#well this whole bringing good out of evil thing also touches upon it
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Finding "the meaning" to a show that could have had up to five or seven seasons but was cancelled after the second is somewhat like trying to understand a novel composed of seventy chapters by having read only twenty — there is a whole wealth of information which we do not possess that could alter our reading of any given element or of the entire thing in itself.
Still, there are always patterns that weave a story into a cohesive unit and they can help us to better grope in darkness towards comprehension. One such pattern in Warrior Nun appears to be how the consequences to mistakes, "sins" or evil deeds committed by characters manifest.
Basic storytelling usually requires characters to act on something so that complications or resolutions may arise from their choices and move the plot forwards. In Warrior Nun, many of these actions are quite tragic in nature: Suzanne's arrogance and pride lead to the death of her Mother Superion; Vincent's allegiance to the higher power he believed Adriel to be inspired him to kill Shannon; Ava's flight from the Cat's Cradle ends up damning Lilith as she is mortally wounded and taken away by a tarask... All of these events have negative outcomes and heavy repercussions on all characters directly or indirectly involved. Something changes permanently because of them, be it in the world around them or within the characters themselves.
And yet, it would seem that all of these dark deeds not only move the story forwards but might also have overall positive results. We would have had no protagonist without Ava — and she would arguably never have received the halo to begin with had she not been murdered. What's more, on a personal scale, the horrifying crime she suffers is, in the end, the very thing that allows her a second chance in life, a new life.
An act of outside evil permits Ava to grow and develop, shows her a path she would not otherwise have found. Without her own season in some sort of hell, Lilith would not have been able to advance towards other ways of being and understanding beyond her very strict limitations. Vincent and Suzanne would not have embarked on their own journeys of enlightenment without having caused the pain they are responsible for.
Beatrice might have been paying for someone else's mistakes, but she, too, is given the chance to grow into herself through it. The afflictions that torment these characters advance the overall plot, but they also advance them, as individuals, as long as they are willing to learn and keep going despite the calamities large and small that they are faced with. Beatrice keeps going after parental rejection, Mary keeps going after losing Shannon, Jillian keeps going after losing her son (in part through her own actions, adding insult to injury)... Trouble and the adaptation that follows it, if one is open enough to learn from the experience, motivates the characters, propels them forward, teaches them.
The problem of evil has occupied the minds of many a thinker throughout the ages, given how the very existence of it, evil, might call into question that of God (a good, omniscient, omnipotent one, anyway). A common way of justifying suffering (and also God), then, is by claiming, as Saint Augustine, that "God judged it better to bring good out of evil than not to permit any evil to exist".
Now, it would be rather ridiculous to say of Warrior Nun that it follows in Leibniz's footsteps, also because this philosopher, expanding on the augustinian concept, attempted to defend the goodness of a real God with his "best of all possible worlds" while all we have is... Well, whatever/whoever Reya is.
But there seems to be an inclination towards some sort of optimism as a worldview nonetheless.
Betrayals reveal truth and grant knowledge (Vincent's culminates with the coming of Adriel, which allows us to know of the threat of a "Holy War" and thus prepare for it; Kristian's gives Jillian much needed insight, William's lights up the fuse for the fight to be taken more seriously...), crimes committed willingly or not open the way for Ava (Suzanne's killing of her Mother Superion causes the loss of the halo, which is transferred to Shannon, whose death opens the gates for Ava to walk through after being herself murdered by sister Frances)... The magnitude of these positive outcomes is perhaps not "balanced" when compared to the evil that brings them about, but there is still something to take out of the catastrophe.
However tragic the tones of a given event, the show itself appears to shun the predetermination that makes tragedy as a genre; if everything is connected, here it at least appears to not necessarily drag everyone into their horrible dooms.
What's more is that this lurking "optimism" matches really well with our own protagonist's personality.
And it makes perfect sense that Ava would do the best she could with whatever she is given.
Life for her, in the conditions she experienced after the accident, would have been unbearable without some sort of positive outlook on life. However deadpan, the joking and the "obscene gestures" and whatever other forms of goofing around beside Diego are a way of turning a portion of the situation in her own favour. Proverbial eggs have, after all, already been broken right and left — might as well make an omelette of whatever remains.
Humour is just another way of looking at the bright side of something, or, at the every least, of mitigating the utter horror it might bring. If the show allows for moments of lightness, if it lets us laugh, if it takes us through a perilous voyage which still bears ripe, succulent fruit instead of the rot of pessimism and its necessary contempt for humanity, it is because Ava herself sees things in this way. It isn't gratuitous or naïve in this case, but a true survival strategy, especially as it is confronted with the morbidity of Catholicism.
Here is a religion that soothes its faithful with the promise of reward in the afterlife — how else does one charge into battle against the unknown, risking one's own death along with that of one's sisters, without the balm of believing that we shall all meet again eventually, "in this life or the next"? How else does one come to terms with the ugliness and the pain of this existence if not by looking forward to a paradise perfect enough to make all trials and tribulations here worth it?
True nihilism would have annihilated Ava. Her present perspective is what avoided the abyss.
And there is nothing Panglossian to her attitude or what the show might imply by giving us her view on things. This isn't about "the best of all possible worlds", but of making the best of whatever situation we're in, of taking what we have and doing something with it, something good, something of ourselves. It isn't God making good out of evil, but our choices.
Killing innocent people and feeling no remorse will never be the best someone can aspire to do. Sister Frances, cardinal William, Adriel all learn this the hard way.
Those who do their best find that, somehow, they can move on from whatever it was that paralysed them. Ava, most of all, knows what it is to be stuck, frozen in place; she can never be the character who refuses to grow, even through pain, lest she condemns her spirit to the same fate her body is all too familiarised with. Those around her wise enough to let themselves be touched by her, by the dynamic power she carries, walk forth with her and live.
It says very little about "God" that Warrior Nun should adopt its heroine's views and seem "optimistic" as it progresses — but it speaks volumes about the values it presents for pondering, of the inspiration its protagonists provide, and of the multiple reasons why this is a story unlike most others.
#warrior nun#ava silva#you know it's actually very funny to type this as someone who is very schopenhaurian with hints of nietzsche#but i AM doing the best i can too :)#again i will reiterate that i don't think this apparent optimism has anything to do with the classic theodicy#if anything i see it more as a cry in favour of antitheism -- this is YOUR life fuck god#life is shitty so carve out your own makeshift paradise out of the wreck you are given#and don't make things harder for anyone else in the process if you can avoid it#(but that might just be the luciferian in me speaking lol)#anywho this post is a translation of one i wrote not too long ago in cryptic english and a ton of tags#so if it seems familiar that's why#also i do find it rather telling that whenever i try to delve into how the show structures things i talk about ava#i don't set out to analyse her -- but in analysing the show i must analyse her as well if by the edges#which again points to how finely woven she is to the fabric of the entire thing#remember how i said ava is a representation of free will?#well this whole bringing good out of evil thing also touches upon it#saint augustine maintains that it is precisely free will that allows us to do it -- to choose good#of course he means it in a sense of being free to pursue god rather than evil but you see the parallel still works#(this is the post i mentioned in the last reblog. figured i'd go ahead and throw it in the wild since there are more brewing)#analysis and similar#exercises in observation
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Hii I think I've read all your hxh stuff but the Tumblr blog search is kinda scuffed so if you've already answered something like this just ignore me
Anyway I was curious to know how/if you think the phantom troupe members would share a partner. Like maybe not all of them sharing one partner (that's the dream fr tho lol) but maybe 2 or 3 members sharing one if any of them are into that
Then that leads me to my next two questions, Kurapika and Leorio, would they share a partner or are they just not into that
Then lastly (and if you don't write for them or have any ideas that's fine ignore this) do you think Silva and Kikyo would keep a little "pet" around?
Anyway sorry for the long ask, I guess I could have split this up but I didn't want to spam your box 😅 have a lovely day! ❤️
Please ignore how late this answer is... Also the answer to the Silva/Kikyo question will be posted separately!
Tw: kidnapping, mentions of physical violence, manipulation, mentioned non-con
I was wondering how long it would take before poly yanderes would be discussed on this blog!!
My personal philosophy on poly yandere relationships is that they only work in very, very specific circumstances. The whole concept of a yandere is someone who feels such blinding and overwhelming love and desire for another person that they literally throw their morals out the window just for the chance to bask in a bit of affection or love from their special someone, and adding another person into the equation doesn't exactly fit this vision.
Most yanderes don't want to share you - you're theirs, simple and plain, and often only a very specific person could be the one exception to this rule. Even then, the relationship is often still strained, because unless feelings develop between the two yanderes themselves, jealousy will always be an issue and you as the darling will have to be very careful about making sure you give equal amounts of love and time to each yandere.
But instead of focusing on the logistics of it, let's discuss the actual pairs/their dynamics!!
Machi and Pakunoda are the least resistant to sharing. They respect each other, and while it may be a stretch to call them friends, this respect and trust has led to a solid foundation for them to build off of. Neither are especially forceful with their darlings, instead preferring to hover and take care of them with minimal physical force, and this helps keep both of them placated. Machi is sort of the bad cop while Pakunoda is the good cop, but the reason this pairing works so well is that they help bring out qualities in each other that would normally be their weak points. Pakunoda helps Machi relax and warm up to physical affection with her, because her own natural touchiness is easier to convince Machi that touching you won't be the disaster she's so sure of. And Machi helps Pakunoda attend to every facet of your wellbeing - Machi properly feeds you, tends to any wounds of yours, makes sure that you're getting enough sunlight, that you're still moving and not becoming lethargic, all things that Pakunoda knows she should do but sometimes skips in favor of kissing you or spoiling you. These two are definitely the best pair to get stuck with - still overbearing about your safety and hard to handle always watching you, but certainly better than others.
Shalnark and Chrollo are, admittedly, not equal players in this partnership. Most likely, Shalnark initially became interested in you, and upon Chrollo's eventually learning of your existance, he found himself charmed as well. Shalnark wasn't the happiest at the notion of sharing, but he sees the partnership as an opportunity to help keep you in line and make himself look good. He and Chrollo are both very, very talented manipulators, and by playing off of each other, they're able to present themselves as simply loving partners, managing to gaslight you into thinking that you're overreacting about them being 'horrible' and 'evil' for kidnapping you and forcing you to be their partner. And frankly, it works - they're convincing, and because you get no reprieve or time away from them both at once, eventually you will begin seeing things their way. This isn't a particularly desirable relationship, if only because while you'll eventually be happy (your mind too mixed up to even realize you're unhappy, that is), you'll lose a piece of yourself in a way that you wouldn't with other pairings. You'll be somewhat of a shell of your former self - still you, but with the parts that they like emphasized, and the more problematic parts of your personality (like your desire to leave them) being repressed.
Uvogin and Nobunaga is possible, but it's unlikely that things would last long. This is because Nobunaga is particularly delusional, and Uvogin is particularly lucid. And this combo - Nobuanga's infantilization of you and Uvogin's leniency in your independence - spells out disaster. Things would be tense; arguments would sprout often, with you left to awkwardly stand in the middle, desperately hoping that Uvogin will win the argument. (You don't like him either, but at least his ideas are less dehumanizing than Nobunaga's.) I think it could work, if they worked hard enough to establish how to treat you, but you'd be constantly walking on eggshells around them. (Plus, if you think your poor pussy is getting a little too much action with just one of them as your yandere, then get ready - they fuck you every night, nearly, one taking your cunt while the other shoves himself down your throat. Occasionally they'll even try for your ass, though Uvogin has the sense to force Nobunaga to get you properly prepped before he fucks what he thinks is 'her best hole - it's so tight'. They're just gross, and you'll very obviously favor Uvogin - which once again sparks problems of jealousy. So it's possible, but unlikely to work out.
Phinks and Feitan is another unlikely combo - their types are very different, firstly, but if they did manage to develop feelings for you, things will become very violent very fast. Neither wants to hurt you (at least, not deep down), but they don't exactly agree on how to punish you or respond to your misbehaviors. Feitan is more strict, deciding that you must be punished when you act out because it's the only way to get you to behave how they want. Phinks doesn't share this mindset - he's more of a sucker than Feitan, more inclined to just make you promise not to do it again and then naively believe that you meant it. And this leads to problems - their treatment of you is so radically different, both in the way that they speak to you and how they touch you, that they'll be fighting over nearly everything. And while you won't ever be physically harmed, you'll be subject to watch them physically fight when they're arguing, swinging fists and lightning fast moves making you curl up into a ball because god, they're monsters. Again, it's possible if they can figure out a system that's a compromise for both of them, but it's unlikely.
This probably isn't the answer you're looking for, but it's my opinion! There are probably some more pairings that could potentially work, but these are the ones I see being most likely.
Unrelated to the Phantom Troupe, some other pairs I could see being potentially successful are: Leorio and Kurapika (they're into that!! more protection, as far as Kurapika is concerned, and Leorio is more clingy than possessive, so he wouldn't mind sharing with his best friend whom he is already displaying borderline homoerotic tendencies towards), Knuckle and Morel, Misturi and Obanai, Uzui + wives, Douma and Akaza though it would be very, very rocky and is significantly more unstable than these other matchups, Aizawa and Hizashi, Overhaul and Chrono, Tendou and Ushijima, Bokuto and Akaashi, Hinata and Kenma, don't ask me why but Goshiki and Kindaichi, Kita and Aran, Suna and Osamu
#_lee discusses#yandere hxh#_hxh#yandere kny#yandere bnha#yandere haikyuu#_bnha#_haikyuu#_kny#_all fandoms
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the otp dissertation
this essay is a copy of a free-response question i submitted to some youtuber's genshin shipping survey, and is itself edited from discord dms sent to a girl i met via genshin, who asked what the appeal of xiaoven was.
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personally, i like to use xiaoven to explore the tensions btwn duty n freedom, as well as how one's culture shapes one's character, and especially within genshin, how that interacts with the home culture of the element of a character's vision.
like for example, with liyue, their nation's ideal is technically "contracts", that's more a symbol of fairness and equal treatment, though i tend to interpret it as mostly fairness. being based very heavily upon chinese culture, there's also a very huge emphasis on duty towards one's community and caring for it; xiao definitely exemplifies these kinds of cultural traits in how devoted he is to his own duty, wherein he slays demons at the cost of his own well-being. geo is also a very grounded element, and he was raised in that kind of very grounded, down-to-earth culture. however, his vision, a representation of his greatest desire, is that of anemo, of freedom, and while xiao is a very duteous character, his vision betrays his true desires.
venti is obviously the anemo archon, the purest form of that ideal of freedom; venti also saved xiao's life in dihua marsh by playing his flute for xiao when he was dying due to the burdens of his karmic debts. that was like, a whole thing.
while at first, it might also seem that venti doesn't get anything out of the relationship aside from, like, a cute boyfriend, that's not actually the case if one explores venti's character a bit more deeply. venti is a character who hides a lot of sadness in him, as well as loneliness and fear of people leaving. as an archon, he's obviously immortal, but he also cares greatly about human beings and is, to our knowledge, the closest to them in general.
but being immortal means he outlives them by a lot, and so he can't get close to them bc he's obviously got A Lot of Feelings, and we Know that he grieves a lot for his friends bc he's still affected deeply by the loss of his other human friends in history, like the nameless bard, whose form he still takes, as well as vannessa, one of the characters in the genshin manga.
and so venti has a lot of abandonment issues, and yet he can't really bring himself to ask anyone to stay with him bc he is the god of freedom, and "what is freedom when demanded of you by a god?" he refuses to ask anything of anyone as a god, which is why he runs around pretending to be a mortal bard.
but xiao knows venti is a god, and the way xiao behaves around gods is like, the opposite of how venti would wanna be treated-- y'know, like, very devoted to the point where he'd die over it sort of thing. n so venti can't ask him to stay or anything, even if he'd like that.
ANYWAY, so, like, assuming character development happens n stuff as xiao learns to let go of his duty n stuff, i think that xiao's stability would be really good for venti, as like, something steady he could return to time and time again after his adventures, since xiao obviously can't die from old age like most mortals, and venti can also help keep him alive in general.
and like, venti's also had to have done some questionable things in the past. like he was one of the major players in the archon war, he has to have some war crimes, and he carries a heavy burden of guilt over a lot of things that have happened to mondstadt in the past, so another aspect of it is the fact that these are two deeply guilty characters who would probably see the other as a better person than themselves.
like it's pretty obvious from xiao's perspective, but in terms of venti → xiao, it might not be so clear. however, underneath xiao's "don't touch me i'm an evil tainted monster" thing, xiao is actually a very gentle character who wants so badly to be good, yet thinks he is incapable of such things bc past trauma n stuff, and i think a character like venti, who is very good at reading people, would be able to see that, and how despite his past, xiao still tries to be good.
at the end of the day, their dynamic just compels me, and tbh i actually don't really care all that much whether it's portrayed as romantic or platonic so long as they find meaning and importance in their relationship to each other. the way xiao's vision literally betrays his heart's desire and the way venti represents the purest, most ideal form of that desire makes me froth at the mouth. it's two deeply lonely, incredibly guilt-ridden people finding solace and stability in one another, who learn to love themselves bc someone else, whom they judge to be a better person than they themselves are, has shown them that it is possible for them to be loved, to be worthy of love.
simply distilled they are two people who think they are in a monster x monsterfucker relationship, and that the other person is the monsterfucker. and i am obsessed with that.
#xiaoven#mentioned to a friend earlier that xvn feels a little intellectually starved these days#so i decided to cross-post some of the essays i have archived on my neocities#be the change you want to see in the world and whatever#gi#xvn
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Shattered
The angel quivers in my grasp as I hold her by the neck.
“You shouldn’t be here, pretty thing,” I breathe. She whimpers when I let my fangs graze the gentle curve of her ear as I whisper into it. “This is my realm.”
I savor the fear in her eyes as my clawed thumb strokes her neck. Her lips move as if to speak, but no words escape. A pity. Begging can be fun.
“I have always wanted to defile an angel. It’s so hard up above, where the light shines and you are surrounded by your fellows.
“But here? No great light reaches down here to shield you. Even your halo’s glow is so dim and drowned in darkness, barely able to extend beyond your body.”
I run my finger along the shining circle of power and control she wears.
“I’ve never touched one of these before, you know. Ordinarily they burn those like us, but your power is so distant here, where my shadows fill and strengthen me…”
My words trail away as something catches my attention. My fingers trace over the same spot on her halo again.
A small flaw. An irregularity in what is meant to be a perfect circle. Difficult to see but apparent to the touch. She winces slightly as I press on that point.
There is no mistaking that the ring is bent.
“Ooh, what happened here, damaged little angel?”
Defiance flares into her eyes as they lock with mine. For an instant. And then the pressure of my finger in the crook of her halo’s bend sends a shiver through her body and makes her eyelids flutter in a terribly un-angelic way.
“Who did this to you?” I ask, curious.
“I-I did,” she gasps, speaking at last, panting with apparent effort as I continue to probe her crease with insistent pressure from my fingers.
“Good girl…” I murmur in breathy praise for her response, pressing that spot more firmly until it elicits angelic whines.
Did the halo’s bend deepen just a bit from that pressure, or is that my imagination? In either case, it seems there may be more than one way to use a halo to compel the light-bound.
“Now why would an angel bend her own halo?”
The angel’s lips tighten. She says nothing.
I press harder until I feel the halo give, just a bit, worsening the bend.
She screams, her whole body shaking, tears welling up in her eyes. I give her a moment to compose herself enough to speak.
“I wanted,” she pants, blinking to clear the tears, “to offer mercy.”
“Oh? I thought you types were all about bringing ‘mercy’ to the poor unwashed masses?”
“Mercy for the worthy redeemed,” she responds. “Justice for the sinful.” A graze of my claw beckons more from her. “The girl was an unbeliever, but she deserved better than retribution.”
“So you bent your halo to allow yourself to bend the rules. How delicious!”
I lick her face, extending my inky tongue to taste her from jaw to cheek.
“Ah, that also explains how you came here even though you would never be permitted to descend so deep on your own, hmm?”
I take a moment to savor the salty-sweet tang of angel sweat and tears—such a rare delicacy—before continuing.
“That doesn’t quite tell me why, though, does it? What would possibly compel you to visit a High Demon’s demesne all alone and so vulnerable?”
The angel shivers. She pries her eyes open with visible struggle and speaks, her words halting.
“The archangel…once told me…that if my faith wavers…to be victim to True Evil…or to even look upon one of you and see it…would kill my doubt and set my mind aright.”
I cannot help my laugh at that foolish notion. “Did it work, then? Do you feel ‘right’ now that you are in my clutches?”
My fingers quit their teasing just long enough for me to wrap my tongue around her halo in loops which I make sure touch and grind into her delicate bend.
She cries out once more, body convulsing, arms involuntarily wrapping around my body for support.
Her halo also shivers and flexes with the motion of my long tongue snaking around it.
I hear her breathe “yes” in response to my question at the exact moment it shatters.
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@crimsonkaiser Sent:
Seems after a few days of it the commotion surrounding the Pale Moon Club's building has finally died down, even if only a little. The excitement brought about by the newest member, Aichi Sendou, was still prominent; but now that Kai was approaching an off season with sports he was around more to keep the looming threat of other hungry vampires at bay.
But even though the corridors would be relatively safer to navigate now, the pair still chose to spend the weekend inside the comfort of their shared dorm. It wasn't but a few weeks ago Kai had feared this place to be akin to a prison to his boyfriend, who had been all but forced by the club president to move in. But Aichi had quickly turned Kai's fears on its head, accepting everything all at once in the vampire's most vulnerable and desperate state.
Aichi could have left him. Left all this behind and moved on with his life. But instead, he stayed. No... That wasn't it. He was moving forward, but refused to leave Kai behind. He had taken him by the hand and made sure of it. Kai can't help the smile that graces his features as he reminisces as much, all while sharing the couch with the cerulean eyed young man.
It was quiet. Quiet save for the sounds of the video game Aichi had picked up, having found the old pocket console whilst unpacking, as well as the small sounds of victory or defeat that escaped him while he played. And Kai finds comfort in small moments such as this. They gave him an incredible sense of nostalgia, despite all his memories of playing games with Miwa or Ren never being so calm as this.
Before he realizes it himself, his hand finds it's way to Aichi's head; smoothing down the messy bits of the other's blue strands. Kai's red hues have become apparent, the color flooding his usual emeralds until they turned into rubies. But despite the defining features showing, Kai doesn't act upon it. He's peckish, but by no means starved to the point of frenzy. That was another thing Aichi had done for him... Another thing Kai hopes to one day make up to him. But that was for another day. Today was booked; nothing but cuddles and video games and a delicious homemade dinner and dessert for the two.
Kai didn't have practice. And Aichi didn't have a study session. They were going to make the most of this rare moment in which the stars aligned for them both.
[@ club!aichi. a parallel to the past ask, based on that one art that started this whole au lol]
He appreciated times like this more than anything. Growing up, Aichi spent most of his time alone. Alone with his thoughts, alone with his feelings, and alone with his bruises for many, many nights throughout his youth. Luckily for him, those lonely painful nights were a thing of a past, and it was all thanks the the brunette who was sitting comfortably on the coach beside him.
Aichi owed Kai for...everything, to put it bluntly. He’s the reason he’s been able to grow into a better, stronger, and overall happier person. If he never met Kai...Well, he doesn’t want to imagine a life without him. He honestly couldn’t at this point. The other had become a part of him to the point it feels like they’ve known each other forever, despite only meeting when they were in high school.
How odd...
Sounds of his video game, one starring a knight tasked with saving a kingdom from ancient evil, escape his handheld console’s small speakers as he continued his evening playing session. Honestly, he’s been so enraptured by his game that he doesn’t even realize how late it’s gotten, or the fact his stomach has been growling for a good while now since he hasn’t exactly eaten anything since lunch several hours earlier.
That’s why he’s fortunate to have someone looking out for him, Kai’s gentle touches through his blue strands both providing comfort but also softly bringing him out of his gaming focus and back to reality. Cerulean hues then meet ruby ones, Aichi slightly gasping at the sight. It wasn’t one of fear. Rather, he was just surprised to see the other have his real eyes showing when things were calm like this. They really were a sight to behold. Aichi found them just as beautiful as Kai’s usual emerald ones.
Then again, he found everything about the other to be beautiful. Kai had captured his heart the second they met, and to this day, those strong feelings still remain. Their bond, one built upon trust, healing, and understanding, is one that will definitely stand the test of time. He can’t imagine himself being with anyone else, as if Kai is his soulmate or something like that.
How fitting considering the real truth behind the human and vampire..
A rather loud sound originating from Aichi’s cellphone soon makes itself known, the suddenness of it startling the young man and causing him to stumble back into the arms of the other. He recognizes the sound immediately. It was the very one of his alarm he set to alert him and Kai when it was time to do a blood feeding. Guess time really does fly when you’re having fun, right?
“Haha...Guess it’s as good as time as any to take a break from my quest, huh?” Aichi chuckles, putting the video game down before rolling up his sleeve. Despite the many signs of feeding that laced his skin, the warm smile on his face was unmistakable. Aichi was happy he could help Kai like this, to help the person who helped him. While he can’t deny he wish helping him didn’t involve the act of being fed upon, he does it anyway because he loved the other and didn’t want to see him suffer anymore.
He couldn’t let Kai suffer anymore. He just couldn’t...
“How about we get this out of the way, and then you can start on cooking us that ‘special’ dinner you were boasting about earlier? I think it’s safe to say both you and I are pretty hungry, Kai.”
~
#💎 Solitary King Of Apocalyptic Flaming Thunder (Crimsonkaiser)#💎 Paladin Treasure (Aichi Sendou)#💎 Paladin Answers (Aichi Asks)#💎 Paladin's Hidden Sanctuary For The Cursed Crimson (Aichi Pale Moon Club AU)#tw long post#tw biting#tw blood#tw vampire#(AICHI TOTALLY PLAYING BASICLLY BREATH OF THE WILD CAUSE ITS A GAME WHERE YOU PLAY AS A KNIGHT LOL#(ALSO KAICHI GETTING TO BE SOFT IS MY WEAKNESS#(THEY DESERVE THIS!
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The Sandman, Season 1, Episode 10, "Lost Hearts," First Impressions!
The dream comes to an end.
Here in the season 1 finale of The Sandman, we actually have two climaxes. One of which I am only going to skim over, because it's basically more-or-less the same as in the comics, while the other I'm going to go into much more depth, as it had a lot expanded on. Plus, it was already really cool.
So, okay. Let's touch upon Dream's confrontation with Rose first. Like I said, it's a pretty faithful adaptation of the comics, with the only real changes being which dreams Rose's housemates are having when she brings them all together (as we already saw their original dreams in a previous episode), the fact that Rose already knew that she was a Vortex and went to go face Dream willingly, and a few minor but very important details regarding Unity.
I thought it was a cool translation. The Vortex effect was really neat, I popped a bit when Jed became Silver Age Sandman again, and Gilbert reclaiming his place as Fiddler's Green was absolutely gorgeous. I also liked Unity visiting Dream's library looking for the book on what her life would have been had she not fallen asleep, and the change from having Desire straight up rape her in her sleep to them seducing her in a dream was...probably a good idea. Like, Desire is absolutely an antagonist who's annoyingly petty, but they're never meant to be hateable, and while I know the Endless all have done some fucked up shit, having even this more malicious Desire be a rapist and get away with it would've sat wrong. I mean, there's still plenty of consent issues at play, but all things considered, this is far more palatable.
But other than that I just don't have a whole lot to say about the whole thing that wouldn't involve me reviewing a story climax that I first read over fifteen years ago. It was good then, and it's good now. So yeah.
The other climax is much more interesting to talk about, and that's Dream's confrontation with the Corinthian, which has been massively expanded upon, and to me that is a good thing.
See, originally, the Corinthian was just a problem to be dealt with. We didn't even get to meet him in person until the Cereal Convention, he was only alluded to in mentions and short POV teases until then, and he basically was just doing his serial killer thing while being utterly oblivious to the fact that Dream was after him. Him attending the convention was literally just for fun, kidnaps Jed basically because he's an evil dick, and Dream shows up and evaporates him with no issue at all. He's interesting, he's memorable, but he really doesn't have a whole lot going on until his resurrection.
But all through this season we've seen him granted a much more important role. He's aware of what is happening to Dream from the beginning, and we see him actively doing everything he can to prevent the Sandman from coming after him. We seem him give advice to Burgess, see him attempt to manipulate the Dees, and we see him successfully manipulate the Walker siblings. Because he knows that if Dream ever does actually catch up to him, then it's game over. He cannot stand against Dream on his own, so he picks out metaphyiscal loopholes that would give mortals a fighting chance and uses them as pawns instead. And when one fails, he immediately moves onto the next, throwing obstacle after obstacle at Dream, hoping that one will succeed.
And his final plan is very interesting. He hopes that by luring Rose to the Cereal Convention and surrounding her with the dreams of serial killers while using both her and himself as bait, he can terrify Rose into destroying Dream and take his place at the center of the Dreaming. And it actually almost works, because Rose certainly has no reason to like Dream. But unfortunately, Rose takes the third option, says "Fuck you" to both of them, and wakes up, leaving the Corinthian to face his maker alone.
I like the extra bit of depth given to the Corinthian as well. Like, he's still a monstrous serial killer, this definitely is not justified at all, but we also see how twisted up he is inside, how he felt abandoned by Dream and how trapped he felt by his original function, hence why he did what he did. And Dream actually acknowledges this, blaming himself for how the Corinthian turned out. He still kills him, but it's with the promise to make him better the next time, which as we know does happen.
And whether the comic or the show, I also got a kick out of how Dream wasn't upset that the Corinthian is an evil, murderous monster, it's that his vision is too petty. Like, "I made you to be humanity's dark mirror, a horror unlike any they have ever seen, and all you could manage is being a serial killer? Be better." Bless.
And the Collectors! Oh, that was hauntingly beautiful. Like, it happens like it does in the comics, with Dream ripping away their illusion, but the way it was portrayed was so much better here. We got to see just how much these horrible, deluded people are fucked up by having that delusion removed, by having them realize exactly what they are, and having their consciences restored does to them. The Good Doctor turns herself in. Nimrod straight up commits suicide. Like, what must that be like? To have wrought so much pain, death, and grief upon the world, all the while thinking yourself to be the hero, only to realize what a monster you've spent your whole life being? Like I said, it was haunting.
Mason Alexander Park continues to absolutely kill it as Desire. But you know the funny thing about their line about making Dream bleed? They do exactly that, only not in the way they expected! And it'll end up killing him, albeit indirectly.
And we get the set-up for the Season of Mists, with Lucifer promising to do something that'll piss off God and bring Dream to his knees. Well, they ain't wrong about that! I will say, for as cool as the Azazel effect is in conception, the actual execution was...a little too obviously CGI. Like, it looked like a PS3 cutscene effect. I guess it wasn't too bad, but given how great all the other effects were, it did stand out, but I suppose something like that would be difficult to make look real.
So! Season 1 wraps up! Final thoughts?
Yeah, it was pretty fantastic. A lot of things were faithfully adapted, and in beautiful fashion. Other things were changed, but to amazing effect. Overwhelmingly, the casting was excellent, especially on the part of Dream himself, and it's shocking that something this weird and complex not only managed to get an adaptation at all after all these years, but that it would be this good. I realize that the series was incredibly expensive, but Netflix better not give it the axe. We need this story to continue, for Murphy's sake.
#the sandman#neil gaiman#dream of the endless#rose walker#the corinthian#desire#lucifer#lost hearts#review
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Doctor Strange In The Multiverse Of Madness
What a film. And I mean that in the most complicated of ways.
On the one hand the film is just full of cool, great shit. Elizabeth Olsen is perfection and the portrayal of her(on a filmic, non-story level) as this unstoppable villain is fantastic. The rest of the cast is aces as well. It has the best superpower stuff in anything(the dueling music is an obvious standout). The climax is straight and to the point and it doesn't feel either drawn out or perfunctory.
But on the other hand...wowzers is this one massively unintentionally sexist film. Even ignoring the way that the Wanda we saw at the end of Wandavision doesn't at all match up with the Wanda here(a big thing to ignore), the way this film explicitly draws a line between:
'Sorcery'
logical
ordered
male-coded
GOOD
'Witchcraft'
emotional
chaotic
female-coded
EVIL
It sure is something. The film even gives Wanda a couple of lines pointing out this bullshit(the line about how Strange does shit and gets to be a hero, Wanda does it and gets vilified, and her pointing out Strange's hypocrisy when he Dreamwalks and drives his own multiversal-corpse with demons) but it never interrogates this view.
The storytelling decisions surrounding Wanda throughout the whole film feel like the writers/producers picked the worst option every single time, with them seemingly hoping that the Darkhold just being there will be enough to paper over the turn they've take her character. She is so wonderfully kill happy that it is unbelievable that Feige and co. let it happen(oh and I saw you film, trying to show that a lot of people survived Wanda's attack at not-Nanda Parbat. Please, she slaughtered those fools.)
I mean just for simplicity...why wasn't the villain of this film a Wanda from a different universe? It covers the same story, it allows you to have your rampaging monster Wanda(lover her) and also gives you the 'real' Wanda getting to talk her down at the end, win all around.
One other simple change that would've helped would have been for Strange at the end to actually try to take America's power for himself, having him fail this test of character would've done wonders for balancing the scales. Having America run from Strange to Wanda takes us back to the opening of the film and America bringing Wanda to other-Wanda without Strange's go-ahead would help remove the unnecessary paternalism that the film accidentally creates.
But having Strange himself falter at the end as a learning moment wouldn't have been a neat enough bow for Marvel, I guess.
Despite the numerous problems with the film, this is still easily one of Marvel's best. Raimi brings a pulse to the film, well except during the Illuminati sequence which feels tepid compared to the rest(until Wanda meets Xavier at least), and enough can't be said about Elizabeth Olsen's performance. She has turned the finger-tensed, spell gesturing into basically an artform at this point and even when handed this 1.5 note character(on the page) she single-handedly makes her the entire heart and soul of the movie. Strange fixes his watch at the end like it is some big symbolic moment and feels like the most hollow thing compared to *gestures at everything Wanda*
I won't go into a big thing here but the response to this film was interesting. I kind of obliquely touched upon this in a previous post about Eternals but I feel there is something really disheartening being bred in the Marvel machine(though it certainly isn’t unique to them). I feel that Marvel's adherence to its own 'house style' has created a problem where now a sizable chunk of the fanbase will always be unhappy if a Marvel film strays even for a little bit from said 'style'. Multiverse of Madness, Eternals, Iron Man 3, these films aren’t that far from the Marvel rulebook, more minor variations on a theme than any grand reinvention, but just the tiniest deviations have sent waves of apoplectic nonsense throughout segments of the ‘fan’base.
p.s. Not really a flaw with the film but it bummed me out that America was basically a completely different character.
p.p.s. Oh, and a bonus negative 100 points for not having Doctor Mordrid anywhere in the film. All the multiverse shenanigans, all the different Stranges, and you don't do one where he is Jeffrey Combs?
#doctor strange in the multiverse of madness#wanda maximoff#elizabeth olsen#why do the black fingertips do it for me?#mcu#marvel#doctor mordrid
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analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga 😈
this series will probably have more than one part because tumblr only lets me upload ten images per post </3
warning: there are disgustingly long paragraphs in here and delusions
chapter 32
utahime’s first introduction! akutami lets us know right off the bat that she thinks gojo is an idiot (so true).
chapter 32
i love the contrast between miwa and utahime’s reaction to gojo’s appearance.
chapter 33
NAH BC TELL ME WHY HE WENT OUT OF HIS WAY TO NOT GET HER ONE LMAOOOO!! when he traveled overseas to meet with yuta, he picked up the tribal protection charms and thought to himself, “let’s get enough for the kyoto students as a gift since i am such a great and caring teacher, after all. mmm, i should skip utahime to make her mad~” this guy puts way too much effort into getting on her nerves. his mind = utahime brainrot
chapter 33
she’s laughing at him here because he’s getting disciplined for being a lil shit. i wonder...what would he say if he saw her laughing at him like that?
chapter 33
this interaction between them is a little strange don’t you think? i feel like over the years he’s learned how to pick up her mood based on the way she’s acting towards him. you’re probably thinking, “well any person can figure out how a person’s feeling based on the way they’re talking or acting.” yes, that’s absolutely true, but it’s kind of different with this. she’s acting normal. utahime has a rather indifferent expression on her face and what she says is spoken in a calm tone, but gojo still asks her if she’s mad at him. it’s likely that he knows her well enough to be able to notice these subtle things. even if she wasn’t actually mad at him, he was being considerate for a split second, then he went and said, “of course. i didn’t do anything wrong and all.” what a guy LOLOL. to me, this implies that maybe he made her genuinely angry in the past to the point where he realized that he went too far, and thus decided to be more careful of her feelings. she has definitely gotten annoyed at him so many times after that so whenever she seems angry, he probably asks himself if he took it too far. i’m curious to see if he can pick up if she’s upset with something that’s not involving him. would he console her? how does gojo satoru console someone?
despite him always annoying her, she’s still courteous and brings him a cup of tea during their talk. she didn’t have to go out of her way to get tea for him but she did. that’s the kind of person utahime is. a kind and caring woman who would never put her students in danger. in the anime they were sitting far away and not facing each other like they’re doing in the manga. she also has her own tea cup. i think that little panel of her placing the cup down on the table and him picking it up to take a sip is a nice little detail. it just proves that her hating him most of the time isn’t actually pure hatred but annoyance because of his shenanigans and teasing.
chapter 33
i touched upon this a little bit in my previous post, but i wish to go more in depth about this panel. first of all, he ends the sentence with her name twice. two times too many, mr. gojo. i like how they can be serious with each other too LOL. i wish we got to see them talk about the traitors because they did figure it out together after all. does it always end in bickering? can they interact with each other like adults all the way through? somehow, i feel like that’s not possible when it comes to these two. furthermore, notice how gojo confides in utahime about his suspicions. from what we know, she is the first person he brought it up to. i mean, i guess he has to start investigating the schools and would need extra assistance to save time, but he could have done it himself if he really wanted to. by deciding to ask for her help we know that he thinks she’s trustworthy, smart, and strong enough to face whatever considerable risks this task may entail.
i didn’t point this out in my other posts but see how he makes a hand sign in the last panel when she throws the cup at him? gojo is manually activating his infinity. why though? about a year after the whole star plasma vessel incident happened, gojo develops the ability to keep his infinity up at all times by using the reversed curse technique to consistently heal himself to prevent exhaustion. this means that it really makes no difference whether he leaves it on or off. there are a few times where we can witness someone actually touching gojo. for example, yuuji giving him a hug. did he turn his infinity off, or was it able to deduce that yuuji was not a threat? the erasers and pencils shoko and geto threw at him during his demonstration of his new ability aren’t dangerous normally, but is it the speed that makes them dangerous? even if it did hit him, it wouldn’t hurt. how does the infinity know when to allow an incoming object to touch gojo? i believe it is up to gojo himself to let things touch him; his infinity restricts anything and anyone. some people say it could just be the fact that water is not dangerous to him, so therefore, he has to manually put his infinity up. i thought this was a reasonable explanation as to why he put up the hand sign when the tea was thrown at him, but then i realized that it couldn’t be. remember the second opening? it’s raining and everyone is carrying an umbrella, then it pans to gojo with a bouquet in his hand and rain drops slipping off his infinity. if he DID manually put his infinity up to prevent getting soaked then that implies that he chose to turn his infinity off. you can argue and say that jujutsu high is a safe place with students so there’s no need to have his infinity there, but do you remember when he stepped on the ants in front of gakuganji and yaga? the ants were perfectly fine after which insinuates that his infinity prevented his shoes from crushing the ants. he most likely had his infinity on during the baseball game even though he was in a safe environment. how does this long tangent relate back to utahime? well, it simply indicates that gojo trusts utahime so much to the point where he can be vulnerable around her. turning off his infinity symbolizes completely letting down his guard in a way.
how about what happens next? utahime throws the tea at him, he turns on his infinity to deflect it, and he responds with, “scary! hysteric women aren’t popular, you know!” why would he even say that LMAO?? utahime doesn’t even try to deny what he said either. she just hits him with the good old, “i am your senpai!” could it be that he’s trying to poke fun of her relationship status? maybe, maybe not. doesn’t he like people a lil crazy? he did say that all jujutsu sorcerers have to be a little crazy because they’re willing to put themselves in danger constantly.
chapter 0 p.1
i wonder who he’s thinking of when he said that. could it be utahime? it seems like he’s reminiscing or thinking about someone. he wears an amused expression on his face as he laughs - almost like he’s seen his fair share of how scary women can get :>>
chapter 34
the pattern behind gojo and utahime is called yagasuri “fletching,” a traditional japanese design. this design is inspired by arrow fletching. it's a lucky charm for weddings and other celebrations since it's based on the Japanese belief that an arrow shot once never comes back. brides were given kimonos with this pattern for good luck during the edo era (1603–1868) to ensure they would not have to return to their original family home. this pattern can have numerous meanings such as steadfastness or determination to achieve a goal, or a wish for the happiness of the bride. there is a belief that a bow and arrow represent the fight against evil. honestly, this meaning fits the narrative of the story. utahime and gojo are unearthing the traitors that are feeding intel to the curse users and cursed spirits. they are in the middle while the kyoto students surround them, which could mean that it’s their job as adults to protect these children from the grasps of evil slowly making itself more prominent. do you also notice that the arrows are pointed toward utahime from gojo? from all the images i’ve seen, the arrows are usually pointed downward. what could this mean? is gojo trying to protect her (in the future (?)) or does he have a big fat crush smh...
i think it’s a good time to mention utahime’s clothing. she’s wearing miko attire. miko are shrine maidens who were once thought to be shamans (you connecting the dots?). in their service to shrines, miko used to perform spirit possession and takusen (in which the possessed person acts as a "medium" (yorimashi) to communicate the divine will or message of that kami (god) or spirit; also included in the category of takusen is "dream revelation" (mukoku), in which a kami appears in a dream to communicate its will). this was back in the old days, of course. to become a miko back then (shaman), one needed to have potential. neurosis, hallucinations, odd behavior, and hysteria (HYSTERIA HELLO???) are some of the signs that a person is being called to shamanism. when a miko is communicating with a kami (god) or spirit by acting as a medium, she is in a trance-like state, and so she must learn techniques to control herself when this happens. chanting and dancing were used to accomplish this, so the girl was taught melodies and intonations that were used in songs, prayers, and magical formulas. all of this could give us insight about utahime’s technique and explains why she’s good at singing :) maybe she can’t control herself when she uses her technique which is why she isn’t shown using it because it should be used for dire situations. i imagine being possessed by a spirit or god must consume a lot of cursed energy. it makes sense that utahime and gakuganji wear traditional clothing. they’re the staff of jujutsu high’s kyoto branch. in chapter 0, kyoto is known as the sacred land of jujutsu. it’s more traditional compared to tokyo. if you want to learn more about miko, you should check out the wikipedia page!
chapter 34
i swear he tries to annoy her every chance he gets. i bet he sets a goal for himself to see how many times utahime lectures him about respecting his seniors every time he’s within the same vicinity as her. at least he called her utahime-sensei!!!
chapter 40
this isn’t even a gojohime moment tbh...i just wanted to share a pic of them sitting next to each other HEHE. why are they sitting next to each other anyway? it’s not like they have assigned seating.
----
that was so long and i apologize for the gargantuan paragraphs you guys had to read through. i’m writing this at 4 in the morning and i’m feeling borderline delirious so i apologize if there are any errors. i’ll edit this when i have time <3
the next part should come shortly.
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disney+ & bust
this is part of my netflix & chill collection !
summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.
warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf
miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans
word count; 13k !!
notes;
me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER
please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3
previous part: kissanime & foreplay
Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.
He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.
Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.
And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.
On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.
You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.
Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)
He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.
The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.
As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.
However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.
“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.
Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.
Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.
However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.
Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.
You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.
All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.
“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”
“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.
Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.
You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”
Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.
“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”
He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”
Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.
You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”
You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”
From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”
You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.
He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.
The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”
You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”
The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”
It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.
With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.
Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.
Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.
Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.
So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.
Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.
All men do is lie.
Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.
You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.
You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.
Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.
Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.
Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.
You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.
You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.
Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.
Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.
You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.
You don’t laugh.
Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.
“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.
Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.
You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.
“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.
Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”
Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”
For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”
Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.
You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.
When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”
At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”
You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”
“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”
“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”
He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”
You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.
Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”
You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.
Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”
“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.
“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.
You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.
A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.
The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.
“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.
It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”
“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”
“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“
“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”
With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.
Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.
“No,” you respond.
You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.
As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.
Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?
You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.
You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care
—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.
You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.
There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.
It’s not.
It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.
The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).
He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”
You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.
“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.
Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.
By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?
You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.
“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.
“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.
“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”
His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.
Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.
Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”
You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.
“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”
“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.
He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”
You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”
“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”
You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.
Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”
He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.
When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.
With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.
He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.
By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)
Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.
Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.
You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.
Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.
You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”
You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.
The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.
You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”
Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”
His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.
Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”
You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”
He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”
You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.
“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”
Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”
His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”
He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”
Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.
Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.
Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”
You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.
He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.
Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.
Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”
“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.
“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”
Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”
“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”
Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.
You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”
He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”
After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.
You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.
Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”
You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.
“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”
A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.
“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.
“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.
You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”
He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.
Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”
Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“
Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.
You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.
“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”
You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.
While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.
The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.
Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.
Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.
And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.
(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)
But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”
Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”
Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.
“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.
Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”
“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.
A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”
“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.
“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”
His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.
Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”
“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.
Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”
You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”
Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”
You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.
“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.
“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”
You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”
Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”
You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”
Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”
Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”
“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.
Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.
Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”
“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”
“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.
You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.
He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.
You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.
“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.
You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”
Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.
You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.
Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.
Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.
Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”
“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.
Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”
He loves you so much it aches.
“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”
A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.
You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.
Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”
You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”
Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”
A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.
With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.
“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.
“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.
It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.
There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.
He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.
A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.
“Impossible,” he scoffs.
Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.
“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.
You nod. “Please.”
He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.
You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.
“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.
Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”
epilogue
commercial break one ; the resolution
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
#goldenclosetnet#networkbangtan#bangtanhq#ksmutclub#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook smut#jeon jeongguk smut#jjk smut#jeongguk smut#bts smut#jjk♡#jeon jungkook#mine
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You write fenrys so well 🥺
Can I request something for him falling in love with a lady who works in a library and is friends with aelin and he keeps finding excuses to visit the library and one day they realize they’re mates ? Can you plz include alot of longing looks & touched and his friends noticing ?
pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)
warnings: drinking, small argument, mainly fluff
a/n: kay so it's been a hot MINUTE since I've posted and I am sorry my loves, also I comepletely modified this but I hope you still like it, comment and shiz pls it really helps with writers block lol <33
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You had met Aelin sometime after the war. She had been wandering around town a couple days after the coronation, smiling at children and waving at the elderly, observing the way the town was slowly filling again, people returning home now it was safe. There weren’t many people about however, it just being seven in the morning.
She had walked past a shop then. It was small and rickety, the door barely on its hinges as a girl fought with it, swearing like a sailor.
“Do you need some help?” she asked, moving to stand beside the girl. You screamed instantly, jumping out of your skin at her sudden appearance, having not heard anyone coming due to how absorbed you were in your job. Aelin screamed when you screamed, and it left the two of you staring at each other with wide eyes before you fell apart in fits of laughter.
You stood from where you had bent to clutch your stomach, wiping tears from your eyes as you calmed down.
“Jeez you fucking gave me a heart attack,” you laughed as she apologised, still giggling behind her hand. You then turned, hands on your hips as you glared at the door of your shop.
“Rude men should be put down,” you muttered and Aelin was laughing again.
“That I can get behind,” she said as you opened it, giving up on fixing it completely, Aelin gasping when she saw the inside.
“You have a bookshop!” she exclaimed, and you laughed.
“Had, now I just have dusty books and a broken door. It was my mother’s before…” you trailed off and Aelin put a hand on your shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and you shrugged.
“It’s fine, it was ages ago anyway,” you stepped further into the shop, going to the large window up front and tugging of the white sheet that obscured it from light. “However, this shop isn’t dead yet so might as well get it done.”
Aelin looked around the shop, the paper on the walls was peeling, the paint on the shelves cracked and the books covered in a fine layer of dust. “Damn, where do we start?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves and grinning at you when you whirled around, frowning at her.
“Doesn’t the queen have better things to do?” you asked, and she shrugged, laughing at your bewildered expression.
“I’m sure my husband will cope.” You gave her an unsure look at that, and she laughed, “He’s competent.”
“If you say so.”
“If you knew I was queen you really have no fear of authority do you?” she asked as you started pulling books down and pilling them onto the sheet you just pulled off the window.
“Respect is earned, plus you’re the one who made me shit myself.” She laughed again, smiling widely, and helping you take down more books as she realised this was the most she had laughed since the war ended.
--
The worked all day. First removing the books and putting them upstairs in the rundown apartment you lived in, filled with plants, blankets, and somehow even more books. Next the repainted the shelves, setting them outside to dry while they re-wallpapered the walls and cleaned the floor until it was shining.
When the sky got darker you swore as you realised neither of you had eaten all day, going up to your new friend and asking her what she wanted for dinner.
“I make really good pasta,” you had suggested, and she had nodded enthusiastically as you went upstairs to your apartment, drinking wine as you cooked together. As you ate on the floor, drinking yet another bottle of wine, this time straight from the bottle Aelin asked about your past.
You assured her it was relatively normal, asides from the whole ‘evil tyrant thing’ as you put it. You talked together for hours, going back downstairs, and bringing the now dry, sage green shelves back in and putting all the books away, setting them in categories.
Hours later Aelin decided to go home, not wanting to worry so much and she opened the still broken door, the both of you laughing as you realised you had forgotten a pretty integral part.
“Hey, you could just name the shop, ‘the broken door’,” she suggested, and you smiled.
“That would work.”
--
When Aelin got home she was met with a concerned Rowan, asking where she had been all day.
She smiled at him, pausing before answering, “I think I have a new best friend.”
Rowan frowned at that, “And what brings you to that conclusion?”
“Today was the first time I’ve laughed since…” she trailed off as silence fell at the thought of their past few months, Rowan then bringing her in for a hug.
“You know this means I have to meet her too then,”
“Nope my best friend get your own.” She shoved him playfully, falling asleep next to him that night with a smile on her face.
--
They went to see you the next morning and Aelin laughed when she saw your dishevelled state.
“Did you sleep?” she asked when she walked into the shop and found signs put up and plants dotted around the room as you sat on the floor, drinking a coffee that smelt so strong she almost gagged, much preferring sweeter tastes.
“Sleep is for the weak!” you said, half-heartedly raising your hand.
“And what’s with all the plants?” Rowan asked, frowning as he almost walked into another and you sat up straighter, glaring at him.
“What you too good for plants?” you asked your hands moving over-exaggeratedly as you got to your feet. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just a stinky man,” you whispered to the plants and Aelin laughed at her husbands offended face.
You stood and started walking upstairs, your feet dragging as you went to get breakfast. You heard them follow you and you pushed open the door to your flat.
You had even more plants up here and Rowan rolled his eyes as you moved to open the large windows, letting in fresh air, you then moved about making pancakes, mixing enough for the three of you and adding blueberries when you were finished.
You cooked them up while chatting idly with Aelin and Rowan, only receiving a small amount of judgement when Aelin discovered you didn’t actually have a bed and instead just a mattress on the floor with a sheet for warmth and some soft pillows. Your house was newly decorated, art hung on the walls, plants and candles decorating every surface.
“Tea, coffee, water, vodka?” you offered them drinks and Aelin whined.
“No vodka, we had too much wine last night,” you laughed at that as you served up coffee and pancakes.
“Yeah we’ll have to go properly drinking some night,” you muttered, Rowan chuckling under his breath and nodding in agreement.
The three of you ate the rest of your food, laughing and joking together and Rowan really noticed the difference in Aelin’s manner. She hadn’t been truly comfortable or at ease in months, always looking over her shoulder, but now she sat laughing with her friend and Rowan wanted to thank you a million times over for bringing her back out of her shell.
--
Since you first met Aelin you were meeting up almost every day, discussing books over tea and hanging out at your shop, or drinking from expensive glasses in her castle while trying on elaborate dresses. Soon you were practically apart of the family, but that didn’t stop the confusion Fenrys felt when he walked into the castle and found a young girl sleeping on Aelins’ bed, a book opened but abandoned on her chest.
He tentatively walked forward so he could see her more clearly and felt his heart clench when his eyes fall upon her peaceful face, her eyes closed, and hair spread around her head like a halo. He was about to reach a hand out to brush a strand of hair from her soft hair when he heard the door open, turning to see Aelin run in, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
“Fenrys I didn’t know you were back,” she said when she pulled back, bouncing on the soles of her feet excitedly and he laughed.
“Are you going to explain why there’s a girl in your bed, or do I need to break some news to Rowan,” he joked and she shoved his shoulder before moving to the bed and shaking the girl awake.
“It’s just (y/n),” she explained as the girl huffed and rolled away from Aelin.
“Ah of course this person who I definitely knew existed,” Aelin stuck her finger up at him as he laughed, unable to stop his eyes from trailing back to her.
He watched as she breathed in deeply, her eyes opening slowly as she took him in, before she pulled her covers up to over her chin and frowned at him and Aelin with a small pout.
“I was having the best dream every asshole,” she complained and Fenrys smiled as she sat up on her elbows and reached a hand out to him to shake, introducing herself. He brushed the shake of and instead brought her hand to his mouth pressing a kiss to the back of it as sparks show through her skin at the sensation.
“I’m Fenrys, ambassador of Terrasen,” he smiled cheekily as she shrunk away slightly, nerves taking over her, “hope to see you around more.”
He left, pressing a quick kiss to Aelin’s temple, and winking at you as Aelin moved over to you with wide eyes.
“Aelin…” you started as she squealed.
“He was totally flirting with you! You would be such a cute couple, please, please ask him out I need you two to get married and have to worlds prettiest babies!” she was bouncing in hr seat as you moved to shut her up.
“Okay ONE, I just met him. And TWO, he was far too pretty for me,” you said and Aelin frowned.
“Nope, nope you are incorrect, and he is going to fall in love with you,” she demanded, and you laughed, kicking her with your foot.
“Mhm sure.”
--
The next few days, Fenrys was coming to your shop every day. He would bring chocolates and flowers some days, or coffee and pastries other days. Always dropping them off with a smile, before lounging in the plush, green chair in the corner of the shop and talking to you for hours. He has also started coming to your and Aelin’s weekly cocktail night, wrapping his arm around your shoulder’s and laughing drunkenly into your neck as you told stories.
However, through all this you remained ‘friends’. He would press kisses to your cheek and hands, keep an arm slung around your waist when men came to speak at you at bars and primarily referred to you using pet names and rarely ever your actual name. And it was getting frustrating.
You were having to start putting genuine effort to not kiss him every time you had a drink and he sat extra close to you. Or when you were invited to parties, and he moved smoothly through the countless questions asking if you were dating.
And while you revelled in the attention it was tearing at your heart slightly as insecurities told you that he would never actually be interested in you. You wanted to scream at him every time he kissed you but wanted to melt into him every time he hugged you, your brain constantly at battle with itself when he was near.
You knew you were due to explode any time soon. So when you were out one night and he was holding you extra close, you pulled away, muttering an excuse about getting another drink.
Standing at the bar as you waited you rested you head in your hands for a second before you saw a man begin to approach you. He was attractive, not like Fenrys, but honestly you would take anything to get your mind of him at the moment, so you smiled at him, tilting your head.
“What’s a doll like you doing all alone?” he asked, his voice rough and gravelly, unlike the smooth, deep timbre you were used to, but you just laughed.
“Waiting for a man to not dehumanise me,” you bit back, and he raised his hands sheepishly.
“Sorry about that, what would you prefer?” he flirted, sidling up closer to you as you turned to face him.
“Can’t go wrong with ma’am,” you joked, and he laughed, looking down and shaking his head, only to look back up, his eyes going wide. You felt a familiar hand wrap around your waist and looked up to see Fenrys, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as he glared at the man in front of you.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice deep and full of authority, the man in front of you shrinking under his gaze.
“Shit sorry man, didn’t realise she had a boyfriend,” he apologised and this time you did roll your eyes.
“He’s not my-“ you began but Fenrys cut you off.
“Yeah she does, so back the fuck off.” You looked down as he spoke, shaking your head as tears of frustration built in your eyes. You harshly pulled out of his grip, leaving the bar as quickly as you could, wiping away the escaped tears as you heard Fenrys follow after you, shouting your name.
You whirled around when you got outside, your glare murderous.
“You do not get to do that!” you shouted as he moved closer to you.
“Sweetheart I’m sorry,” he began but you cut him off.
“NO! I am not your girlfriend! You have never once asked me to be so you don’t get to try scare away any guy that might have genuine interest in me!” his shoulders slumped as you spoke. Truthfully, he has been working up the courage to ask you out for months, and while he knew it was unfair how he treated you, he couldn’t help himself. He was addicted. He thought of you constantly, the texture of your skin, the smell of your hair, the way your eyes lit up and the way you moved your hands as you spoke. So when he saw you engage with the man that had the audacity to talk to you, his grip tightened on his glass so much it shattered, ignoring the worried looks from Aelin and Rowan as he stomped over to you.
“(y/n) listen, I’ve been an asshole I know,” he raised his hands, tentatively stepping towards you, “But I really care about you, and I want to be yours.”
You laughed bitterly, “You’re just saying that.”
He shook his head vehemently, stepping closer to you again and wrapping his arms around your shoulders so gently, one would think you were made of glass.
“I love you darling, please be mine,” he said into your hair, and you pulled back, looking up at him through glassy eyes before nodding slightly.
“I love you Fenrys,” he smiled down at you before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss against your mouth, pouring his heart into the action. You gasped slightly as your lips met and he smiled widely against your mouth as the bond clicked into place.
“You know this means I now have an excuse to break the nose of any man that talks to you,” he whispered against your lips, and you giggled, shoving at his shoulder gently.
“I’m still annoyed at you,” you muttered, and his eyes darkened.
“Well I’m sure I can make it up to you.”
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I've been seeing some "Elain being evil makes more sense that Gwyn being evil because if Gwyn's evil it invalidates and cheapens her trauma" and 1. Characters like Rhys also have trauma but you don't say "he has trauma therefore he is incapable of doing anything bad ever" you love to talk about how horrible he is and 2. Who said either Elain or Gwyn HAS to be evil I'm not a huge Gwyn fan and I believe she's a lightsinger but I don't think sjm's gonna make her evil since she's in Nesta's trio
I agree--why does ANYONE have to be 'evil'. Also, how many books has SJM written with an 'evil' protagonist? An evil female protagonist.
One thing I always want to remind those who've been in the fandom for all of 5 minutes and feel like they just know is that SJM does certain things ALL THE TIME. She'll throw some bits of info here and there, just to have something to work with should she decide to bring it back at a later date. BUT, there are plenty of things that she put in various books that have never been addressed. Because she either a. forgets OR b. is no longer interested in them.
Also, it's important to remember that Gwyn is a FAN favorite. Is she SJM's favorite? I saw no indication of it. Therefore, I dont know if she is a LS, or if she is related to Eris, or whatever. It may all not ever come back at all.
This certainty that Gwyn will play a huge role in future books or that she would actually be an MC, is based on absolutely nothing.
There's been never any indication from SJM or BB that Gwyn would ever get her own story, that she would be a LI, or anything else. So even the whole 'she might be a LS' is just out there as a fan theory. SJM could just never touch upon any of it again. She might only bring her back as some Valkyrie leader for the last book.
There have been plenty of characters who are well-loved and who played their role and we haven't heard from them since. Tarquin? Need I bring Lucien into this conversation, who's been there since BOOK 1 and hasn't been dealt with in any meaningful way? There are the Tamlins and Briars, and a bunch of others. And Emerie is a good example too--she was introduced in one book, people FREAKED OUT, she is going to be Azriel's LI, they are mates! and all that usual bullshit. Well guess what--not so fast. She was brought in, but for a completely different reason.
In conclusion, NO ONE is going to be evil, and Elain will be the MC, and she doesn't want to be human, and she is not going to betray anyone, and we may or may not see Gwyn at all.
People, it seems, can no longer separate facts from headcanons.
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I was thinking about how Katsuki has never seen Deku in the hospital before and how Deku might be surprised to see him, and how that would probably hurt Katsukis feelings.
Then I decided to be self-indulgent and write the scene out. It was supposed to be short but I got super self-indulgent, because I like making Katsuki feel and making it hurt 🥰
I don’t wanna be unexpected
Deku carefully cracks open his eyes slowly taking in a dark unfamiliar ceiling and the heavy aching of his limbs, he isn’t fully cast anymore but a routine stiffness that tells him he had been.
He’s grown used to this routine over the last year, he doesn’t even bother trying to sit up. Instead, he just scans the room the best he can from his semi-horizontal position.
Turning his head to the left he sees an empty visiting chair and a small window letting in the city’s lights. It’s the only light the room has so it must be well into the middle of the night.
Continuing to the right he sees a small nightstand filled with get-well cards and gifts. It brings a smile to his cracked lips, he’d most certainly cry if his body had the water to spare.
If you told Deku a year ago that he’d get into UA he might have believed you, but never in a million years would he believe you if you told him he was on friendly terms with at least 1/3 of all of UA’s hero course students.
Sometimes that felt like the most unbelievable part of everything. Having his idol pass his legacy to him to beat an ancient evil? Crazy but within the realm of his imagination.
Making close friends with half his class and being at a minimum a positive acquaintance to most of his peers? It was almost unthinkable for a kid who’d spent his whole life being scorned and left out by even his teachers.
Choked up by his feelings, Deku tries to swallow the painful lump forming in his throat. He’s worried so many people and let them down by getting hospitalized yet again.
He’s too dehydrated to cry but he can’t help the dry cracked warble that escapes him. It takes a concentrated effort to clear his throat and not break down completely. It wouldn’t be cathartic at this moment, just painful.
A small groan from the foot of his bed pulls his attention away from reading what he could of the cards.
What he sees doesn’t instantly register with his groggy mind. That’s not uncommon, usually, the longer he’s out the more disoriented he is upon waking, his body might have made a full recovery but the brain takes longer to re-engage with its surroundings.
Deku doesn’t expect to see Kacchan of all people in his hospital room at all, let alone when he first wakes up in the dead of night, but the blonde tuft of hair sticking up from a familiar orange hoodie turned makeshift pillow cradled in well-toned arms makes the figure resting over the edge of his hospital bed unmistakable
Deku would know that pale face pinched into a grimace anywhere.
It adds to the layer of confusion he’s grown used to as part of waking up hospitalized. It also adds a layer of dread and an equal amount of relief. Things must be pretty bad if Kacchan is here, but Kacchan is here and he looks completely whole. It’s a best worst-case scenario.
Kacchan lets out a small grunt as he pushes his face deeper into orange cotton. Deku’s heart squeezes at the sight of the blonde's obvious discomfort.
Kacchan should be at home sleeping in a real bed, not hunched over in a visitor chair clutching a hoodie for a pillow.
Without thinking Deku calls out “Kacchan?”, his voice just above a whisper, a selfish part of him hopes Kacchan will stay asleep a little longer. That he’ll stay where Deku can see him and knows he’s okay. But he knows it’s selfish. So he calls again a little louder, his voice hoarse and scratchy from lack of use.
The blonde shoots up, eyes near frantic as he looks around before red irises settle their sites on him with more concern than Deku ever remembers seeing on Kacchan. Well, at least outside a fight and directed at him.
He hopes they're not about to fight, but when it comes to Kacchans temperament… well he’d be a fool to dismiss the possibility of it.
For a moment all Kacchan does is stare at him. It makes something cold and heavy settle in his stomach. Nothing scares Kacchan, and yet he looks completely shaken.
“Deku? Are you really awake this time?” Katsuki tries to not make his whisper sound as desperate as he feels. There’s no point getting worked up over another dream or worse a still drug-addled Deku, but this Deku seems to recognize him for the first time, and although tired his green eyes shined with a level of coherency that’s been missing for a few days now.
Katsukis’s chest grew tight seeing it. It paled in comparison to the glimmer of brilliance that usually shone in those beautiful emeralds, but when compared to the unfocused glazed look he had been sporting the last few days? Well, Katsuki thought he just might collapse with relief.
This is what he’d been waiting for, Deku’s been physically healed for at least 2 days now but consciously he’s been pretty touch and go. “Uh, I think so?” That’s definitely not the kinda question Deku had been expecting, but he has his own question he wants to get to before they get into that.
Pushing through the dry burning in his throat Deku rattled off the most pressing questions. “How are you feeling? Is everyone okay? Did LOV getaway? What’s going on?”
Annoyance flashes in Katsukis’s eyes before quieting with acceptance, of course, the nerd wants to know how everyone else is and the current status. Katsuki wanted the same when he first woke up, they were heroes in training, after all. Their own lives would always take a backseat to their self-appointed responsibilities.
“Hold on. You sound like sh– not good.” Katsuki got up and got the nerd a cup of water and then helped him sit upright, trying to decide on what to tell him. Completely missing the way Deku flushed at his uncharacteristic gentleness.
Katsuki decided on the bare minimum.
“I don’t wanna talk about that sh- not good fight right now. All you need to know is that everyone is fine. You’re the only one still layed up, worrying everyone half to death. You’ve been out for almost a week, you woke up a few times but you were all loopy calling people by the wrong names.”
Calling him by the wrong name. Deku must have said an incoherent hello to half the class only sometimes guessing who he was speaking to correctly or just talking to no one at all before immediately falling back asleep. Deku had of course asked about him more than a few times but not once did the bastard see him sitting right in front of him.
It had taken every ounce of willpower Katsuki possessed to not throttle him, but he’d promised All Might that for the sake of Auntie Inko he wouldn’t upset the nerd.
The pride Katsuki had just momentarily taken in thinking to get Deku water, the gentleness he took help the dweeb sit up, and managing not to swear when recounting the transgressions to boot turned ashen when he saw the way Deku shied away with guilt.
A stubborn part of him felt righteous and believed Deku should feel guilty, a larger part felt a sense of failure in breaking his promise to All Might literally the first time he actually spoke to Deku.
“Wait, if everyone else is okay what are you doing here?” Deku feels himself relaxing despite his guilt, contentment settling in the spaces where trepidation previously roosted, he trusted Kacchan to be honest.
If he says everything’s fine then it is, but the lack of pressing news makes Kacchan passed out at the end of his bed even more confusing.
The painkillers he’s on make thinking feel like everything’s ruining through Windows 95’, he can practically hear his brain's fan whirring. His mind can’t really pull up fresh thoughts, just old truths, Kacchans never visited before and he apparently has no reason to now.
Katsuki sighs as he slumps back into his chair. Deku’s still clearly confused and he isn’t sure he has the energy to repeat himself right now, then considering how he failed the first time he decides might as well try.
“Everyone is fine, everything is as fine as it can be at the moment. You’re in the hospital recovering from the fight with supercharged crusty mcdusty, but you are also apparently going to be fine” Dekus staring at him like he has two heads so he keeps talking. “The league is being dealt with, I’m not talking about the fighting until tomorrow at the earliest, neither of us is in shape for that conversation and I don’t know much myself yet”
Deku’s pinch brows and slight pout tell him he’s got questions, questions he can’t answer. Anytime he even thinks about how the fight went down he feels like he’s going to explode.
Trying to reign in every ounce of self control he possesses he slumps further in his chair rubbing his face and counts to five. Then kicks Dekus hospital bed for good measure, before speaking again.
“Deku just rest, you're clearly still out of it and I don’t wanna repeat myself a third time.” Seriously how many other ways can he say everything is, by a very loose definition, fine. How much clearer can he make it that he’s not giving anything else up?
“Uh you didn’t have to repeat yourself? I believed you the first time, Kacchan” Deku couldn’t help but feel like Kacchan was purposely misinterpreting his question, but why? It shouldn’t be a hard question, he’d really only asked to make conversation and clear up some brain cobwebs.
“Then why did you ask–“ Something ugly and broken twists in Katsuki’s gut as he slowly repeated Dekus' question in his head ‘what are you doing here’.
“I just didn’t expect to see you here if you didn’t have to be.”
Deku wasn’t, hadn’t been, asking why someone was there with him but why he, Katsuki, was there. Deku wanted to know why he was here instead of literally anyone else. Deku didn’t know that Katsuki had basically taken up permanent residence in here with him, probably couldn’t see the cot laying at the foot of his bed.
White-hot rage coursed through him in an instant, after everything they went through Deku thought he’d just ditch him to some extras in scrubs? Katsuki had a bad temper on good sleep, exhausted he was ready to put Deku back in a coma.
He struggled with the feeling of his palms heating, but the second before he felt like detonating Katsuki caught Deku’s eyes in full.
As always they show everything the nerds feeling and the familiarity soothes him in a way he can’t explain. Doesn’t ever want to explain.
It used to drive him up the wall like Deku was purposely giving him messages in a language he couldn’t read. Shoving in his face how inadequate he is in comparison.
Katsuki knows now that’s not the case and over the last few months, he’s actually been learning how to read Deku for the first time in his life.
And he’s discovering that even though it’s an advanced read for him he likes the challenge and even more he likes the victorious warmth that spreads down to his toes when he can tell just what Dekus is thinking without any words.
Right now Deku does look slightly confused and yet still so open and trusting, and his crooked shy smile proves that he is actually happy Katsukis here. His confusion is just that, confusion.
Always glad to see him, always caught off guard by his presence.
As much as the familiarity soothed the recognition hurt.
A couple of months on good terms doesn’t erase all the bad years, he knows this, he’s told himself as much a dozen-plus times.
He’s never visited Deku in the infirmary or the hospital before now.
At first just because his stubborn pride insisted that he couldn’t show weakness/care for someone else because he was above them all, that he had to constantly act like Deku was below him. Even when he recognized Deku as a rival he didn’t visit, partly because of lingering pride but mostly because he felt like he didn’t deserve to.
He was too much of a coward/slave to his pride to risk being turned away.
This time he hadn’t even considered Deku might not want him, he had just selfishly insisted he stay by his side for his own peace of mind.
To see Deku wanted him here but couldn’t understand why Katsuki would want to be here himself left his fingers feeling numb as all the adrenaline drained out of him.
Deku studied Kacchan intently, his explosive rival had turned to him and risen half out his chair looking like he was about to shout at him but when their eyes locked the words had apparently died on his tongue.
Now Kacchan was just staring at him with an unreadable expression entirely unmoving after he plopped back in his seat, never breaking eye contact. It was clear now that Kacchan hadn’t understood his question at first but now he seemed lost at how to answer.
Deku wanted to wait for Kacchan to speak but experience told him he shouldn’t hold his breath.
Besides it was late, as much as he desperately didn’t want him to go, Kacchan should be safely asleep in his own room. It’d be selfish to ask him to stay.
Kacchan probably hadn’t meant to stay as late as he did, he was just prone to falling asleep wherever he was once 9 pm rolled around. Deku knew first hand that Auntie Mitsuki had a very strict bedtime policy that had long been physically instilled into Kacchans psyche.
“Kacchan, it’s late you should head back to the dorms and get some real sleep. I feel fine.” At the sudden incredulous tweak of a blonde eyebrow, Deku rushed to elaborate, “I mean I'm of course tired, and a sore but I feel whole. This is a familiar routine for me, I’m okay.”
Katsuki thought back to what he told All Might a lifetime ago, “he never considers himself”.
Here Deku was laying in a hospital bed concerned about his sleep and knowing just what he wanted/needed to hear, that Deku was okay, straight from the source.
It’s all he’d wanted to hear for almost a week now and he had to press his lips shut into a tight line to keep the embarrassing whimper he felt clawing at his throat from escaping.
“I know that you can go to the front desk and the attendant will call for a UA shuttle, doesn’t matter the time, Todoroki has left as late as 3 am”
Oh if that didn’t have something ugly snapping its jaws and thirsty for blood inside Katsuki. At heart, he’s always been explosively petty.
As much comfort as Todoroki being almost equally worried about Deku had been over the last week anytime anyone so much as even accidentally hinted at the ways Katsuki had failed to be there for Deku before now had him seeing red.
Reminding him how others had stepped up and into the places, Katsuki felt he should have been, felt like a slap in the face. But coming from Deku the anger he felt turned inward.
Where he usually saw red, all he saw was green. Not the warm emerald hue of Deku sitting in front of him, but dark bitter jealous green.
Petulant ‘whys’ clawed at his ribs. Why did people who’d only know Deku for a year have a more prominent roles in the nerds life than he did after knowing him forever, why did Deku have to like those extras so damn much, why didn’t he realize sooner how important Deku was, why did he have to care about any of that at all, why did Deku have to bring up that goddamn candy cane, why did Deku want to send him away, why wasn’t Deku even half as desperate to stay by his side as he was, why why why?!
He voiced none of these thoughts, instead just continued staring grumpily ahead. Hoping Deku didn’t notice how heavy his breathing had gotten or how he tightened his grip on the chair's armrests.
Deku took another sip of water before continuing. “I’m happy you’re here, really, it means a lot to me.” He let a genuine full smile slip on his face, he didn’t want Kacchan thinking he wasn’t grateful for his presence.
He really was happy that Kacchan was the first person he got to see upon waking up.
Circumstantial or not the fact that Kacchan was here with him now was a deep comfort to him and a pleasant way to wake up. Usually, it was to his classmates' forced positivity or his overly fussy weeping mother and that never got easier to deal with. As confusing as the change was it was a nice one. And he told him as much.
Why did Deku always know exactly what to say to people? When he, Katsuki Bakugo, couldn’t say anything at all.
Normally the instant relief his body felt at Deku’s words just pissed him off, but tonight exhaustion took its toll.
He felt the tears he’d been fighting all week fall hot and sticky down his cheeks, embarrassment shame and guilt tinted his face a splotchy pink. When he felt the lump in his throat give way to a choked hiccup he didn’t just crack, he shattered.
Ugly sobs racked through him and he buried his face in his hands and dug his fingers into his hair.
Why was the only familiar part of this him breaking down in front of Deku? He’s known Deku his whole life. He should have been the first and last person in Deku’s hospital room every time from the very beginning if for nothing more than obligation. Any one of those times could have been the last time.
Deku would have slipped away from him, and Katsuki would have been one of the last ones to know.
He hadn’t because he knew it’d always end up like this, him blubbering like a baby over Dekus hospital bed and he couldn’t risk it before. Too desperate to keep that little voice inside him that picks apart his every sign of weakness quiet.
It never goes away and UA had made it so much louder, he couldn’t give more feed to the fire. That’s exactly what Deku does to him.
On bad days Katsuki feels the little claws of insecurity scratching at his brain comparing him to Deku, that Deku’s surpassing him because he’s weak and he’s going to get left behind, he’s going to be forgotten.
On equally bad days he surpasses Deku completely and the voice switches gears, telling him he doesn’t deserve Dekus praises. That he’s a hopeless brat with an oversized ego and Deku’s words are empty. Katsuki hasn’t earned them, and he never will, Deku’s just placating him.
Katsuki doesn’t have good days.
Why did he even care though, Deku has seen him cry a dozen times and never once has it changed anything, hell Deku cries all the time.
But Deku’s never been debilitated by crying the way he is, Deku always keeps moving like he doesn’t even notice he’s crying. But he, Katsuki, can barely breathe around his tears.
Because he’s weak and a coward and everything Dekus not. Deku’s light years ahead of him in being a better person and by proxy a better hero and he’s never going to catch up.
Delirious with exhaustion Katsukis thoughts keep spiraling out of his control, growing more and more vicious.
He doesn’t even deserve to call himself Dekus' rival, Deku’s going to leave him behind, Deku’s going to keep taking on the world by himself because he’s not strong enough to fight alongside him, Dekus going to get himself killed and it’s all his fault. He’s hyperventilating through his sobs now.
“Wha- Kacchan, what’s wrong?” Deku suppressed a small groan at stretching stiff unused muscles as his scrambled brain had him lurch forward to grasp Kacchans wrists, he can see where blunt nails dig into his scalp. Gently as he could, Deku replaces callused hands with his crooked ones.
“Hey look at me.” He lifted Kacchans head to meet his eyes and took deep slow dramatic breaths encouraging Kacchan to match his breathing. Red eyes frantically scanned his face and clutched his wrists tightly like a lifeline, desperate that Deku doesn’t pull away.
Slowly their breathing synchronized, the tears kept flowing though, Deku was certain he was crying now too but he made no move to confirm this. He just kept watching Kacchan, keeping his own breathing steady. This wasn’t the first time he’s had Kacchan match his breathing, but it is the first time he’s been this close and this obvious about it. Then again Kacchans never looked this desperate.
In the past when he’s noticed Kacchans breathing has sped up and his gaze looks far away he’ll nonchalantly sit down next to him like he hasn’t noticed Kacchans problem at all, then he’ll practice his own breathing exercises a little louder than would be considered polite. Consciously or not Kacchan follows suit.
He’d learned the tactic when he was 7 from his mom helping one of their neighbors on the way to the store, a very nice lady he called Auntie Kay. She had some kind of disorder that gave her bad anxiety and had apparently forgotten to take meds that morning and got overwhelmed by the noise. His mom used to be an assisted living caregiver before she became, well his mom, so she had experience with this kind of thing.
Later she explained what she’d been doing. That you're someone they have a long history of trusting you don’t want to get in their space, just reaffirm to them that they’re safe and try to get them to slow their breathing, focus on breathing out.
1, because It’s hard to concentrate if you don’t feel safe. 2, the human body doesn’t know if it has enough oxygen, it knows if it’s getting enough air and if it has too much carbon dioxide in it, and you breathe out carbon dioxide.
That day his mom was like a mini hero, saving the day with a smile. It made him more aware that there’s more to being a hero than just fighting villains, it’s about saving people.
He can’t fight villains from a hospital bed, he could still be there for others. He could be there for Kacchan.
After a minute he hesitantly thumbed away the freshest tears but that seemed to just make things worse as another sob racked through Kacchan and he tightened his grip on his wrists. It wasn’t until Kacchan finally spoke and he reflexively snapped his jaw shut that Deku realized he’d been making soft shushing noises.
Katsuki tightened his grip on Deku’s wrists as he choked on one last sob thinking that Deku was finally pulling away, but when he just continued to thumb his tears away and making soft little noises he let himself believe Deku wasn’t going to dismiss him again.
Katsukis never let himself be comforted like this by anyone, not even as a child, but he was too tired to fight it, too distraught to care about how selfish he’s sure he’s being, and too certain that Deku was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
He’s confronted his own mortality a few times this year but none of it had compared to being confronted in real-time with Dekus. Living with Deku so close to death over the last week had taken its toll on everyone but Katsuki especially had been unraveling more and more each day.
The first day he’d been ready to bring the entire hospital down if he didn’t get to Deku’s side immediately. It only got worse from there.
He’d grown more cantankerous than he’d ever been, but the fire in him had been dying out. By the time Deku first woke up and didn’t recognize him the only thing he’d say to anyone was the same mumbled shut up, only sometimes accompanied by half-hearted sparks daring anyone to try to remove him from the room.
Auntie Inko was distraught too but she had let All Might take her home after that first visit and encouraged her to rest there saying something about how no mother should have to see this side of hero work or whatever.
The doctors were probably just worried about what all those tears might do to their equipment, Katsuki certainly had been even if he hadn’t said so.
Katsuki had promised Inko he’d stay by Deku’s' side, she’d looked conflicted about something but they both silently agreed that was a discussion for another day.
Katsuki doesn’t know what to say now but desperately feels like he needs to say something.
He’s terrified it’ll all come out wrong and freak Deku out, Deku who just woke up for real for the first time! He’s terrified of saying nothing and losing his chance to say anything at all because Deku just woke up for real for the first time in a week!
Deku deserves to hear him apologize for everything, but he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to be forgiven and if Deku doesn’t forgive he doesn’t know what’ll happen to him, he may very well implode.
If Deku turns him away then the kindest thing the universe could do for him would be to ignite every nitroglycerin-soaked cell in his body and just let him go. But the universe isn’t kind and will instead make him force himself out of this room and into a UA shuttle and into a life where everything green fades into bleak gray.
“Kacchan, your muttering” Deku says with the softest smile Katsuki has ever seen, and he feels like all his broken pieces have begun melting.
Deku stays silent, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. He seems content with doing nothing more than smiling at him until the sun comes up. And Katsuki feels another sob rip through him as he forces himself to speak.
“I meant it when I told you to keep your eyes on me.” The desperation in his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. “I want you to know to look for me, and that I’ll be there. Even outside of heroing. I want you to expect me at every turn, forever. I don’t wanna be unexpected”
Deku leans forward and Katsuki thinks he’ll stop breathing all over again until their foreheads bump together. Deku’s looking right in his eyes, and he’s so close Katsuki's eyes can barely focus on him. They just stay like that for a small eternity while Katsuki’s heart beats wildly for entirely different reasons. One’s he’s not sure he’s ready to understand.
“Okay, Kacchan”
#kacchan#bnha bakugo katsuki#bakugou katsuki#deku#izuku midoriya#bakudeku#dekubaku#Decchan#bkdk#dkbk#4k words might be too many for tumblr#the self-indulgence is strong with this one#it’s not even angst Katsuki just makes himself cry#katsuki needs therapy so bad y’all#now that it’s finished I realize this just 4K words of nothing actually happening#Deku is literally the most perfect angel in the world#but he asked the wrong question
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Meeting~ 2018! Optimus x Human! Reader
Plot: Y/N meets Optimus Prime after saying farewell to Charlie.
Have you ever wondered what would happen if Y/N meets Optimus Prime from Bumblebee of 2018? Yes, this is also the live-action like Bayverse but I saw NOT A SINGLE story about Optimus x Reader! I was honestly wondering this about every fragging day. But I want to give it a shot!
For those who are new, Bumblebee came out in 2018, and it's created by Travis Knight. Not so many people know that Michael Bay also helped to create the movie. He did actually a good job on that by listening to Travis Knight. After the movie was complete, Travis Knight admitted that he has plans for Bumblebee 2, who we still don't know a single detail like how the story will play. I believe that the story will focus on Bumblebee and Optimus this time. But anyway, ever since the new director got revealed who's not Travis Knight, we have to wait one day until Knight will finally return to bring Transformers back! I read a week ago about the new actor, who will take Sam's and Cade's place. The actor is named Anthony Ramos. Believe me or not, that got me pissed. Give women also a chance to appear! Like, Hailee Steinfeld got a chance and she appeared! But I will watch the new Transformers movie that will come out in June 2022. I hope that this stupid corona trouble will be over for good! I really want to go to the movies so bad :(
I plan to put Meta Knight *ON HOLD* since it's too much work, especially since I'm also busy with Falling in Love based on the TFP series. I will NOT abandon the book. So, the new Merformer Optimus x Reader is coming close :)
Enjoy!
Head area:
Brain: Processor / Brain Module
Head: Helm
Face: Face plate
Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials
Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor
Eye brow: Optical Ridge
Eyes: Optics
Mouth: Intake
Lips: Dermas
Teeth: Denta/Dentas
Tongue: Glossa
Chest area:
Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity
Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula
Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut
Chest and back armour:
Chest plate
Back plate
Mid-section plating
Neck guard
Side plating
Arm area:
Arms: Arms / Restarlueus
Forearms: Bitarlueus
Hands: Servos
Fingers: Digits
Arm armour:
Gantlets
Shoulder pads
Arm guard
Lower area:
Pelvis: Pelvis
Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate
Thighs: Tibulen
Calves: Cadulen
Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.
Lower armour:
Skirt plates
Aft plate / Skid plate
Thigh guard
Ankle guard
General/Internal components:
Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question.
Veins: Fual lines
Stomach: Tanks
Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating.
Heart: Spark
Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark
T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.
Bonus:
Penis: Spike
Vagina: Valve
Body: Frame
-------------------------------------
"Farewell, Y/N. Be safe and have fun adventuring!" Charlie said as she hugged her cousin, Y/N for the last time.
Y/N smiled sadly and hugged her back. Bumblebee, who is in his Camaro vehicle form, is watching the sad moment between the girls. He understood how hard it is to say farewell. Even though he's new to Earth, he learned a lot thanks to these girls.
Y/N is 18 years old she's actually living very poor that in the end, she lost her home. She roamed around the streets until she stumbled Bumblebee, who was in a different car form at the time. It's actually an old car from the 1950s or '60s. But it is a cute car! Bumblebee, who was previously called B-127, had to escape Cybertron by his leader, Optimus Prime, orders. The war between the Autobots and the Decepticons has been going for so mong that their planet was slowly dead. Optimus ordered his dear scout to find a base on Earth while he and others will arrive soon. However, one of the Decepticons tracked B-127 that they fought. Bumblebee could speak at the time! He even tried to warn human soldiers that he's not evil! But that slagging Deceptocon actually destroyed Bumblebee's voice instead of the dangerous warlord, Megatron!
Bumblebee stumbled upon Y/N and they befriended each other! Of course, Charlie caught the Autobot scout and they also became friends! Soon, Memo joined as well in the group! The yellow scout is not stupid and saw that Y/N was different from her cousin. He found out that she's homeless so he basically 'adopted' Y/N as his step-sibling. So adorable! After the final battle was over, Bumblebee had to leave in order to catch up with his leader.
Y/N quickly went inside Bumblebee in the driver's seat so that she'll pretend that she's driving. I mean, what if someone catches the yellow Camaro driving by itself without a driver inside? That's super creepy to them but not to Charlie, Memo nor Y/N. Bumblebee is a Transformer. Y/N waved goodbye to Charlie as she did the same. That's when Bumblebee drove off.
Charlie smiles as she saw her beloved yellow friend driving next to his leader, Optimus Prime, who's a blue and red truck. The girl then safely returned home, back to her family and Memo.
Meanwhile, with Y/N, she couldn't help but stare in awe at the red and blue truck. So, this is Optimus Prime? She isn't sure. I mean, while she was in the forest with Bee and Charlie, they discovered something shocking and cool. Charlie accidentally activated something inside of Bumblebee that caused a call from Optimus Prime to appear. It's a warning message he left for the scout to search a base since Cybertron is basically dead.
She felt Optimus staring at her, even when he's driving. He'll have a talk with Bumblebee later. And that's what he exactly did.
Later at night~
Optimus Prime and Bumblebee are hiding in the forest with survived Autobots. Let's get to the introduction:
Y/n stepped out of Bumblebee's car and she watched her step-sibling transform. The poor human girl yelped when some loud metal steps ran to the scout and leader. That's when she got picked by Optimus Prime very gently. That got her to stare right into his calm gentle soft blue optics. Optimus couldn't help but also get lost while staring at her. He's also amazement and impressed. Ooh, la la la!~ Is there a romance going to happen?
"Uhm, we're still here."
That got Optimus and Y/N awake as they looked immediatly at the others. Optimus still held Y/N in his arms or servos. The height is a bit different than in Bayverse.
"Is that a human?"
Bumblebee then used his radio and let out: "Yes, it's a human."
Optimus then looks down at the human femme. He couldn't help but thought that she's soft and squisy. She also looks so cute and has also soft lips. "What's your name, young femme?"
"Y-Y/N, sir."
Optimus almsot chukled. "My name is Optimus Prime. We're from planet Cybertron. We're the Autobots."
Y/N lighted up. "So that's why you're cars!"
A femme Cybertronian laughed. "That's correct, Y/N."
The introduction got along and Y/N got to know names. There's Ratchet, the medic of the team. No wonder he's an ambulance car. Arcee is pink and white (instead of blue and pink). There's also Wheeljack and others. Some of them are serious, kind, strong, etc.
"How did you met our fellow scout, Y/N?" Optimus asked as he took a walk in the forest with her. This time, he's walking next to her instead of holding her.
"Well, I'm was homeless and I stumbled upon him. He decided to 'adopt' me so I'm basically his step-sibling. I am grateful for him that he's taking care of me and so I want to help every chance possible, including you and the team." The human girl smiled up at Optimus.
Optimus felt touched by the story. He's happy that his fellow scout made a friend but he doesn't want a risk by putting Y/N in danger if the Decepticons decide to attack. But he felt his spark shatter when she mentioned that she was homeless but he's very grateful that Bumblebee is taking care of her.
"Who knows of B-127's existence?"
"Huh? Oh! Do you mean Bumblebee? Well, me, my cousin Charlie, and her future boyfriend, Memo." That's when she noticed something like asteroids flying in the sky. Her eyes lighten up. "Wow! Are that asteroids?"
Optimus looks up and smiled behind his mask. "No. That's my fellow Autobots that survived. They're gonna join us." He looks down at the human femme. "Welcome to the team, Y/N."
Y/N blushed and smiled. "Thank you, Optimus."
#optimus prime#optimus prime x reader#x human reader#x reader#reader#2018 optimus prime#bumblebee movie 2018#romance#meeting#one shot#fluff
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A Sea of Fragment VI
Word Count: 3.964
Warnings: Slight violence
Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.
After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.
You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.
You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.
“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”
“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.
It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.
“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”
“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.
“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”
“Fair enough.”
“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”
“Alright.”
The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.
“My lord.”
Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.
“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”
“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”
“Good. That will be all.”
“Yes my lord.”
Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.
Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.
Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.
Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.
Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.
The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.
It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.
“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”
“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”
“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”
“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”
“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”
“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.
“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”
“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”
“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”
“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”
“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”
“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”
“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.
As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.
“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”
“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.
“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”
The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.
“Is there something you want?” You asked.
“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.
Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.
“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.
Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.
It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.
Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.
You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.
Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…
You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.
You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.
You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.
Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.
There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.
Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.
You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.
You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.
All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.
Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.
Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.
“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”
“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”
“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”
“Isn’t here? Then, he…”
“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”
“He’s gone?”
“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.
Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?
Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.
#genshin impact#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche#genshin impact fanfiction#genshin scaramouche#series#my writing
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I guess I'm sleep deprived enough having not slept for 4 days to make a post about this.
People who entirely write off Asgore as a character worth caring about in any respect, what's up?
I should clarify.
This is not directed to people who fully consider his story in UT, or the implications in DR and come out of it going "I don't forgive him and therefore don't like him"
It's more to the weirdly hostile voices I see that are just like, entirely dismissive of his story and just go "Haha, he sucks. Definitely no nuance here! Just shitty! Every other character is worth the world and Asgore is a piece of shit forever and should die lmao" and like, did you play the same game?
Because I feel like you're just robbing yourself of a whole ass dynamic of the story in UT just to go "Haha, he's a lame divorced shithead and murderer, Toriel deserves better uwu" and like, that's not the point? OBVIOUSLY she does? Because she decided he's not for her in both games for different reasons? That doesn't delete his story from the game(s) or make it less valuable to consider?
Also good for her (in UT), the dumbass goes kid killer and you tell him to go fly a kite.
But like, seriously man. Asgore has one of the most hefty 'crumbling under the weight of the world' narratives to his story in UT.
He's in charge of giving all monsters a better life, and he's looked deep inside, witnessed his son killed by humanity, witnessed the (supposed) best chance at peace between humanity and monsters pass with Chara, and he's decided that the only hope to provide for those he cares about is to give up his own 'humanity' and gather the power of human souls to break through... AND HE CAN'T EVEN DO THAT BECAUSE HE CAN'T BRING HIMSELF TO BECOME THE MONSTER HE HATES!
(Yes he kills though, I mean finish the plan, we'll get to that)
Like cut and dry, it's a pretty shit plan bud. But it's born from a place of deep compassion and a sense of significant loss that made him desperate.
(some of these details might be too fuzzy from a long time since playing but the general point remains)
He doesn't know all the facts.
He doesn't know everything about Chara.
He doesn't know that Chara, while fused with Asriel, wanted to commit violence against Humanity for what they did to the monsters.
He didn't know that Asriel died because he fought against this.
He didn't know so much of the story. All he saw was his adopted child dying with a simple wish to see the flowers again, and humanity attacking like the beasts they claimed monsters were when his son attempted to fulfill that wish.
He saw humanity's darkest, and questioned why monsters were the ones locked below. And he saw what Asriel and Chara were able to accomplish together so he made a plan.
His plan rings the same tones of most 'last chance' narratives. There IS no other way out from what he's witnessed. Chara and Asriel WERE the good option out, and it didn't work.
The good ending was attempted, and denied. So he looked at his options and there really weren't many.
Either die underground, or kill to make the surface their home.
And upon finally building up the determination to put his plan in motion, he couldn't do it.
He killed, and immediately had too much regret to follow through.
He shut down, he crumbled under the pressure, he saw the blood on his hands and he realized he wasn't able to hate strongly enough to use the soul to break through and attack humanity as a whole.
As Toriel said in the true end, he could have gone with 1 soul, but he hid away and hoped that no more humans would come.
His true plan was to end his plan. To live in regret of the life he stole and never see another human again, and out of fear of revealing his failure to his people, out of fear of admitting to them that they would never see the surface again, he hid from his responsibility because it would demand he become a true monster. He claimed to need more power, and hoped no one would come to confront them.
He locked himself into the responsibilities of a mad king, to kill and gather power whenever a new human arrives. For nothing.
To continuously bloody his hands in the hopes of never doing so again, all because he's too 'weak' to just go up top and become the Mercy-less monster he truly believed needed to exist to free them.
And all the sadness and regret, but hollow determination to continue on his path is so STRONG in his story, man! It's TERRIBLE!
He hates what he's become; He shows no joy at the thought of fighting Frisk. He's built an empty responsibility all in the hope of never killing again, and the world keeps laughing at him as it tosses more lives his way.
He wants to help his people, but he doesn't want to hurt the humans.
He was a good person presented with a perspective of the 'facts' that laid bare a world of disgusting hate, a world that can't be reasoned with, a world without Mercy. And after having lost his only children to this world, he gave in to his own weakness and decided to play by the rules- to also fight without Mercy.
AND. FAILED.
He's both entirely convinced that the world has no mercy, and is entirely unable to relinquish his own.
All while bitterly tending to an evil he resents to its core, all while hoping to be left alone and never be asked to shed blood again, all while truly believing he must do so- in these circumstances- if he is to protect the lives on the surface and maintain even a semblance of his mercy in the grand scheme of things.
Let them live and risk the humans finding out he killed in the first place, risk the humans coming underground to kill them all. Risk repeating what happened with Asriel, but for them all because of blood on his hands.
Kill them, for no gain, and continue the facade- continue telling everyone you're almost strong enough to kill those on the surface. Continue lying, so that the monsters are safe, and the humans are as well. All at the cost of another child. IT SUCKS IT'S FUCKING BAD MAN.
It's what makes it so touching that you can convince him through your intense determination to break the rules of this mercy-less world! You're unending compassion and inability to accept 'no' for an answer in regards to cherishing life provides him with new hope!
It's a glimpse of a person with true unending mercy that convinces him that the world can be changed- Frisk and the player's actions convince him that he was mistaken. That it never had to be the original plan, and the reason he couldn't think of a new one is because succumbing to the act of murder had destroyed his sense of hope- he wasn't the right person to come up with a plan to free the monsters after that because it was simply too damaging to his ability to hope or dream of a better future.
He needed convinced.
He needed to be shown that the world can have mercy in it, that it can be compassionate.
Things he once believed were possible, and a reality that was torn from him with the loss of his kids- revitalized as you step through to make it happen.
IT'S GOOD, OKAY.
AND ASGORE IS INTEGRAL TO IT AND IS A TRAGIC FIGURE WITHIN IT.
Anyways you can still hate him, you're opinions are you own and he sucks at being a good dude. The dude killed kids (in UT), you remember that? Fucked up.
I've just been seeing a lot of takes on the guy as some nuance-less bad person when he has so many layers of depth going on that it sounds bizarre to hear him summed up as like "Oh yeah, Asgore is a piece of shit, anyways let's talk about the character depth of Pipis"
I mean come on, Ms. Pipis is right there, talk about her, lol.
#Deltarune#Undertale#Asgore#asgore dreemurr#asgore undertale#my posts#spoilers#it's a mistake to ramble about a character without sleep
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Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14
Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.
@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare
Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse
You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.
It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.
You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.
"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"
"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."
You leaned against the door. "Oh?"
"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.
"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."
"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.
"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."
"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"
Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."
You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.
"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"
Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."
"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."
"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."
You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."
"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."
"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.
"Hm?"
You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"
Max returned the smile. "Of course not."
You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.
"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.
"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.
Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.
"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."
"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.
"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.
"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.
"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."
Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."
"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."
"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.
"Hannibal-"
"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."
"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.
Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."
"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."
You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time.
“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember.
“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.”
You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.”
“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].”
You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found.
“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.”
Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.”
“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.”
“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story.
“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.”
"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."
You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"
"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."
"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."
"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.
"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."
"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.
"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."
Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."
You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.
"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."
"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."
"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."
"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"
"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."
"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."
"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."
You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.
"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.
"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."
"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."
"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.
"I know." You conceded.
He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.
"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."
You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."
#hannibal lecter#hannibal x you#hannibal x reader#hannibal nbc#cult girl#more cult girl#cult girl doctorate#cult girl 2#tw death#tw family#pregnant reader#hannibal x pregnant reader
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