelings in the iconic poem. It would have been good to see a bit more of his suffering. Overall tho, even with what they cut or skip over, the feeling from the movie is that it works. It’s so enjoyable to watch and so satisfying and that’s really what I want out of a movie like that. So critique doesn’t come as easily. And I get what you mean about not really considering how eithically moral the actions of the characters are. That’s truly because the aura of the movie is fun and light-hearted. And they follow through on that in every way, especially with the humour. So it doesn’t demand that kind of reflection. But I went darker and more serious with my fic and added sex in the mix so I knew I had to deal with everyone’s actions in a more profound way.

As for any other future Elu AU versions being a betrayal of trust sort of messy situation... yes I could see this. For example, in an exes au, I think it could be very messy. I actually don’t normally like exes au’s so tackling that would be a challenge (it was the same way for friends-to-lovers for me but I ended up loving Punzel). But I think two premises for angst in future au’s would be interesting. One being where either Lucas or Eliott are entirely at fault in a really hard ‘how do we get past this’ way (I don’t mean cheating or something like that... that’s a no-go for me... but that betrayal element just involving much more hurt), and two, an angst premise where the angst comes entirely from an external force and at no time do they doubt they want to be together. 10 Things touches on the betrayal kind of angst but in more depth I think those two angst premises are ones I haven’t really tackled.

Ohhhh man... the question about how I come up with Lucas’s personal trauma in fics like Mood Tattoo and 10 Things. God... I have no idea hahahaha. The way I come up with ideas is legit so random and spontaneous. Like I know some people don’t believe me when I say that because a lot of themes and idea weave through the entire fics in a very intentional way but I have no explanation for that... my brain just kinda works it out 😂. In Mood Tattoo I truly have no memory of how I came up with the idea. I think I was probably coming from the initial idea of having an actual reason for Eliott to be critical of Lucas, and then the power dynamic of Lucas being close with an older surgeon... and then somehow the rest of the fucked-up-ness developed. Usually it happens when I’m out running and daydreaming. For 10 Things I knew I’d use Charles and it would be darker but I also knew I didn’t want it to be exactly like the OG - with Kat sleeping with that version of the guy because she felt pressured and everyone was doing it. For one, I didn’t want it to be a ‘Charles is closeted’ or anything like that. I wanted it to be more like Charles sees sexual conquests as being less than human and only in that way is gender irrelevant. Because it’s about power and domination. It’s about taking and it doesn’t matter who he takes that from. So that just didn’t translate to anything but a brief sexual encounter where Charles ‘takes’ and Lucas though willing, is in a vulnerable state.

10 Things did not take it out of me as a writer the same way other fics have. But each experience has been different. I found 10 Things more difficult simply because I had fallen out of a writing mode. And I don’t like to write unless I really am into doing so because I feel like it will read as laboured. I think my joy when I write does come across in what I write and in the same way, when I am really struggling with a scene and forcing myself to write it - I almost always end up very disatisfied with that scene later and it undergoes a lot of editing work. One thing I have realized in recently tackling my ADHD is that it can be near impossible for me to write when I’m not hyperfixated on it. For all the other fics I was and that’s how I was cracking out 200k stories. For 10 Things my brain had gone elsewhere and it actually wasn’t until I was on some ADHD meds that I was able to complete writing it. That helped me focus and I got a lot of the joy back in writing.

I think I’ve grown and probably changed hugely as a writer in some ways but I also think there is a lot that hasn’t changed. I remember when I started out writing Tempo my main goal was that I just wanted it to be a joy to read - like just really read so easily and just feel fun. And I really felt like I captured that. And that goal has pretty much stayed the same. I’ve struggled more with it as I have written new stories but a lot of that was simply because I worried I’d repeat myself or not create content that was original enough from what I’d already written. So it was a lot of pressure I put on myself. And interacting with readers really was the most inspiring and wonderful thing. It made me really want to put energy into writing and create thoughtful stories with depth. I love so much how readers like yourself analyze and dive into the complexities of the stories, and it makes me want to provide content that is layered. Thankfully I usually do write in a way where I am adding in details or layers I actually never expect readers to pick up on. It just satisfies me to know I’ve connected those threads for myself. But then I’ve had readers notice all those tiny things and it’s the most exciting and amazing thing. So that has driven me to be even more thoughtful with those choices.

I think the only other thing I’d mention in a way I changed - but then didn’t change lol - also has to do with interaction with readers. So back when I was writing for Skamfr and the fandom was more active I of course had interaction with a lot more people and a lot more readers. And while that was obviously wonderful, I did recieve a hell of a lot of terrible messages too. Thankfully for the most part the messages were very overtly hateful and that is extremely easy to dismiss and not have it affect me at all. But messages that were viscious but more specifically critical were a lot harder. I don’t mean fair critique. I have had plenty of that and while I don’t think it’s anything most fic writers are looking for, I’ve had really lovely readers offering critique or just general questions that have made me think about my writing differently and I think I’ve improved as a writer as a result. So yeah, I’m speaking about a different thing when I mention these messages and it did make me a bit nervous or gun-shy when it came to my next stories. With that said... I then got over it quickly, said fuck it, and did what I wanted anyways 😂😂😂. So that’s what I mean by it not changing me. I very much trust my own process and remind myself I’m just doing this for the joy of writing and it’s helped me calm down about the whole thing. Plus the fandom is obviously pretty non-existent now so I’m just left with really lovely readers and that has made the 10 Things experience really lovely.

Omg this truly turned into the longest essay. I’m sorry but also not because you know me and you know this is who I am as a person lmao. And I wanted to give your questions some serious thought and so here we are! I hope I answered all of your questions. I think I did. I will go back and edit this later so apologies for now if I have major typos or anything. Thank you soooooo much for your interest. It really is such a wonderful thing to get to discuss with someone who is actually interested. I’m forever thankful to have you as a reader ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️.

#writing things #fanfic things #10 things fic

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1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all.

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms.

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization.

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him?

You’re not so sure.

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows.

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed.

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did.

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?”

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that.

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you.

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes.

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise.

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well.

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows.

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments.

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary.

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight.

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise.

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s.

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face.

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth.

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self.

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first.

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups.

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features.

Oh, you loved this man.

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane.

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway.

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself?

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on.

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.”

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car.

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant.

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you.

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass.

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass.

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit.

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks.

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe.

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear.

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs.

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck.

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush.

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river.

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river.

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!”

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is.

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.”

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song.

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off.

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign.

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device.

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen.

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line.

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?”

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?”

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.”

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred?

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend?

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell.

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird!

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at.

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?”

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words.

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?”

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.”

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut.

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead.

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again.

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account.

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?”

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now.

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook.

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms.

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing.

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes.

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.”

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat.

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment.

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river.

“I thought he was cool before.”

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you.

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth.

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor.

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?”

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?”

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own.

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.”

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.”

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling.

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen.

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud.

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief.

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship.

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man.

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot.

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim.

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either.

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.”

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”)

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes.

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.”

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.”

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes.

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself.

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone.

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura.

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.”

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end.

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.”

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is.

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead.

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them.

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.”

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.”

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet.

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again.

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue.

You whimper. “That hurt.”

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey.

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see.

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck.

Of course.

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss.

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it.

And you’re all too ready to act on it.

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy.

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw.

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare.

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him.

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds.

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair.

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips.

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit.

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders.

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you.

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull.

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around.

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you.

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view.

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings.

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you.

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely.

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise.

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth.

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness.

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest.

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor.

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes.

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air.

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead.

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions.

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been.

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table.

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again.

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs.

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true.

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low.

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you.

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you.

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix.

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin.

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction.

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper.

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust.

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly.

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface.

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed.

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy.

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why.

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home.

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you.

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad.

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying.

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses.

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes.

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside.

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds.

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly.

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder.

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you.

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit.

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you.

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different.

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap.

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out.

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds.

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.”

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly.

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic.

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom.

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet.

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums.

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?”

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you.

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house.

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise.

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors.

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.”

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag.

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

4K notes · View notes

tobi-smp · 2 years

Note

1/4 clarification of the inniter neg situation; ppl arent upset about tommy IN CANON, theyre upset that when you try to find a fic centric about a smaller character (connor, purpled, jack, etc) its not tagged properly so all you get is fics of tommy. and you can't exclude his character tag, because then you'll miss a lot of really good fics that also include him. there's also the problem that characters will be tagged even if they only appear briefly.

2/4 so, when looking for connor-centric fics for example, you'll get a bunch of SBI-centric fics where he only shows up as a background syndicate member. this is especially a problem in the slimecicle cinematic universe (SCU) fandom, particularly the tumblr tags.

3/4 keep in mind i havent actually watched the video yet lol and havent been in the tags, so from my understanding, the tags were mainly about SCU!tommy and it was near impossible to filter out, and there wasn't much content for the other characters in that video.

4/4 also, this isnt like an attack on people BECAUSE they like tommy or anything! im actually an inniter myself! its just that statistically, with the amount of fans cc!tommy has, and therefore the amount of ppl who watch his POV, of course c!tommy is going to be this character this problem happens to. [End transcription]

Context: [Link]

firstly, thank you for clarifying further, I appreciate it!

but secondly, this only further confirms my initial thought. like, there’s nothing wrong with expressing annoyance about this trend in a general sense, but saying that it’s a problem with tommy specifically is absurd. this is just a problem for all fandoms everywhere, this is a problem that I run into all the time when I’m digging through the tommy tags or the sbi tags.

fans of smaller streamers are going to have it worse because small streamers are more likely to show up as background characters, but the idea that the Culprit is tommy in particular is ridiculous. the “sbi” isn’t just tommy, tommy is just One of the more popular streamers.

the inclusion of the scu argument only makes it More ridiculous. zommy was the main villain of the episode and had more screen time than most of the other characters (showing up multiple times and being directly tied to the plot of the event). people getting angry that inniters were entertained by the video and wanted to make content about it was not only Silly (he is, again, a major part of the video in terms of both screen time and plot), but it was the exact kind of exclusionary hostility that drives away potential new fans that I got into here [Link] (which is kind of a coincidence that I was just talking about it kjflads)

to be frank, there is going to be a swell of content in the immediate aftermath of a video being released, but after the initial excitement dies down so does the content. there was an uptick of zommy art for about two to three weeks after the video dropped and now it’s over. some people who were only introduced to the scu through tommy’s character will go back and sift through everything that came before, they’ll add to the conversation, they’ll breathe life into the fandom Beyond tommy’s brief involvement.

but a whole hell of a lot more would have done that if the reaction from the scu fandom hadn’t been outright hostility and gatekeeping. the only thing the gatekeeping accomplished was insuring that the inniters that people were angry weren’t engaging with the rest of the scu never would. you can say it isn’t targeted hate but that was just plainly not true for the scu situation.

tommy is a popular streamer but he’s also a controversial one because people find his personality annoying and resent his role in the dream smp. tommy Is Not the most popular streamer (that honor goes to dream who has several thousand more fics on ao3 than tommy does), but even if he was the problem being pointed out is not unique to tommy nor would it go away if inniters policed themselves.

I don’t believe that this issue is being centered around tommy and tommy fans for no reason, because I’ve been here long enough to see the pattern of unfair treatment from the fandom And because I read enough fic to know that this affects every character in every fandom, including the popular ones.

my credentials for that statement:

this fandom needs to learn how to talk about fandom-wide issues or about their streamer of choice without using tommy as a sacrificial lamb to convince people that it’s a problem that needs to be solved.

#anyways jkflasdjklfds #would you believe it's 2 am

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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Text

It’s A Match Chapter One

Masterlist

Disclaimer

Summary: Filming is over and Henry returns home to and empty house. And he doesn't like it, things are getting to him and he doesn't want to be alone anymore. Then his brother suggests online dating, it sounds mad but henry decides to give it a shot. If worst comes to worst he just deletes the profile. He has nothing to loose right?

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Cheese, Self Indulgent Fic, Rpf, Plus sized reader.

A/N: so I wrote this before the whole 'girlfriend' shock and everything that has followed. I was of two minds whether to ever post it but honestly, this is my blog and I've clearly stated that i am going to continue writing Rpf. I want to do a little ficlet/mini fic and well here we go. It wont be smutty just somewhat angsty then fluffy. Enjoy~

Taglist: In Reblogs.

Henry slumped back on the seat in his conservatory and sighed, from here he could see his brothers and their wives outside, each snuggled up on the out door wicker sectional he had got to have the family over. It was the first family get together for over a year. He was happy, god it was amazing to see them but... He couldn't help being a tad envious.

They all had a family, wife and kids to go through this shitstorm in. He had no one, well he ha Kal. But that was it he sighed and looked away sipping from his cup slowly takeing a moment for himself. He needed to just chill, but it was getting hard... This year had really knocked him back he was at an all time low he hadn't felt like this for a long time. He knew he was depressed, he felt stupid there was no reason to be but there we go.

Henry had been getting himself all twisted for a while now, filming the Witcher helped but now that was over and he was home alone. Left with his thoughts in a big empty house.

"Sooo little brother want to tell me what's going on or am I gonna have to get mum in here?" Henry jumped at the voice and spun around to face his brother who was keeping a safe distance at the door. Wiping his hands down clearly just having washed them again.

"I ah its nothing, you know me I'm a worry wart" he said waving off his older brother he didn't want to bring down the mood of the small gathering, it was why he had come in here to take a breather.

"You called us all here for a visit hen, out of the blue when lockdown is still being eased out. Its clear you don't want to be alone, yet your sitting in here alone." His older brother said leaning on the door frame folding his arms trying to figure out what was really going on. He could see his little brother was hurting he wanted to help.

"I've got Kal" Henry said with a chuckle and looked about for the bear only to frown and sigh seeing the room was empty apart fro him and his brother.

"Kal's outside with the kids hen, what's up? You can tell me you know" henry sided as his sibling moved sitting in the small seat across from him. He knew that his family would listen but he felt so... spoilt like he was asking too much and was being selfish. It wasn't like him.

He grunted leaning back choosing not to look at his brother instead focusing on the cup in his hand. He spun it slightly then heaved a sigh. He wasn't getting away with not speaking about it, he was going to air out his worries one way or another. With his brother or his mother, and he loved his mother but this was? He wanted to keep this issues close to his chest. So far only Kal knew about his problems.

"I... I've had enough... just had enough of fucking covid and being alone... i felt isolated before all this shit kicked off and now?" He vented releasing all the fears he had. It was tough, he was a family man without his own little family, he hadn't managed to find anyone to share his life with and it got to him. He tried being sincere and polite, he took care of himself and tried staying true to himself but... something was missing it had to be! On paper he was a safe bet a good man! Yet his relationships never worked. There were different opinions or his other half couldn't handle the life style or they tried changing him or they couldn't put up with the way he loved so furiously- so openly wanting to always hold and kiss them. It just never quite worked.

"Its- fuck everything has just caught up with me...worries I've had for a few years now I could ignore them you know? I had other stuff going on, was always out and about meetings and press tours I was busy! But now?" He tried putting his feeling into words but he was conscious, he didn't want to whine or bitch about his life. He loved his work and the life he had made for himself he just? Wanted someone to share it with.

"Now after covid you've got all the time in the world to think?" Henry nodded agreeing with his brother. Covid had made him face these fears head on. He has been alone for the best part of a year with the uncertainty of his work and filming quarantines and isolations.

"Yeah, it hurts I'm... I'm in deep and I? I don't know how I'm getting out of this slump" henry finally said outloud, his brother dipped his head listening to him as he ranted. Started letting out all the frustration and anxiety out but stopped short with another growl closeing his hand around the cup tightly hissing in frustration then looked away.

"And what's caused it? I know you hate being alone but?" Henry sighed shaking his head as his brother tried coaxing more out of him. He drew in a shaky breath wanting to cry, he was just so lost and upset over being upset and alone.

"Two lock downs... Two alone- I? If this carries on for the next few years I don't... I don't want to be alone anymore! I want to settle down, I want an actual personal life! A relationship a family and? How? How am I gonna find all that? They want fame or money or something! Women never seem to want me for me, they say the do then judge me for my hobbies- I'm a geek I like tech and games and fantasy! And women don't like that" he spewed the words like they were venom, half ashamed of being so dramatic but the fear was real. Henry was scared, he wanted love. He wanted a family of his own, and it seemed impossible, now more then ever.

"I want to meet someone who will take me as I am, for me and I just I'm giving up. I'm giving up on it I can feel it, almost forty and look, alone unmarried no kids-I have no one to share my life with, it hurts am I not good enough for that?" He hung his head as he spoke the final words put loud. He felt so vain and full of himself when he said them out loud, his skin crawled.

But it was how he felt, being the muscular decent looking man he was didn't go with his personality. He was a geek and the woman who were drawn to him didn't want that. And the woman that shared his hobbies normally weren't confident enough to even speak to him. Society's views on acceptable couples had put Henry in no mans land.

"What about online dating?" His brother spoke up but Henry just grunted rolling his eyes frustrated.

"What? No I cant do that I'd be fucking swamped" he hissed in irritation frustrated at the mere suggestion of him trying to date online.

"Whoa hold your horses let me finish I mean come on Hen there's bound to be hundreds of shy sweet women on there, I mean girls that are into your hobbies and stuff aren't usually the ones out and about partying and stuff, so its more likely they will be online" his brother quickly explained before Henry could pop off on one and shut him down.

Henry opened his mouth and stopped himself. That was a good point. Many of the women he would click with weren't going to be in bars or fancy parties. They were normally shy and at home most of the time reading or playing games.

"I... You really think i could meet someone? Meet the one online?" He asked in a small voice warming to the idea. His sibling smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes little brother, your a down to earth guy, just make a profile and have a look, if you don't like what you see you can delete the profile" henry nodded slowly thinking it over. There'd be no harm if he failed well he'd be no worse off, a little disheartened but that's about it.

"Look write down a few things you want in your dream girl, have a pseudo name like fucking I don't know Hank! Or something and say your a runner on set or something" his brother spoke up quickly as Henry sat back and actually thought about it seriously. He was right, henry could tweak things and be careful about what he shared and if he did meet the one then she'd understand... He could explain the predicament he was in. That he just wanted someone who liked him for him. And he would only reveal himself to her if she was the one and he was sure she would understand. As long as he was himself and honest about everything else in his life then there was no harm... and if he used proper photos of himself just... half cropped out then? It wasn't catfishing? Because he was being himself just using the nickname his mother used to call him.

"O-okay so be myself but... Just tweak a few things? So they don't know its me?" He reiterated to his brother still trying to figure out the morality of this whole idea.

"Yes! No full on pictures, no photos of Kal either new photos henry not old, maybe of your eyes up or something? Girls love blue eyed boy- not your right that brown will give you away... you could even fuck em up with a behind the scenes character photo? I mean come on how many men use a superman photo for their profile these days?" He encouraged wanting more then anything to cheer up his little brother.

"I yeah... That could work ,thank you- I'm sorry I got so worked up it... Its just getting to me now" henry apologised but his brother shook his head and chuckled standing up to go back outside to the others that were all happily chatting in the garden.

"I know Hen, look just give it a go, you might be surprized... come on lets get back out there, after all you are the host~ you cant just run off and hide" henry grinned standing and following his brother. It was decided, he'd give online dating a go!

A week later Henry sat at the computer everything was ready, he'd taken some precise photos and had spent the last half hour writing a profile up. He had felt a little guilty about this... Was he lying? Technically it was him, he was going by Hank which was a nickname his parents gave him as a child, luckily this site didn't require a surname because honestly? He had no clue! To fend off some guilt he had thrown in a behind the scenes photo of himself as superman it wasn't much but it helped take the edge off. The other photos were cropped and there were a good few just so that the women knew he wasn't technically a catfish; he even did one with him covering half of his face with a piece of paper with Hank scrawled across it. At the time he felt silly but it helped with his anxiety over the whole thing.

He paused for a second eyeing the screen rereading the profile over and over trying to make sure it was alright and honest. And it was, he had explained a little about himself, his hobbies and interests and his job... Only brushing over he worked for the film and tv industry recently working for Netflix he hadn't exactly explained what he did but there was enough information.

With a deep breath he clicked the button his mouse hovered over going live with the profile. Now all he had to do was wait and hope he caught a good womans eye. Within moments a few profiles popped up, matches. He scanned them flicking through some of the profiles and felt his heart crack. They were all full of badly filtered photos and used slang that to be honest he didn't even understand. What was so hard about using plain English?

He growled growing frustrated clicking through what were clearly a bunch of wannabe sugar babies. Each profile had a main photo a little bit of info then a few more pictures added to them. He scanned each one quickly going through the motions judging each one. 'Too far away... Your clearly not even eighteen?... Oh you like dc? Really hate to break it to you but thor is not a dc character' Henry grunted as he bypassed what felt like hundreds of women each with their own 'duck face' selfie most advertising their Instagram pages some even ballsy enough to add their only fans pages.

'Wait a second who was that?' He paused and scrolled back up and eyed the image on screen. It was a face on photo a cute woman smiling uncomfortably. Unlike everyone else's there was no distorting blur or heavy editing, the only make up was in the form of eyeliner in a set of black slightly uneven cat eyes. A slightly skewed black flicks making a point of no editing on the photo.

She was a full figured woman with proper kissable round cheeks and a sweet nervous grin. Her eyes were what got him, they were kind and genuine he could see she was uneasy about the photo but she was beautiful. She lived about half hour away which wasn't to bad.

Henry clicked the profile and scrolled down she didn't smoke, drunk occasionally and had no children. She did however have a college education in animal care and ran a small business. Centred on dogs by the looks of it. He moved further down reading the profile.

Y/n, 30, business owner, e/c, 5'4, curvy

I'm shy so will take a while to warm up to you. A honest woman, sometimes to honest I don't seem to have a filter 🤗 I'm laid back and tend to be sarcastic and I love animals I'm a kc certified dog breeder as well as run a small successful business that caters to dogs. So if you are allergic or don't like dogs then leave now but thank you for clicking🙃

I spend most of my free time gaming or reading. I enjoy the fantasy genre and love dc and marvel (though I love dc just a tad more🤫)

I have one fur baby in the form of my lovely girl Amii who is a three year old malamute. Yes malamute not a husky or Akita so again if you don't like dogs or big dogs I'm not the girl for you.

I'm looking for someone to have fun and maybe build a life with. Covid has been tough being single and decided that it was about time I tried this whole online dating thing. If you want to chat pop me a message 🥰

I do not have a personal Instagram, snapchat or only fans! Stop asking for pictures!😠😠

Henry's face split into a huge grin. She seemed to good to be true. She was wholesome, successful in her own right and looked fun. She didn't seem to be full of kale and bullshit. Just genuine and? Henry couldn't put his finger on it but there was something drawing him to this woman.

True to her word there was no Instagram link, no only fans or snap chat or anything. He scrolled further seeing photos of her and the biggest fluffiest dog he had ever seen in his life. She was sitting down next to who he assumed was Amii her dog and he melted. Y/n looked happy and content, living her best life.

There was nothing that sent alarm bells ringing, no racey photos or 'Netflix and chill' innuendos. The profile was clean and genuine. He was right the woman was a little chunky but extraordinarily beautiful. The curves suited her and made her look more... cheerful and he could tell she was strong aswell, you had to be to have a huge dog like that about you.

There were photos of her walking a large pack of dogs in the wood; that he recognised! They were the very same he took Kal to only ten minuets down the road, he even recognised the small logo of her company on the jacket she wore. He had seen dog walkers wearing the same jacket so he knew of her brand. I he remembered correctly the company offered dog walking, grooming and kennel facilities as well as offering Breeding services helping stud dogs and stuff. They also helped advertise registered breeders and took in rescues for rehoming. It was a brilliant little company that he had even used for Kal once or twice to get his teeth cleaned and nails clipped, because Kal was a bugger for his pedicures!

He moved further down seeing more photos of the woman a small section with the games and tv she liked. Witcher was in both the tv and games category aswell as peaky blinders, Vikings and a few other shows.

Henry paused as he saw the chat button. Should he? He but his lip twisting on the spot in he chair rocking from side to side. What harm is there? He could just send a message she looked like a fun loving woman, he shared the same interests and stuff... so why not?

His fingers hovered over the keys ready to type out the words. But he choked. His mind ran blank what does he say? Hi? I saw your profile? Does he ask for a date? What does he do?

He let his hands fall and growled. Then scanned over the side of the message bar seeing a few pre-typed responses.

'It's a match!' 'You look fun, lets chat' 'I like your profile picture'

He winced they all seemed... wrong? Somehow they were polite and all but it- they wasn't personal or anything just... not quite right. He looked down as Kal came padding over and slumped next to him resting his chin on his foot with a loud sigh. With that Henry had an idea typing away a little message and hitting send before he could really think.

You sighed typing away the latest wage slips and added up all the various overtime, you really needed some more staff on now that lockdown was coming to an end. Thankfully animal care was essential so you hadn't been hit too hard a few staff were on furlough as they were extreme high risk and shielding but you were going out of your way to make the premises covid safe. Luckily it wasn't too hard as much of the business was just a few staff and lots of dogs.

You frowned when a chat icon popped up in to corner of your screen. 'Hank?' You though trying to remember if you knew a Hank? Maybe a client or some old friend... but you honestly couldn't recall. You l saved your document and clicked the small icon bringing up a chat and frowned a you read the little message.

'I call my dog bear but he has nothing on Amii, Shes the fluffiest dog I've ever seen in my life she looks perfect for bear hugs😅'

'what the hell?' You cursed scrunching your nose up at the screen rereading the words. That's a bit random... you clicked his icon a small photo of half of his face then froze as a dating profile opened up. 'Oh... shit' you said seeing that your own profile you'd set up a few days ago out of curiosity had garnered the attention of the handsome blue eyed stranger. You swallowed biting you lip thoughts of finishing updating your records now gone as you scanned Hanks profile and a small smile crossed your face.

Hank, 37, works in the film industry. Blue eyes, 6ft, muscular.

Decided to finally try this online dating, unsure what to say other then I'm looking for a life partner. I like to think I'm funny and laid back. I'm fit and active but that doesn't mean you have to be, but maybe my lady could come for walks with me and my four legged son? I promise he's my best freind and a good boy.

My job is tough and I'm away for long periods of time, but when I'm home I like to play games and am into warcraft. I paint miniatures when I can. Fantasy and superheroes are a big part of my hobbies so if you don't like all things geek then I'm probably not for you.

But if they are? Then feel free to message me, I will reply when I can.

You read and re-read the profile And your hands hovered over your chicklet keyboard. Biting your lip, do you respond? He seemed sweet and real... if that made sense. You took a deep breath. What was the worst that could happen? Asking for a plane ticket? You decided to take a chance and typed back a reply hitting send whilst you had your nerve and then flushed.

"And they say fluffy dogs only lure in women~" You giggled to yourself moving a hand over the huge fluffy girl beside you giving her pets whislt thinking of a reply.

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