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hoseoksluna · 13 days

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MURK | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

summary: one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend's heart.

pinterest board: murk

warnings: anxiety attack, different forms of self-harm and self-sabotage, mental agony, mutual masturbation, toying with polyamory, foreshadowing the use of a sex toy, alcohol consumption, seduction, provocation, teasing, oc wears pretty lingerie, cuckold kink, guided female masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, clit rubbing, ass play, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, facial, cum eating

note: oh my god, this was supposed to have three parts, but it was getting way too long and i decided to prolong the series. i'm not gonna even mention how many parts this series is gonna have bc my characters surprise me every time i finish writing so... they're the boss of me. ANYWAYS, pls i am so proud of this work of mine and i can't wait for you all to read it. pls, spam my inbox anonymously! i need to hear your thoughts, so pretty please, let me know everything you're feeling, hating, expecting etc. i'm absolutely obsessed with oc, jk and yoongi. ALSO, let me know what team you are. team yoongi or team jk? i'll put a poll in the final part if i remember. hehe ENJOY READING ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sensing Yoongi’s emotions, the clouds pull in, shunning the sunlight and you feel it. You feel it, enormously.

The wind becomes violent. Curtains of sheer gray slap against the windows, undulating with such might that you sense its urgency. You stare at it in deep thought, naked and barren—void of any dignity, void of any rightness of feelings. A hole of blackness takes form in the middle of your chest, where the memory of Yoongi exiting the room hastily plays on a loop and there’s a faint, feeble hand in you, one of that urgency, that reaches for him, while the other remains slack at your side, caressing your own skin, pacifying your selfishness, your hypnosis—dragging you away from the side you had unwittingly and so unrightfully chosen.

And while you want to mend what you’ve caused in your relationship, the only side you want to take at the moment is your own. The defeat pains you still, but what aches even more is the feeble wish there wasn’t any defeat at all. Not on Yoongi’s face, not on yours.

You don’t regret what you’ve done. You don’t want to regret anything anymore, which is why you’re still standing dressed in your femininity as Jungkook apprehensively rakes his hands through his hair on the bed. You care very little for it because a bigger part of you is concerned about the well-being of your boyfriend. You wonder what he’s up to downstairs. Is he pacing? Is he busying himself from the onrush of his negative emotions, not able to stand the sight of you? You’d run to him, but there’s a bigger matter at hand. You have to fix your mind first. You have to cleanse yourself of the mess and the chaos, sort out the darkness so the light pours in.

The light that will guide you to make the right decisions at last. The light that will burst your ugliness to smithereens, smother you with its heat so the hypnosis won’t penetrate it again. The light that should, ultimately, help Yoongi, help your relationship—fix its face, soothe out the overbearing tension.

You’re aware Jungkook put you under a spell, now that the wind and Yoongi’s coldness has sobered you up. Turned you against him. Made you forget about him. You give zero fucks about how he does it time and time again. What you will concentrate on in the present time is making sure it won’t happen again. How? You’ll figure it out. Somehow.

You don’t want any of the males to regard you as of now—and you wish you were alone, you wish you could escape like Yoongi did. That thought leads you, conspicuously, to begin to understand the reason behind his actions, but you don’t allow it to unfold in you. Not yet. You turn around to look at Jungkook.

Elbows propped on his thighs, he’s digging a hole into the hardwood floors with the blackness of his irises. A small mole kisses the side of his ribs, the only visible part of his body that is otherwise clouded in shadows. You take your eyes away from that sight, not trusting yourself, hating yourself for naturally looking at that intimate part of him. Upon the sound of your movement, Jungkook flicks his eyes towards your form. You dislike everything about his attentiveness to you with every fiber of the betrayal that your body has become.

His face is squished in his hands. He doesn’t look at your bareness. Merely studies the emotions written on your face. Like the healer he is, you know he wants to find something, anything to latch himself onto. And while you once obsessed over this need of his to mend, to make right, you despise it now. In spite of it, while you swallow down your distaste for it, your hand yearns to pet him like the wounded puppy he is, because you know that the tumultuous darkness both men are facing is of your origin, of your doing.

You keep it clenched in a tight fist.

You don’t want to touch him anymore. You don’t want to touch any of them. Don’t want to cause any more harm than you already have with your desires.

Jungkook startles when you make your way towards your travel bag. You hide your breasts beneath your forearm, not wished to be seen, not wishing to be vulnerable like that. The feeling of your stickiness along the inner sides of your thighs makes you cringe, worsens your hatred, and tears begin to sting in your waterline when you unzip your bag and grab the first thing you see. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but for the last time you avert your gaze from him and bolt to his bathroom. At the sound of his heavy steps, you slam the door shut.

He calls your name and it is only then, when you’re alone, that you let those bitter tears and whimpers emit out of you. The sound is hidden by each strike of his palm upon the wood and your hand flies to your mouth in effort to stifle your emotions, feeling undeserving of them, feeling wrong, ugly, not worthy of his damned attention—not worthy of anything.

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook whines. The first pet name he ever called you. You let out a pained sound and he forces the door open with all his might. Even though you don’t want to, you let him see the state of you—clutching your wrinkled dress and panties, concealing the evidence of the pleasure he gave to your body, of your femininity that he had put under his spell.

You step away from the threshold, slinking deeper into the shadows of the bathroom. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at you with such solicitude and affection. His brows shouldn’t be knitted like that, those eyes bigger and rounded than they usually are, fists tight and clenched, veins thumping and thick. Yoongi should be standing in his place with the intention to heal. Not him.

“Please, go away,” you whisper, hot tears pouring down your pallid cheeks. You’re ashamed of them because you know full well that at this point you should be doing anything but crying. You’ve gone through so much turmoil, mingled with the darkness to such great extent that you should be proud of your work. You wanted this at some point—you wanted to remain the opposite force with separate feelings. You wanted to be his, when you had no right to choose.

Jungkook’s eyes glisten. You turn your back to him, unable to be a witness to his emotions. You can’t see that; you don’t deserve to and he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He should’ve long exited this disorder—

You sob louder, exhausted of your thoughts, exhausted of shoulds, of wrongness. Turn the shower on, aware of the traces of disobedience and pain on your backside and you want to hide, but you have nowhere to go to.

Jungkook turns the main lights off, leaving only the soft flickering bulbs on by the mirror. Ever the healer who senses your emotions by some sixth sense that you hate. Dimness covers your shame.

He takes away your dress and panties and you let him. Folds them neatly on his laundry hamper. You watch him treat your underwear with such gentleness that it hurts. A flashback of him ripping your thong and making your bum red fills your brain, causing your feelings to expand in your chest—so much that you think your body is too small to keep them in. You can’t breathe, your lungs don’t have enough space to stretch and you panic, taking small breaths that don’t appease your need for air. Not at all.

You step into the shower, needing to get away.

The hot water burns on the curves of your behind and you hiss, but it alleviates your hatred. You deem it is precisely what you deserve. Your hand turns the temperature higher, sobbing into the stream of water, lungs heaving with such heft and it is okay, for it camouflages your hypocrisy. That is, until Jungkook notices it.

“Are you crazy?” he mutters in dismay, fixing the temperature, but you grip his wrist briefly, pushing it away. Don’t look at him. Only warn him this way, silently. His miffed sigh wafts into the mist rising along your form, diffusing into your hair that still carries the scent of the pond. You want to wash it all out. “It’s going to hurt more like this.”

You scowl, cupping the water in your hands like a child. “I don’t care. Leave.”

The outward pain of your body isn’t the problem here. It aggravates you how he doesn’t see it—how he can be so ignorant to the more important matter at hand. Yoongi left because of him and because of you, because of the single-minded pleasure between you both that had nothing to do with Yoongi. You might as well have been there alone with him—Yoongi being just a pair of helping hands. Redundant.

Burning. Burning of eyes, burning of skin, burning ache of heart.

Jungkook scoffs at your forwardness, dumbfounded. Has the audacity to follow the drop of water trickling down the small of your back. You splash him, willing him to go away, but he stays put. Unbuttons his cargos. Hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, ridding himself, and stepping into the shower with you, sliding the door shut.

You whisk your eyes to him with as much ill-will as you’re able to muster and he seizes it, unafraid of it, backing you against the wall. Solemn mien, subdued and so soft amidst the hardness of his decisiveness. Small pearls of emotion are stained upon the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, twinkling in the shadows in tandem with the ever persisting glint perched on top of his irises. “I told you to leave.”

He doesn’t blink. “You splashed me,” he utters, lowly. Grips your waist and pushes you against the coolness of the tiles. It takes a hold of the burn and rips it away, relief flooding in its place and your features relax against your will. “See how it feels better?”

It does, but you don’t give him the benefit of the doubt—you refuse to. Not when you deserve to rot for hurting your boyfriend enough to make him leave, not when it should be him standing here with you—

“Don’t punish yourself,” Jungkook whispers, fixing the temperature yet again, letting the mist disperse. Such a tender, velvety sound that reaches deep inside of you, even when you want to fight him, even when you think that punishing yourself is the least you can do, considering how despicable you’ve become. But then he dabs a small amount of body wash onto his palm, rubs it across your sternum and it nobbles the drift of your self-sabotage.

You feel the snugness of his touch, the darkness thickening in you and you take a fright of it.

You put a stop to it.

Grasping his wrist, you blink through the unrelenting fragrance of cherries filling your nostrils. “Don’t touch me.”

Seeing the panic flitting over your damp eyes, he lets go, respecting your wish. Smears it on the broadness of his chest instead. “Alright, I won’t touch you.”

You sigh a whiny, vulnerable breath of relief. The glint of his irises ripples as tears pool across them. He, too, blinks them away. Stills as a sculpture while watching the film of your emotions. For a mere moment. Your throat constricts. Time, then, resumes.

Jungkook hands you the bottle. Silence suffuses the profound atmosphere as you lather yourself in the cherry aroma. Almost without touching your skin, he peels your hair away from your back, capacitating you to reach your shoulder. As if his hands, now that they’ve acknowledged themselves with your body, simply cannot keep their distance. You shoot him a look that forces him to drop his limb. Note that it trembles on its way down to his side; note the same trepidation beginning its course on your body. Your mouth rounds in yet another rush of emotions, but you don’t cry.

You’re so tired. So tired of feeling. So tired of guilt, of shame, of getting up and falling again.

You avoid your intimate parts, your breasts and your behind. You hold your body instead, arms wrapped around your ribcage in effort to put yourself back together. You don’t understand why he’s here, why he cares; why he thinks he has the right to touch you without your boyfriend being present, why he thinks the situation between you and Yoongi is something he needs to remedy. And why, ultimately, he thinks it’s right to be on your side, instead of Yoongi’s.

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t know you.

You look up at him to fire that question at him, but Jungkook clutches the shower head and, with lukewarm water, he cleanses you of the foam, the bubbles and the stickiness on your thighs that he never got to wipe clean because you had pushed him away earlier. And then it happens.

He cleanses you of your dirtiness, of your hatred and of your tiredness, too. With the same shower head, the same lukewarm water. And you can’t explain how he does it, how your body lets him, how it willingly lets go until there’s nothing in you anymore. Just the cherry perfume and the hole in your chest with a murky cloud in the middle. You merely watch it dribble down your skin, plop onto the tiles on the floor, swimming around your feet and his. Dumbstruck.

You feel like stomping on it, but you don’t have the energy. Figure it will drown in the small pool of water on its own, die a slow, painful death, before it trickles down the drain.

You don’t know how it came about now that it’s gone and you can’t take your eyes off of him. All he did was rinse you off. And the ridiculousness of it all is that, the more Jungkook deepens your eye contact, the more you want it back. You want to be the one who purges you of it. Steal the magic from his hands and splatter it back on your skin, in place of the cherries. He can keep those.

Why did he come? Why didn’t he go to Yoongi?

And you ask him. “Why are you here?”

He fishes for a bottle of shampoo. “Will you let me wash your hair?”

You scowl up at him. “I asked you a question.”

Stillness in his features. “So did I.”

That damned stubbornness, so reminiscent of yours, of your muted, silent one, hidden within you. Fair enough. You search within yourself for any hint of protest. Find none—find it’s been washed away, find cherries and the heft of the cloud, no darkness, much to your dismay. You turn your back towards him.

“Tilt your head back.”

Thankful that he didn’t do it himself, you do as he says. Jungkook wets your hair and you feel the pond leaving you, your heart skipping over to latch onto it, adamant on not letting it leave, but alas—it disappears along with everything else. You wish your heart would trickle down the drain, too. You have no need for it, anyways.

Jungkook’s touch on your hair is benign, careful as he rubs the shampoo on your scalp. You flutter your eyes shut, welcoming in, somehow, the massage that diminishes the intensity, which your thoughts are hurled at you with, as though he was the owner of them and he came home to make order. And they settle altogether to listen as he begins to speak. “It shattered my heart. To see both of you so broken because of me. I saw it at dinner at first. Then I saw it again today. It pains me. It pains me that it’s my fault.”

Silence, hefty, strong silence. The principle of being seen by another pair of eyes; the principle of your agony being seen and understood, no longer obscured within your mind, within your heart. Jungkook didn’t just see you, he saw Yoongi, too. Saw through you both. Something about that, along with the work of his fingertips, mitigates the heaviness of your emptiness, of your cloud, but it doesn’t tear the misty body. Not yet.

Your throat is dry. “Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you with Yoongi? He’s your friend.”

He gently drags his palms across your length. “Because Yoongi deals with things like this on his own. He doesn’t need a friend when he goes through shit. He needs to be alone.”

You don’t understand. Yoongi always needed you when his mental health was at stake. Needed you as he unraveled the entanglement of ropes of that darkness that had enveloped his mind by talking to you about it. Then, he would eat with you, fuck you and try again the next day. It would be a long process, but it would be something you’d go through together. There never was a time he’d walk that path alone.

And then it hits you.

That was before you. Before he met you, he meandered through that decaying meadow alone. Jungkook served in the military—he doesn’t know anything about the change that occurred. Doesn’t know that Yoongi gave up his isolation.

And you tell him. Merely a hint of it. Figure it’s Yoongi’s story to tell and you don’t have the heart to snatch that opportunity away from him.

Listening to your words, Jungkook slackens. You only hear the sound of the shower head being put back into its place that indicates his shock to you. You figure he wanted to rinse off the shampoo, but the information paralyzed his body. You turn around to see that bewilderment writing verses across his features. Tenderness, too. A tendril of liquid emotion swirling past his waterline. “I tried my best to make that happen when I could,” he utters and you don’t think he realizes he said it, eyes unfocused, fixed on the tile beside your arm. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for him. To let you in.”

You feel the same tenderness curling into your cloud. Your mouth rounds again. Touched, terribly touched. Gladness holds hands with that tenderness, gladness that he didn’t leave when you had told him to. Because if he had never stepped inside the shower, you wouldn’t have known. You wouldn’t have known the secret that changes everything.

You yearn to see Yoongi. Yearn to hug him, hold him, to pour out your love into him. Think you’re ready now. Stable enough to satisfy your craving. And in the love that you feel for him, you sense the light swarming, begging to be seeped into him.

You stand beneath the stream to rinse off the shampoo, the water blanketing your head, peace penetrating your skull, tidying up the mess in your mind. Hushing out your thoughts now that your negative feelings long slinked away. You’re a new person. Clean, purified. And while you find it hard to believe, all you want to do is truly run to Yoongi.

You can’t let him venture back to that forlorn meadow, to the ghost of his isolation. You might have shown him the way, but you have the will to stop him—and that’s more than enough.

The healer that Jungkook is… he did it again. He dismantled your attachment and now he fixed your mind. You don’t know from what source he had rooted out the light, but he gave it to you. He gave it to you when you needed it the most, without knowing a thing about it.

Blindly, you hook a finger around his index in a gesture of thanks. You don’t want to look at his nakedness. Don’t want to be pulled into that energy again. It brings his attention to you and you want to weep. Differently now. You want to weep due to the fact he somehow, seemingly, knows because he cups himself. Due to the roundness of his eyes that you know, that still live under your skin—differently now, too. Due to the fact that you got to be acquainted with him, despite the ruckus and the pain it came with.

And you hope, in all truthfulness, that you remain something along the lines of friends after this day is over. How else would you have gotten to this healing?

You open your mouth to express your gratitude, but Jungkook speaks first. “Don’t look at my worm.”

The laughter that dribbles out of your mouth is so lightweight, so full of breezy and summer-breathed relief that the tears, which were held in, do break through the confinement and roll down the apples of your cheeks. Different, different tears.

Friends, yes, please. You beg the heavens. May they let him become your friend.

Jungkook scrunches his nose, squeezing your finger, relief, too, washing over him. “Don’t cry, I swear it’s not small like this all the time. It gets bi—”

“Get me a towel, you dummy,” you say, softly, amidst your sputtering laughter, wiping your tears away. Jungkook smiles, the change of the atmosphere illuminating him from beneath, and he slides the door open, letting the slight cold air in. You turn off the water, focusing your eyes on the last ripples of water draining your negative emotions until they slip, entirely, away.

Jungkook holds out a beige towel for you. Doesn’t wrap it around you; still respects your wish. Lets you take it from him and then he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him.

You used the alone time to doll yourself up for Yoongi. At least a little bit—you didn’t want to overdo it, amongst other things that you already had.

Although you missed your favorite mango scent, the cherries didn’t seem so bad and you got accustomed to it fairly quickly as you swiped a tiny bit of your cream blush along your cheeks, where you’ve let your relieved tears dry. You smeared the same tint of soft red upon the puffiness of your lips, connecting it to the perfume, connecting it to the healing that sank lower and lower in your gut. And you sealed it into the entwistment of your braid—sealed it fully.

You won’t let it leave you. Not this time; not again.

By the time your feet pad down the wooden stairs, you discover what Yoongi was up to in his absence. Three plates of ramen are prepared on the dinner table, gone cold by now, along with utensils and opened cans of fizzy drinks. The sight lids your eyes with tears, but you stifle them, blink them away. You thought he wanted to forget you, when in reality he had you in mind the whole time. And not just you, but your culprit as well—and he cooked him food.

A sudden roar forces your head to whisk towards the balcony. And your heartbeat quickens. You don’t feel your legs as you speed outside.

Yoongi sits on top of the stairs, a cigarette in hand, torso twisted, facing Jungkook, whose shoulders sag in consternation, palms open towards him. He makes a move to his side, but Yoongi raises a limb to stop him. Looks at you for a moment. At your wet hair, at the same state of Jungkook’s. Your heart lodges in your throat—

“Get away from me,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and you don’t feel anything at all. Not your legs trembling, threatening to drop to the ground. Not the standstill of your bloodstream. You’re struck, unable to speak, to think. Yoongi rises to his feet and points his busy fingers at you. “Did you enjoy your shower?” he spits the venom in your face, ruining your makeup that you diligently put on for him—your tears flow, mingling with it, hot to the touch. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

Yoongi’s own tears pool in his clouded eyes. You’ve never seen them before and they break you, tear apart the cloud in you. “You didn’t what, honey?” he croaks out. Repeats the question.

Your sobs ache, but you don’t care. You take a step towards him, reach out your hand like you should’ve done earlier before he left and he takes it. The light that spills out from your chest radiates him, radiates him enough that he gives you the chance to explain yourself, to redeem his heart and you’re willing to do anything for it. His palm is cold, more cold than it’s ever been and Yoongi squeezes you, as if to beg you to undo the gashes upon his heart. Jungkook looks at the intertwinement for a mere second and you refuse to note the sliver of pain whirling past his eyes. Not this time; not again—this is about you and Yoongi. And you’re glad when he leaves. You don’t watch him go.

“I didn’t have sex with him,” you whisper, the only way you could keep your voice still, your tears soaking the neckline of your lacy dress. You will your healing not to quiver, but to remain strong, remain unbreakable. “I swear on my life that I didn’t.”

The same drops of pain pour down his face and you can’t bear it. You bury your face into his clothed chest, bunching the material of his T-shirt in your fists, needing him to believe you, needing him—

“You took a shower with him,” he breathes in pure disbelief. You feel it palpitate in his heart that your forehead is pressed against. This time, you understand right away how wrong that was—that showers are something that belongs to you and him, your shared rose garden of some sort that they could become, even though you were too smothered by the darkness to realize it fully in the moment.

You halt the shame creeping in. The guilt, the wisps of darkness. You’ve healed, and it shall stay that way. No more.

“I took a shower alone.” The wind nips at you and it is like a slash of a whip on your back. “He came in—”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Lets his cigarette fall to the floor of the veranda. With his lips pursed and like a bolt of lightning you can’t keep in your hands, he rips himself out of your hold and lopes inside the cabin with heavy, wrathful steps.

And you can’t stop it—the colliding of Yoongi’s fist on Jungkook’s cheekbone.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s T-shirt to pull him back, your sight blurred enough that you can’t see. You can’t see properly the way Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook fall to the floor, but instead grabs him by the collar and fumes in his face. Your sobs choke you and you press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, willing him to stop, begging him in your silent language.

You feel the heavy, long thuds of his heart, the trembling lift and fall of his chest and you squeeze him tighter, weeping into the cloth of his garment, emitting liquid fear—fear of Yoongi receiving the same hit, fear of the darkness, much bigger one, enveloping all three of you. And you don’t have the time to blame yourself for causing this. Yoongi’s words stop you dead in your tracks.

“You forced yourself on her?” he hisses, pushing him to and fro like the curtain billowing behind you. “Are you that fucking desperate for pussy that you forced yourself on my girl? Should I fucking kill you?”

A momentary stillness. Your breath is loud. Louder than the hard huffs of air escaping the mouths of the two males.

“Let go, hyung,” Jungkook croaks out, defeated. And you don’t know how the sound of it makes you feel. Perhaps, you’re feeling nothing, which is a good thing. You put your boyfriend first in your weak heart, his feelings, his well-being. Not Jungkook; not yourself. Even though your heart silently, painlessly cracks.

“I asked you a question.” Yoongi’s wrath rises, absorbing the room, despite the fact his voice is deadly calm. You squeeze him harder.

He did force himself into your personal space, but if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been healed. You wouldn’t be here, on your boyfriend’s side. And the thought of being the opposite force if he hadn’t done that, cradling his back instead of Yoongi’s terrifies you enough that you speak up—in need to fix the situation.

“He didn’t, Yoongi. I promise,” you whimper, burying your face deeper into the middle between his shoulder blades. And there you feel his spine shake. You caress his stomach to soothe him, peppering kisses along that strong column.

Yoongi punches him again. It reverberates throughout your whole body. You only hear the crash of Jungkook’s form onto the floor.

“Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again,” Yoongi hisses and he twists his wrist to alleviate himself of the affliction scattering along his knuckles. “And what you’ve done to her, the pain you’ve caused her is something I will never forgive you for.”

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness. The whip of the wind. A roar of an upcoming storm in the heavens far, far away. You don’t become it. You remain yourself. His girlfriend, defended.

Yoongi turns around and cradles your face in his hands. Wet, worried eyes, begging you for something that you can’t pinpoint. Shiny, sniffling nose, suppressing his emotions. Red, regretful mouth, breathing out exasperated breaths. Quivering chin—quaint in the rawness of his expressed love towards you. You yearn to kiss him, you yearn to take him home, so terribly remorseful that you got him into this gut-wrenching mess. And you listen to your body, fulfill the only right decision you’ve come across since meeting his friend.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whisper, pecking him softly. Yoongi nods, wiping your tears away. Takes your hand and leads you towards the front door.

Jungkook, now standing on his wobbly feet, bruised and bloodied, merely watches the pair of you. Sorrowful. And as you walk away from him, you clutch in your heart what he’s done for you.

Yoongi hands you his car keys. “Wait in the car.”

You nod and you go. Don’t stick around to see the unfolding of the storm. Don’t say goodbye.

The rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car. You’re tired of it. You’re tired of the summer. Don’t find any beauty in it. Not even in the mountains and the trees.

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet.

Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t feel any hunger. You’ve nibbled on your bottom lip so much that rawness of blood is all that your teeth sink into. The same blood that, much like your darkened self-sabotage, trickled out of Jungkook’s nostril. It tastes bitter on your tongue.

A ruthless carousel of scenarios spin in your mind and you’re tightly buckled in the seat of fear with no way out. The fear that, in your absence, Yoongi’s hit got reciprocated. The fear that the same blood you taste could, possibly, be on your own hands.

You want to get away from here. Far, far away.

When Yoongi emerges from the cabin, a thunder announces it. The only blood you detect is the dried one on his knuckles. The rain didn’t get to clean it and once he places the same hand upon the shivering coldness of your thigh, a decision perks up in you. A decision to not let anyone get in the way of mending and cleansing anymore.

You shall be the one who does it now. Not the rain, not Jungkook. They’ve both done enough.

And when you lift that wounded hand to your lips, you wish you could clean it with your tears—but you fear the salt would only pain him more. So you settle for your sighs of relief, for your gentle kisses and for the light in you to do the work.

“No more tears, honey,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your chin and pecking you. “It’s over now.”

You drift to sleep during the ride home.

And you sleep through the whole afternoon in an anguished effort to forget. Forget the blood, forget the sound of Jungkook’s body hitting the floor… forget yourself.

You didn’t dream about anything at all. Only the darkness consumed you, a lullaby of nothingness.

And when you awake, your feet groggily take you to Yoongi. They seem to know where he is, even when your eyelids are still half-closed, even when your brain still dozes. A canopy of dusky, darkening heavens, with hues of roses dispersed all around, gently fondles your eyes to rouse them fully and right here, on the balcony, much different to the one you spent your afternoon on—much smaller, much more confined—is where you find your boyfriend. An empty pack of cigarettes on the table, a cold purple lighter and a dark bottle of liquor.

His strained back greets you first. He doesn’t hear your steps; he doesn’t sense your presence and it isn’t until your fingertips touch his saddened spine that he turns around. Wrinkles of the same dejected nature, absolute despair wrung into the paleness of his face. You cradle it and you bolster it when he spills into your hands, when you feel the hotness of his tears. And you spill with him—the only thing left to do.

You will your light to swathe him. Press his head against your chest as you lead him to take a seat with you on his lap. And you keep your mouth tightly shut when the soreness of your muscles, the slight discomfort of the burn on your skin forces a whine out of you. You keep it caged in. Put your boyfriend first.

Sifting your fingers through his hair, you kiss his scalp—kiss his mind, even when you don’t know its contents. To ease it, whatever it was that caused him to break.

You sit like this until the moon springs from the clouds. You don’t look at it. Refuse to.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first, cold fingers sunk beneath your thighs, seeking your warmth.

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he murmurs, weary eyes boring into yours. “I need to hear it from you.”

You’d give him anything he asked, anything he wished for; you’d pierce your heart if the time asked for it. And so you nod, place your hand on his chest, lie against his good shoulder and you begin to leak. Leak the simplest of words you’re able to find in your windswept mind.

“He put me in a trance when we were intimate. So much that I lost my mind, lost my surroundings, lost my sense of home.” You swallow, dryly, thinking that’s the best way you could explain it without deepening the gashes upon his heart. Decide you will not overdo it. “And when you left and I breathed in the fresh air, it was like I’d woken up from it. It hurt so much. I was worried about you, but I wasn’t ready to face you. Not when I had to deal with the repercussions.”

Yoongi squeezes the flesh of your thigh to comfort you, thumb fondling the skin back and forth, listening intently.

“I didn’t understand at first why you left. I was so out of it. But little pieces started to put it together in my mind as I was thinking about it. And then I saw Jungkook with his head in his hands and I knew I’d done something really, really bad. I wanted to run away, like you did, but I had no other place to go to other than the bathroom. And Jungkook…” you trail off, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for this part of the story—the thread that is linked to the bruises upon Yoongi’s knuckles. “I thought he wanted to comfort me, and maybe he did. I pushed him away but he relented. He was concerned because I—” A lump forms in your throat, your lashes quiver. “I made sure the water was boiling hot because I wanted to burn off—I wanted to punish myself for making you leave, for hurting you. And then he got in the shower and I didn’t say anything.”

You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’re supposed to mention the matter of the burn of your backside and his concern regarding it without wounding Yoongi.

“He—” Your throat constricts and Yoongi cradles your face in his palm, lifting your head so you can gaze into his eyes, draw strength from him. He nods, encouraging you to continue, while seemingly giving you as much time as you need. Tears the lump apart. “He was worried because the hot water was making the burn on my butt worse, but I—I didn’t feel it. I was crying so hard.”

His eyes search for something in yours and you know right away what it is. The answer to his question on whether he touched you. You wrap your arm around his neck. Glad it didn’t wound him. Enough that you overbrim with the desire to assuage his disquiet.

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper, although it’s not entirely true. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. “Not in the way you think. I told him to stop. He wanted to wash me. I told him no.”

He blinks, but you can’t read his solemn features. You see the memory of Jungkook gripping your waist and pushing you against the tiles, so you wouldn’t burn your skin, and you saying nothing displayed on them. It overwhelms you, but you fight it. What’s done is done.

The worst part of the story awaits you. You pluck it, ready to get it over with.

“All he did was rinse me off. And he told me about how it hurt him to see us like this because of him. I felt everything leaving me when I was listening to him. I don’t know how, but I did. He asked to wash my hair and I let him. I felt so relieved to be ridded of the guilt and the pain I felt that I started crying again. He made me laugh. And then he left me alone. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t been there.”

Stillness, awfully quiet stillness—like the one at the cabin, but you do not fear it. An abrupt onrush of strength fills your bones, giving you the notion that whatever comes next is something you’ll be able to endure.

Yoongi drops his hand. You will your heart not to drop along with it.

“The lines have been blurred so much that I—” He averts his gaze. Towards the glimmering stars up above as if they could give him the strength he’s now void of. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to feel the way I do, when—when I let him have you.”

You are able to endure it. A motherly stimulus creeps in, one that has the capacity for the mightiness of whatever it is that he’s feeling. You want to swallow it down. You desire to.

“What do you feel, baby?” you whisper, nudging your nose against his, an Eskimo kiss to relieve him, to help him. “Tell me.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes in regret. “It should’ve been me,” he breathes. You nod, agreeing with him, even though you’ve accepted that fate wrote it was meant to be Jungkook. Perhaps for that very reason, he was inscribed to be pulled into that whole situation to begin with, no matter how lewd it was. “And it should’ve been me under that—”

He doesn’t let himself finish his sentence, but you know what he wanted to say. It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he hated what you had done to yourself and instead wished it was him—to whom the harm was done.

You let them pour out. You don’t want them smothering you. You want everything out, so you can move on—so both of you can.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Another Eskimo kiss, a longer one this time. Yoongi sniffles against you and you want to pull out more from him, to rid him completely of those negative feelings. “Like you said, it’s over now.”

Yoongi nods, vulnerably, and you peck him on the mouth. And he’s unable to reciprocate the kiss, for his features twist in another rush of liquid emotions. You stroke the back of his hair, running your fingers down its length, urging softly more out.

“I don’t regret anything,” you continue, pressing your cheek against his tears, letting them seep into your skin. “Even though it hurt, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Neither should you.”

He sobs and it reverberates through your body. You remain strong. Strong like the mountains. “I hurt him.”

The breath you inhale is knifing you sharply. “He loves you—”

“And I hurt him,” he cuts in, squeezing you against him, needing you. “I didn’t trust a word he said. I didn’t—” he heaves, unable to catch his breath, hiccups. “Because I thought he hurt you, I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t know he helped you.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he didn’t force himself on you, but I didn’t believe him. I gave him so much shit for it, for spanking you. And then he begged me to hit him again.”

The healer deemed it would make Yoongi feel better. Your heart warps.

“Did you?”

“No.”

You kiss his temple and you don’t realize that it’s a silent thanks until you lift your lips, however you’re not thrown off balance. It should be like this. You should feel for both men. You should feel. It makes you a living, breathing human. And Yoongi’s reactions and emotions make him human, too, even if they seem wrong in the moment. It’s not something to hate him or judge him for—it’s something to love him for. He should feel safe. Deserves to.

It’s better than to feel nothing.

And you tell him. A thousand times until he nods, sloshing your words in his mouth before carefully swallowing them, accepting them.

“It’s not a lost cause. You can talk to him. And you can try again.”

Yoongi looks at you as he takes in what you’ve said, as if the concept never crossed his mind—or, if it did, it perhaps seemed too unrealistic to make happen. As if he was doomed for life. As if he lost him forever.

Love is never lost. And you tell him that as well.

Yoongi lights up from within. You wipe away his tears. Brush his hair away from his face. And you give him every last drop of your light, hugging him. And he hugs you back until birds begin to sing in the sky.

It took several weeks for Yoongi to gather courage to call Jungkook. Liquor bottles piled in a row on the balcony and you didn’t count them anymore, you just joined your boyfriend, who had become a frail skeleton, whenever his nerves asked for the burning liquid. Either you would keep him company or you’d bring your own shot glass. And each time, it would end with a subdued, murky therapy session, without the fucking.

Yoongi hasn’t touched you since the afternoon spent in the cabin.

He wasn’t in the mood and you stifled yours. Your body was so accustomed to the daily release of pleasure that because it didn’t have it now all of a sudden, it felt weird—it felt out of place, and you drowned it out with alcohol and smokes, drowned it out with shopping sprees until money ran out and stashes became empty. So you had to settle for your own hand.

And it was easy. You daydreamed about Jungkook. Felt the ghost of his fingers on every sensitive place your hand roamed. On your breast, on your thigh and on your clit, in your entrance. You replayed everything he’d done to you and it didn’t hurt; you didn’t feel shame. You’ve healed to the point that it drenched you, aroused you enough to coax your orgasm out in mere minutes.

And it didn’t feel shameful because Yoongi had told you the reason why he fled the scene.

“You were in pain and I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t look at me and if you did, you’d look away as if I had no role in the sex. He took control when it should’ve been me. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

It wasn’t about you being so preoccupied in the trance. It was about Jungkook taking charge as if you were his. Which was what led Yoongi to think he forced himself on you in the shower. It was about him being silent and not speaking up, prioritizing your pleasure.

It made sense to you, but you still apologized. For what, you didn’t know. Just felt the need to. And Yoongi made you feel so safe, as safe as you had made him feel that night on the balcony, that you couldn’t help but yap about how enjoyable it was for you—what Jungkook did to you. And Yoongi agreed.

You were content that you’ve moved past the hurt and focused on the real truth beneath, revealing it: you both had enjoyed it when you were pleasured.

You didn’t check if the conversation made him hard, for you ran into your bedroom to relieve yourself of the ache between your legs as fast as possible. But he found you. Watched you. Validated you. Validated your daydreams. Told you what to do as he smoked a cigarette, standing in between your outstretched legs before the bed, the summer wind cooling the sweat on your body. And then he told you to do it again.

And again.

Until he couldn’t pull out any more orgasms out of you.

He became obsessed with it.

Because the next day and the many after that, you did the same thing. He would watch you while you fingered yourself. He’d tell you what he’s doing to you in your daydreams, taking charge of them, what Jungkook is doing to you. Other times he’d jerk off and come all over your tummy and cunt. Still remain hard; still remain needy. He wouldn’t fuck you. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t even insulate it. Wouldn’t slip it inside the dreams. And once his desire would run out of its sweet wine, yours simply wouldn’t. And the more you both indulged in this act, you figured out two things.

One, Yoongi used it as a coping mechanism. As a healing tool to recuperate from the afternoon spent in the cabin, one that would ultimately help him have sex with you in the long run. Two, you were riding the waves of ideas and excitement with no real fulfillment, with no release.

Tasting the picture of the sin at first might have been enough—but the more you did it, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into the real thing.

You wanted Jungkook again.

And like the intelligent man Yoongi is, he figured it out, too.

A certain number of orgasms was an indication of an ending to this playful time. And the last time you did this, Yoongi—at this number—was ready to withdraw and jump into the shower, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hungry, starved, devouring his neck, grinding your still wet pussy against his softening cock.

He put two and two together. Immediately.

“You’re hungry for what I haven’t given you yet, aren’t you?”

You begged for it, moaning against his artery, reveling in the feeling of his cock against you after such a long time. And when you looked at him, you saw drunkenness seizing his features. Drunkenness without the consumption of alcohol. And you felt the same inebriation enclosing around yours, knowing your desire sparked this inside of him. It felt different. Way, way different.

“Think about how you want it. Make yourself come as many times as you want. And when I come back from the shower, tell me about it. We’ll figure it out; we’ll make it work.”

It grazed your hunger. Squeezed it in such a playful way. Like a human hand squeezing an animal because of the cute-aggression it feels towards it.

You didn’t know how many times you came. You were too lost in the story you constructed, soaking the bed sheets even more than you already had. Your fingers had turned wrinkly by the time you opened your eyes, finished with the plot, to see Yoongi leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, not having the heart to disturb you in your passion.

And while you showered, playing the story in your head over and over, Yoongi cooked you food. Poured you liquid courage. Waited for you at the table, dressed only in a pair of joggers. Chain-smoked, the rule of only smoking on the balcony long forgotten during his process of healing.

When you sat down to eat, you slid your feet across his lap. Lifted your camisole, let him see your bare cunt the way he liked it that one time; the scent of your mango body butter wafting in the air, the sultriness of an August evening carrying that eccentricness right into his senses, readying him for what you were about to tell him.

And you began, casually, with every bite of the delicious food he made you. You got ahead of yourself, though, dumb by the intensity of adrenaline and arousal coursing in your veins. “I want you to dictate every move. And it’s up to you if you let him fuck me or not. My first idea from the start was—”

“I want you to tell me your full fantasy. What you touched yourself to. From the beginning ‘til the end.”

You fixed your mistake quickly.

“I dreamed about him watching us. You gave him rules. No touching. Hands on the armchair I wanted him to sit in. No talking. Then, I began with you letting him see what we’ve been doing. Loudly, vulgarly. Me playing with my pussy while you jerked off until you came all over me. Then you ate me out and wouldn’t stop until I begged you to fuck me. From behind. While you stretched my ass with a butt plug.”

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?”

“Yes. He heard it all. Every word you used. And I wanted you to do it to make him needy. Needy enough to beg you to let him fuck me.”

Yoongi only cursed. And you felt him hardening again under the soles of your feet. You caressed his ache with your toes.

“He thought the butt plug was used to stretch me for him, but it was for my pleasure, for decoration. You only let him pump your cum deeper into me. You didn’t let him come. And you held me from behind. Held me open for him in the air. And then he begged you for mercy. You gave in. Dropped me to the floor. And he fucked me ruthlessly, keeping me still on the floor with his thighs around me. He wasn’t able to last long. Begged you to let him come in me and you did. And then… then he ate me out. And so did you. At the same time. And I came so hard that I squirted. Then we took a shower. All three of us.”

“Did anything happen in the shower?” Quick, hard breaths, as if he was on the verge of an orgasm from your footjob.

And he proved to you, with a groan, that he was when you finished your story and his joggers dampened. “No, you both just held me. And we kissed like crazy.”

And it was this release of cum that drove him to make that phone call.

When Jungkook picks up on the first ring, Yoongi grabs his keys, blows you an air kiss and leaves. The joy that thrums in your heart is unlike any you’ve ever felt. You know where he’s gone. You know it fully well.

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up.

Hours later, he returns. With a grin blossomed on his face, one you haven’t seen since the day at the cabin, and a pink bag in his hand, one he hands you as soon as he takes off his shoes.

Inside you find the butt plug you dreamed of. Silver with a purple faux diamond in the middle. Fairly small, just the kind you’re certain you will be able to take. With a freebie of a much smaller packet of lube. To be safe playing out the fantasy.

Yoongi kisses you so hard when you look up at him that he steals all of your breath, ridding you of your chance to thank him.

“He’s coming over later.”

You kiss him, equally hard. Happy that he’s happy, happy to see movement in his healing journey. You give him tiny kisses, a hundred of them, and he breathes a laugh into your mouth, his joy filling you with energy and exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally—you’ve missed this emotion of his. Glad for the sadness, for the murkiness to be gone.

And you pray nothing gets in the way.

When Jungkook announces his arrival by knocking on the door, the sight you’re met with is quite uncanny. Though your heart isn’t stirred by it, bouncing in your chest like a small child seeing its father after a long, long time.

It’s been almost a month and he’s become older since the last time you saw him. His hair, grown longer and thicker, curls at his temples, ears and the nape of his neck. Round eyes have stayed the same, as well as the glint, and there’s a hint of the same joy that you’ve found in Yoongi, whirling in circles past it. Nose void of any blood, cheekbone healed from bruises. His demeanor is careful as if he had been punished enough by the fight and the silent treatment that followed it, taking off his shoes and his zipper hoodie, revealing a much bigger broadness of shoulders and arms, exposed in a tight fit of a black tank.

While Yoongi drowned his sorrow in alcohol and smokes and then came across his relief, his air in a sexual fantasy with his friend involved, he—the said friend—clearly found his coping mechanism in the gym.

He’s huge. As if he hadn’t already been from the military.

You lick your lips at him, and it’s such a natural reaction that you don’t even think about what you’ve done until you perceive that he doesn’t look at you at all. And it turns you on. It turns you on that he’s holding himself back from you. You know what hides beneath, what comes out when he lets go of his good boy persona.

Glancing at Yoongi, he’s already smirking at you with a playful gaze. Affected by his ignoring of you just the same. The shared connection thickens the energy around, but Jungkook breaks it.

He breaks it once he lifts his head, hangs his hoodie on the back of a chair and envelops you in a hug. Defaces your evident tendency to view him as an object, scribbles it in slashes until the ink runs out. All by a few strokes of his hand down your hair, down your back clothed in a new silky robe.

And when he withdraws from the hug, you see the healer that helped you become the person Yoongi needed on his journey.

His somber eyes skim over the long length of your nighttime attire, as if lamenting over the fact it’s not the red one. Over its dusty-pink color that parts the fabric to reveal your smooth leg and your toes. And then he’s gone, pulling your boyfriend in the same hug that lasts a bit longer, uttering silent words that should’ve been said that afternoon at the cabin with each increase of squeezes and pats within the hold.

You know they’ve said what they needed to hear during the phone call to mend what’s been broken. You feel a certain proudness of Yoongi for managing so well, for being at this very part of the journey. It’s praiseworthy.

“You hungry?”

Jungkook looks at you at last, imaginary puppy ears perking up at your question. And his eyes soften, wet with emotion from the reunion. He rubs his belly. “Starving.”

You shuffle your feet to make your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi beats you to it. Wave a hand towards the table, inviting him to sit and, out of habit, you pour some liquid courage into a shot glass for him from the bottle you keep there instead of a vase filled with flowers.

He merely glances at it. Doesn’t drink it.

“How have you been?” you ask, screwing the lid back on, not being able to take your eyes off of him—your entire history faintly blanketing your sight.

And he deepens the eye contact.

“How do you like your butt plug?”

Taken aback, you laugh, the atmosphere so airy all of a sudden that your cheeks flush and your lungs heave with affability. This is the friendship you had begged the heavens for. Without strings, without pain. Light-natured friendship, with flirtation in the middle. You find it hard to believe you have it. Find it hard to believe he’s here.

Find it hard to believe that when you had told Yoongi he could try again, he took your words and created this, embedding it into your fate.

“It’s pretty,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Jungkook smiles, fondly, fingers wrapping around the shot. You’re reminded, momentarily, of the way he teased you with the foot of his wine glass on your first dinner date.

As if thinking about that night, too, his other fingers sneak to your bare knee, tapping it once. “We picked it for you.”

You nod in feigned, exaggerated gratitude, even though you mean it, even though the thought of them choosing a sex toy for you makes you burst into flames from within. “Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I will use it well.” And you bow to him with each word in your seat next to him.

Jungkook laughs and it’s such a sweet sound that you feel unfamiliar flowers growing in you, laughing along with him. He lays his palm flat on the entirety of your knee. Heavy, strong, warm. Then, he widens his eyes, as if he only now realized what you’ve called him. “You’re younger than me?”

You’ve guessed he was older than you. “I was born in 1999. I take it you’re around the same age as Yoongi?”

Not the same, entirely. You recall him calling Yoongi ‘hyung’. He must be a year or a few years younger.

That tenderness you know flashes in his face. “I was born in 1997. Yoongi is older than me.”

Your mouth opens in the shape of ‘O’. Jungkook’s eyes flick to it before he averts them, slapping the side of your thigh gently, sighing as if he held his breath the entire time. Only then does he down the shot you poured him, keeping his hand there.

Such a blessing, the simple act of getting to know him.

He slouches in his seat and you ask him again. “How have you been?”

Smacking his mouth, he roams his gaze along the perimeters of the dinner table. And you realize he’s avoiding the question. Avoided it the first time you launched it at him, too.

You fold your fingers under his palm on your knee, signaling your understanding and sympathy. Don’t want to think about the healing journey he had to walk through by himself. He’s reached the end and that’s the most important thing as of now. You caress his reddened, tattooed knuckles, smeared with flecks of violet and yellow—much like your bum that one afternoon—with your thumb, wondering how that tinge came to live there. “What happened to your hand?”

Jungkook contemplates your study of his hand, stoically, still as ever. Then, his mouth rounds, barely, in a tiny suggestion of sadness. Your heart catches it before it disappears, making it hers. In such a swift moment that you don’t realize what you’ve done.

“Boxing,” he murmurs, eyeing the way your hand is enclosed around his large palm, the way your thumb hovers over his knuckles, as if afraid to cause them any more pain. Seems touched by it and your brows knit, your heart speaking to you, telling you something, urgently, but you don’t understand her.

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?”

Jungkook shakes his head ‘no’. “Didn’t want to.”

And then it hits you—the language of your heart unfolding within you, deciphered at last. It hits you how you and him are very much alike.

This is his coping mechanism. Hurting his hand as he lets out his negative emotions. Knowing, just like you, that the pain is the gain, the relief. And by the state of the bruises, you were wrong. He’s not at the end of his healing journey—and he’s nowhere near the beginning. He traipses around it, steering clear of it, ignoring it.

Your lungs swell. And that motherly impulse you’re familiar with croons around them, extends towards him with the dutiful intention to heal.

And you will.

You will heal both of the males.

And the decision is strengthened even more in you when Jungkook hears Yoongi’s footsteps and startles, extracting his hand from your hold, from your thigh. Like he startled upon hearing your movement back then, scurrying towards your bag as if you were intending to leave him, abandon him.

It is your heart that weeps now for him, not your eyes, remembering the words Yoongi uttered over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again. You try your hardest to remain strong on the outside. For him, for Yoongi, for yourself. You try your hardest to forget that declaration, that physical pain of his, considering it over—long gone, a lifetime away.

And when your boyfriend sets the full plates of food in front of him and he digs in wordlessly, you watch him. With a landslide in your insides. With a hand on his muscled arm, stroking back and forth, eyes flicked momentarily to Yoongi, willing him to see how broken his friend is.

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it.

He settles for a drink instead, fixing his gaze on the table. Takes a step back on his journey, his nerves pursuing him. And so he’s not alone, because it is your duty, you follow him into that rabbit hole like the Alice you are. With empty hands, void of any control, despite the onus you own in your heart.

By the time sex is even mentioned between the three of you, you’re tipsy and your head is swimming.

You’re conscious, aware of your body, aware of your surroundings and your home. Aware that you’re intoxicated, too, and it’s a peculiar feeling—to be present in your body and out of it just the same. And you owe it to the males sitting around the table. To the owner of the house, mainly.

Yoongi has taken such a dominant role naturally that he’s the reason why your head is taking laps in his energy. And it was him who put the topic of sex to the front after double meanings found their way into the gradually unfurling conversation, imbued with exuberance. Asked Jungkook straight away if he’d been sexually active with people after you, to which he merely shook his head ‘no’, too vulnerable to express it in his own words. You don’t think Yoongi even realized the gravity of the question, influenced by the alcohol, the lighthearted energy and the fact that he got his friend back. And Yoongi… he praised him for it, making his head lift in disbelief and coyness. You saw the way it healed him, brought color to his face— it happened so quickly, too quickly, Yoongi turning the leaf over right after, seamlessly leading the conversation back to the double meanings, working them up until you and Jungkook blushed.

But you didn’t listen entirely, and neither did Jungkook. You surveyed the way he turned the praise over in his mind, dwelling on it. And you knew, without a doubt, that, besides healing him—undoing the ugly words flung at him that day, it turned him on. He played with his bracelet in the air, a faint smile on his mouth, legs outstretched, touching yours, and you… you wanted to play with him, too. Your body begged you for it, telling you it’s time.

In fact, you knew very well what the little bit of alcohol Yoongi drank was doing to him. Much like Jungkook, it helped him avoid the matter of his friend’s sensitive burden at hand while collecting information. Especially about where he stands in the realm of the three of you and sex. And while you’ve let him do it, thinking it was something he needed to do on his journey, you've also been deciding for the last half an hour when it was time to put a stop to it. The sexual comments, the double meanings—it became too much, became too obvious, even though he, in most probability, wasn’t even aware of it, was doing it for you unconsciously. And your body agreed, whispering to you that the only way you could do that was to take advantage of what was right before you.

You were going to outrun your boyfriend and seduce them both.

You light up a cigarette, bringing Yoongi’s attention to you. You graze your foot on his shin as you cross your legs, lifting it higher until you reach his thigh. And when you take a long drag, you skim your hand on Jungkook’s knee, briefly—calling for his attention, too, preparing him. Your toe feels up Yoongi’s soft manhood and he stops talking, your hand trailing along the side of Jungkook’s thigh, inches away from his intimate parts. They let you touch them, both heads turned in your direction.

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently.

Before Yoongi has the chance to scold you for interrupting him, you withdraw. You withdraw entirely. Pretend to take your cigarette to the balcony. Jungkook lifts his hand to grab yours, to put it back where it was, but you’re gone before you could take him up on it.

You feel both of them watching you as you leave. You sway your hips a little. It makes you chuckle. Makes you feel invincible.

You stay there but for a mere moment. Don’t even finish your cigarette before you put it out in the ashtray. And when you return, you undo the knot while they are preoccupied, unaware of you. Uncover the outfit you spent your money on while Yoongi healed.

A sheer, black crop top, with polka dots and puffed sleeves, that ties in the middle, ending beneath your breasts and adding nothing to the imagination. Could be mistaken for a wireless bra. Panties of the same tulle material with frills on the side. You leave your robe undone, the act of revealing yourself so casually stiffening your nipples. You consider taking a seat as if you did no such thing, but an idea pulls you to your boyfriend, who’s ignorant to your scheme, listening to something that Jungkook is telling him.

You don’t grasp any of the words coming out of his mouth, however you do focus on the deep intonation of his voice. Let it curl beneath your skin; propel you to act out on your whim.

You take a seat on Yoongi’s lap. Jungkook’s gaze falls on your intimate form, bare under the almost translucent fabric, and he parts his lips. He watches as Yoongi wraps an arm around your middle and smiles at the feeling of your bare skin. You rock your hips once, backwards, pretending you’re shifting to make yourself comfortable and Yoongi grips your waist until his fingers turn white. Jungkook doesn’t stop talking, hides his astonishment at your behavior, at your boldness. Doesn’t stop looking at you and neither do you at him, nodding to every other word as if you were listening. That is until you grab a handful of cheese balls and pop one by one into your mouth, purposefully letting one of them fall into your cleavage.

“Can you get it for me? My hands are full.”

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

You’ve interrupted him so rudely that you’re surprised that he doesn’t frown at you, but smirks instead. Yoongi caresses your thigh, validating you, catching onto your scheme, and it spreads the fire that burst in you hours ago, making it bigger, hotter.

It’s time. You want both of them, badly.

You lean forward for him, fingers ready for the next move you’re planning. Jungkook lifts a hand, reaches for the orange treat in the middle of your breasts and before his digits have the time to grasp it, you pull on the loose knot on your top, your flesh spilling, the treat slipping onto the floor.

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased.

“Oh, no.” Fake pity; fake pout. You look at the cheese ball, then back at Jungkook. Your impishness reflects in the blazing fire of his eyes, the same one that courses through your body. “I guess I didn’t tie it properly. Can you do it for me? My hand is dirty.”

You eat the last remaining cheese balls while staring him dead in the eye. Show him your orange-tinted fingers once you’re done. A spark flashes in the fire; piques his interest.

Leaning forward even more, Yoongi uses your position to slide your robe down your shoulders. Lifts you for a second to rid you completely of it, setting you back down sharply, causing your breasts to bounce. Throws it on Jungkook’s lap. A gesture that tells him playtime has begun. He sucks in a breath, biting his bottom lip, the way Yoongi gathers your hair in his fist stealing his attention fleetingly from you, fingers clutching the fabric.

And when he takes the swinging laces in his hands and barely tightens them, you click your tongue, disapprovingly. “Tighter.”

It arouses the beast in him, eyes lidding ever so slightly. He pulls on the laces until your breasts are squished together. “Like this?”

You wet your lips before you quirk them up. “Yes. Make a bow for me.”

Jungkook deepens the eye contact as he obeys. You lift your chin, asserting Yoongi’s dominance, taking after him, the inkling to own that beast in him absorbing you whole.

And you shall.

When he’s finished with the bow, he grazes the material of your top, fingers flat against your nipples before he slouches back in his chair. The touch was too brief for your liking, yet it spurs your cunt to soak your panties, the notion that you’ve done it intoxicating your senses—you’ve seduced him.

You mimic what he did, theatrically—you slouch back into Yoongi’s chest, turn your chin to the side to tell on him. “Yoongi, he touched me.”

Yoongi only smirks, playing along. “Did he? How? Show me.”

Your fingers fly to your pebbled nipples, stroking them in downward motion like he did before you repeat it. Again and again. Your hips begin to slowly rotate, your body reacting to your touch, to the pleasure you’re giving it. “Like this.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat. He spreads his legs. You do, too. And when you whimper, he twitches, your robe slipping onto the ground, joining the cheese ball.

“Did it feel good? When he touched you there?” Yoongi asks, hands spreading across your thighs. You make a noise of agreement, whining into it. “Does it feel as good now?”

You shake your head ‘no’, meaning it. “No, it makes me needy.”

Yoongi hums. “Where?”

You cup the soaked material of your panties, right over your cunt with one hand, while the other squeezes your breast. “Here.”

Your boyfriend opens your legs wider, as if to take a closer look at what body part you’re showing him. “You should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Like what?”

“Touch yourself.”

Jungkook stills. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. Neither do you.

“How?”

“I don’t know, maybe I should ask him,” he mumbles, fingers playing with the frills on your hips. “Do you want me to ask him?”

The asking of consent, beckoning out your slick. You nod your head. “Ask him, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Jungkook’s mouth is parted in an enigmatic manner, waiting—waiting to be given what your boyfriend long teased him with. And you like the suspense, the tension pulled so taut, the process before he’s gratified. It makes you even needier and, like Jungkook, you clutch the fabric of your panties in impatience.

Yoongi doesn’t ask right away. He tortures Jungkook until his lips lose their moisture. Dry, like a withered flower asking for the tiniest raindrop to refresh. And you want to give it to him. You’re leaking so much dewiness it is only right that he could get to drink it. You tuck that thought into your heart.

Yoongi hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly, like your robe, drags them down as far as he can reach. Then, he lets them pool by your knees. “Take them off of her,” he commands in a hushed tone, fingers drifting to your waist, stopping by your mound and your stomach on the way. And it isn’t until Jungkook rids you fully of the wet undergarment that he finally asks: “How should she touch herself?”

Jungkook crumples it in his fist, tightly enough that white comes into view across his colorful knuckles upon the denim of his jeans. And among other things, his breath hardens. Gazes into your eyes as he says to Yoongi, “Tell her to lift her legs, lick her fingers and rub her princess parts until it feels good.”

He’s tuned in into the role-play. You think about how you wanted to turn off your brain for him when he had told you to not think that he’d ever get sick of you. How you wanted to keep it stupid for him.

You know that if you were to do that, if you were to let go—that he’d put you under his spell again, but you’re not letting that cave in on you. Because when Yoongi imparts the instructions to you and you lift your leg, propping your foot on Jungkook’s thigh, saliva-coated fingers finding your clit, you feel a sliver of something indescribably exhilarating.

Jungkook moans at the first few careful circles. And it’s him who becomes hypnotized.

It’s your green light to play the role of a stupid, innocent girl—in the hands of two very experienced, aroused men. Seduced, more like. You pat yourself on the back, mentally.

And the proud feeling of your achievement, the feeling of his vigorous and ardent observance of your pleasured cunt, of the tendril of the profound reminiscence that sweeps in as if he truly missed the sight of her—it all incites you to speed up your movement. To consciously immerse yourself deeper in the role, in the pretending. You figure it should work like this; you won’t get submerged in the water of the hypnosis if you remain in control, clinging to it with all your might. Not if Jungkook is the one spellbound this time.

You feel your orgasm drawing closer at that thought, breathing against your body.

“Am I doing it right?”

Jungkook sneaks a hand around your ankle, hard breaths puffing out of his still parted mouth, cheeks full of vibrant color, eyes dazed—so awfully dazed and fixed on your cunt, on the sheen of your arousal splattered on your folds. Then, he licks his lips, slouches further in his seat after he moves his chair to be more in line with you. Horny, curious puppy, needing to see the full view; your work of art. Yoongi’s soft chuckle rumbles against your scalp and you realize he’s been watching him this entire time, studying him—assessing the situation meticulously.

“Is she doing it right?” Yoongi asks and you can hear the smirk coating his voice. Jungkook’s other hand, with the panties still clutched, wraps around his hard length, brows furrowing and you whine at the sight, but Yoongi tuts, disapproving. “No touching.”

Jungkook lifts his hand and so do you—to stall your orgasm, the principle of Jungkook obeying so easily almost throwing you over the edge. You breathe heavily, a tingly sensation swarming within your skin, a certain string of words rising on your tongue.

You turn your head towards Yoongi. Dart out your tongue to lick swiftly at his bottom lip before you kiss him. Yoongi hums, pleased. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Another similar sound, one that makes you smile. You drift a hand towards the back of his head, fingers sinking into the dark length of his hair. Yoongi purrs, blinking down at you like rose petals fluttering—you feel as though you were at the very beginning, living through the moment you learned Jungkook’s name, as if no pain, no murkiness never settled upon the three of you. You don’t know how it makes you feel and you hardly want to decipher it; you gravitate towards enjoying yourself more, thoughts and feelings pushed to the side.

“He is, isn’t he?” Yoongi murmurs, taking your arm gently in his hand and joining it to your other one around the back of his head, then he roams his back, takes his time, until he plants it upon your cunt. You spasm at the long-awaited contact. “He listens well. So out of it, the poor thing forgot to speak. Maybe we should help him with that, don’t you think?” Poor thing. Your hole clenches, drooling with your dewiness and you groan, the aspect of Jungkook being degraded like this, after he dominated both of you the last time, making you utterly, utterly feral.

At your noise, Yoongi begins to play with your slippery folds, pressing them together with his fingers flat on each side—not touching your pussy, but pleasuring her nonetheless. You give him more at each squeeze he bestows on your clit, elated that he’s touching her after such a long time, elated that he’s able to.

It is, undeniably, working like this. Your heart thrums with elation. Happy it has come to this, happy it’s different this time—happy that both parties are happy.

Not wishing to lose the momentum, you gaze at Jungkook. At the light cascading dimly from his lip ring—that pink, puffy, dry mouth that you long to kiss, that you long to feel on your bundle of nerves. His eyes seem to grow in size at your attention and you’re so touched to witness something like that. You need to ride his face; you need to watch those eyes roll back. You can see his need to take charge, to tell both of you what to do by his irregular breaths, clenched fists and bulging muscles, veins so prominent that you do well not staring at them at all—but he subdues that need, perhaps for you, perhaps for Yoongi. Both possibilities graze your feelings with such fondness that he’s putting himself last, prioritizing the hard truth: you’re not his, not in the sexual ambiance of your time spent together, not even in the lasciviousness of your daydreams.

You’re Yoongi’s and he’s the boss, one he should’ve been since the beginning. And that’s the core of the difference. The key that makes this work.

Covering your mouth, you spill your idea of how you should help Jungkook speak into Yoongi’s ear while keeping your eyes on his round ones. He aches to be let in on it, to know, but you don’t allow him that satisfaction. In fact, when you beam at Yoongi once you withdraw, it’s more of a provocation directed towards the puppy than an expression of your true joy.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Yoongi agrees, orbs aglow by the idea, by something that you can only pin down to a feeling of safety within the environment. He feels safe. Feels comfortable. Feels okay—more than okay by the hardening length against your bum, by the moonbeams flecking across his irises, by the extension of his index finger to your clit, which makes you freeze, stop breathing altogether. “But I want to make you come first. Can I?”

You peck him, deeply, to seal that package of positive feelings in him, to seal that sense of safety and comfort. Nod a million times. “Yes, please, baby. I need it.”

Yoongi coos at the pet name, at your willing submissiveness to him and expression of neediness. Nudges his nose against yours. “Need what?”

You giggle softly. Happy, so awfully happy. “I need you to make me come,” you say, but your words are muffled by the way he skims his mouth over yours, and you don’t think over the next words directed to the other male that tumble out of you. “You want to watch?”

A stupid, stupid question because he’s been watching this entire time, although it breaks something. Breaks the invisible wall between you, Yoongi and him—breaks his coyness as he sets your foot down and leans forward, smiling fondly. “I’d be happy to watch. Honored.”

It breaks the unspoken, unseen tension. Breaks the past. Breaks the hurt. And the difference, now validated, made beautiful by his smile, sinks in, spreads across the atmosphere surrounded by the three of you. The sense of safety and comfort now sails over into Jungkook’s pores, slipping inside. And you could burst now. Burst with your joy.

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves.

You didn’t expect that to happen.

Yoongi feels it—and you feel him feel it by the trembling breaths he takes against your back. And even though you went into the rabbit hole with him with empty hands, now you hold healing in them. A warm round body of light, heavy and thick, ready for them both. Yoongi might have talked Jungkook’s head off and drank until his nerves eased and was able to escape them, but now he’s eligible to take the light. Jungkook is, too, now that he’s given you his consent for the dynamic to be different. A certain kind of glorious satisfaction envelops you in glow, ridding you of any intoxication and you’re bare. Vulnerable, horny and so tremendously bright. Filled with flowers, filled with love, filled with a delicious, selfish taste of control.

You want to kiss Jungkook, but you recognize right away that there’s a time and a place for that, one that is not appropriate now. You stifle your craving, wiggle your hips to let Yoongi know you want him to begin.

You brim with the need to forget now and just enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself at the hands of your long-awaited desire, now boundless, now right, now different. And you break the crumbles of the wall, the hurt and the past when you tell them. “I want us to forget about the last time and enjoy where we are right now. Can we do that?”

Although you don’t know the contents of the long conversation they had in private about this, you’re glad you’ve said it out loud. Glad it’s out of your chest. Glad for the kiss Yoongi plants on your temple. Glad for Jungkook’s hand encasing yours. Even if that’s the only way they communicate their agreement.

Out with the old, in with the new.

And Jungkook keeps holding your hand when Yoongi begins to rub your clit. He tightens his hold, in fact, at the first twist of your features, at the relief intermingling, despite the fact he knows nothing about how this is the first time Yoongi touched you like this since forever ago. His hand feels much more different than yours, much more nimble and much quicker. And the pleasure that floods your body is more about that than it is about the stimulation. A wish pricks at you, a wish to tell him, but you don’t let it get near you, not when you know the time for that is long, long gone, not when forgetting is supposed to take place now because the new is here.

You push those thoughts entirely away. The thoughts of there being a certain forever ago, a certain past along with it, too.

And then Yoongi hums and the sound sweeps it far, far away from you.

He pinches your nipple. Finds it’s not enough and forces your top open, undoing the bow, baring you to his and Jungkook’s eyes. Joins his other hand to knead both of your full breasts, but you whine, needing him elsewhere. Yoongi chuckles, listening to you—drifting his hand immediately back down to your clit, resuming his swift circles.

Jungkook salivates. Makes no indication of being in demand of participation. Merely wipes at the corners of his mouth while his other hand squeezes yours in a tight, clammy hold. Light protrudes from his eyes, akin to the one you still own, cooling the sweat layering upon your body. No darkness of arousal, none whatsoever, only the chocolate brown of his irises, vibrant, mesmerized and absolutely affectionate.

Newness, you breathe it in and exhale a moan. Yoongi changes direction. Moves from circles to side to side, angling your body so he can give it his all. You feel the incoming pressure of your orgasm and you ready yourself for it, squeezing your eyes shut. And when he decides to alternate, so quickly that you lose track of it, it is your ultimate undoing.

Mainly when Yoongi curtly slaps your clit, transferring you back to the very beginning of your story, rooting you there. You come so hard that you fall apart.

Tears fly out of you, but you laugh—and the sound is broken by a deep moan from your chest caused by pure, boundless euphoria. Yoongi prolongs your orgasm, keeps strumming your clit, purring onto your mouth and you open your eyes to witness his devotion to it, to your pleasure. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded, pouty mouth. Adamant on making you feel as good as—

It triggers another orgasm. A softer, mellow one. And the string of noises you let out are of the same dulcet nature. Yoongi swallows them, groaning, fondling your pussy, patting her gently, making you tremble, woozy, giddy and so incredibly girly.

“That was so good,” he whispers, caressing you everywhere and you nod, a million times. You’ve missed him, terribly.

You give him a nasty kiss full of tongue, aware of what’s happened and of what’s next just the same.

Yoongi perches on the floor, knees on either side of yours as you crawl towards Jungkook’s lap. He leans back, a surprised grin appearing on his flustered face. And it hits him like a ton of bricks when you pop his button open and drag down the zipper of his jeans. Your words that follow, too.

“Off. Everything.”

“You want to suck me off?” A calm bewilderment coats his voice, such a heavy oxymoron for him to bear when he was fine with just watching.

You smile at him briefly before you wet your lips, eager to make happen what he can’t believe you’re willing to do for him. “I knew it would get you talking.”

An airy laugh. So endearing to your hearing sense. He cradles your chin for a mere beat of time. “You’re so smart.” He takes off his tank, revealing his enormous pecs adorned with a long but dainty silver chain that you crave to have swinging in your face, that steals your attention from the dose of validation he gave you.

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic.

Only to hoist it back up when you realize he went to fetch the gift he bought you, along with a bigger tube of lube from your bedroom. Your body tremors and it’s both of the males that try to alleviate it. Yoongi, who settles back behind you, fondling the skin of your bare bum. Jungkook, who turns you to look at him, nodding once to let you know everything’s okay.

You release a breath, but you can’t hide the shakes.

Jungkook strokes your brow. A tender touch that drives you to believe him. Yes, everything’s okay. The past is gone. Healing is contained in the conscious reminders. The light in your hands flutters, calling out to you, and you press it over that heft of your wandering heart.

It’s you who alleviates the tremors.

And when you take off your top, Jungkook follows suit, ridding himself of his jeans.

To distract your mind from hurling false thoughts at you, you finally allow yourself to look at his hard length—still, disappointingly clothed. Thick. You can almost feel the memory of him, the heaviness of him, when he had you pressed against him by the pond. The first time you touched him. You groan, softly. “Off.”

Jungkook coos, patting you on the cheek with his finger. “So eager.”

He paints a smile on your face with that brush of his digit. “Be a good boy and listen.”

Without taking his eyes off of you, he swears. Pulls his manhood out, tugs his boxers a few inches down and you bite back a gasp, a moan and something in between. Red, swollen tip, the petal of a sun-kissed rose, little thick veins enveloping the girth. He keeps his balls covered to tease you. “Like this, Mommy?”

You glare at him and it’s Yoongi’s second-hand embarrassment laughter that smooths out your features, contagious to such a great extent that when you look back at him to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed and crinkly, you burst into the same laughter, lungs expanding, exhaling all that heft and momentary residue of panic until there’s nothing negative left.

It even radiates Jungkook. He laughs so much that his cock bounces, which deepens your giggles and you hide your face in your hands.

And when the conveyance of joy simmers, another tender tears rush out of your tear ducts. Good tears. You’re so content with life shared with the two males that you can’t help but be emotional. You shield those tears behind the premise of your laughter. They’re private—just yours. The final conclusion of the dark side.

Yoongi skims his fingers across your tiny hole. Back to business.

You tug Jungkook’s boxers all the way down and you lift his ankle to rid him completely of them. Mimic the way he did it to you. You even think about keeping them. Think about how this is exactly how it should be—recollecting only the good parts of the story, the light side while letting the dark one go. Jungkook sees it on your face and he lets you decide.

You don’t have to think twice.

You fling his underwear on the chair you sat on. Jungkook caresses your hair in response and you smile at him. Yoongi leans over you, fists your hair and pushes you toward Jungkook’s cock. At the sight, the puppy swears.

“Spit on it. Make it nice and wet for him,” Yoongi orders and there’s slyness to your ever persisting smile when you gather your saliva and do exactly as he says.

At the first contact of your liquid love, Jungkook swears again and there’s no stopping to that litany of vulgar words when you, just like him, swirl it around the top of his head with the tip of your tongue without taking your gaze off of him. It’s at this movement of yours that a flashback gleams across his still round, tender eyes for a split second. Now he remembers, now you’ve pulled him back to the place you didn’t even realize that you did.

Yoongi guides you to wrap your mouth around him and Jungkook loses it.

The suction of your cheeks, the eye contact, the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue, Jungkook rolls his eyes back before he whisks them back to you, not able to miss one moment of the pleasure you give him. Yoongi pushes your head back and forth and when it dawns upon you that there’s nothing else for you to do but to keep your mouth open while Yoongi does all the work, you moan. And like Jungkook, you can’t stop.

You feel Yoongi’s lips at your ear. “You think you can take him all the way?”

The mewl that comes out of you is the only agreement you can manage to give him. Yoongi groans, kissing your earlobe before he licks it, nibbles on it, taking his mouth to the skin beneath, causing your eyes to narrow. Your pussy drenches, throbs and your hand automatically flies to her. You rub yourself slowly to gain a hint of relief, bobbing your head up and down, tongue feeling up the thick veins along his girth and you whine so desperately—enough for Yoongi to check what was the cause of it.

He draws back. Finds you touching yourself. Clicks his tongue and chuckles in absolute appreciation. He likes what he sees. Pushes your head until your nose swipes past Jungkook’s minimal pubic hair and only when you gag does he let you breathe—does he let you play with his tip on your own. “Mommy is playing with her needy cunt.”

The curse word that wafts in the air is singular, coming out of your and Jungkook’s mouth simultaneously. There’s no laughter this time. Just thick arousal spreading across the room, dizzying all of your senses. Jungkook is breathless and the look you share is desperate, unspoken but so, so vivid. You take him in your free hand and jerk him off, reveling in the feeling of his veins. You give him all of your whiny moans, straightening up, your fingers sneaking to your hole. Eyes narrowing, mouth open, the sounds of your slick saliva in your tight grasp so obscene, so stimulating that when you begin to finger yourself and Yoongi latches his lips onto your neck, you know you’ll be coming in mere, pathetic minutes.

Jungkook leans forward a little bit to watch you stuffing yourself full. Bites his lip, closes his eyes when you tighten your grip around his head. And you do it again and again to coax his moans and he willingly supplies you with them. Opens his eyes and the look he gives you stops time. “So good. So fucking good.”

You yearn to kiss him and he does, too. You twist your wrist and he loses himself for a moment. That alone speeds up the coming of your orgasm. Your body flares with heat, your fingers picking up their speed instinctually and Jungkook angles his head to kiss you—

You push him back. To tease him, to make him more desperate because it pleases you and Jungkook smirks at you, gripping your panties in his fist. Hiding your own, you lick him all over and get to the undiscovered part you want the most.

You mouth his full balls. Whimper against them. Hot flashes fill your sight at the scent of him, even more so when Jungkook inhales your sounds and emits the same ones. “Fuck, sweetheart, oh fuck, yes, like that.” Takes your hand and busies it, wrapping it around his length. You spasm at the pet name, at the warmth that seeps into your skin from him.

It’s him who guides you now. Yoongi merely watches, in awe, wet fingers rubbing circles on your tiny hole, preparing you. “That’s it, honey, make him come.”

You’re so overwhelmed by your task that you withdraw your fingers from your heat, though Yoongi is quick to replace his. And the speed he establishes, you mimic it on Jungkook’s length and he grunts at the contact of your dewiness on him. You twists your wrists, fucking yourself back on Yoongi’s fingers. Bore your gaze into Jungkook’s. Hard, hard breaths, quickening lifts of his chest, he struggles to reciprocate your eye contact, the rhythm so beautiful so seamless, working so well.

And when you wrap your lips around him and suck him with fast bobs, he comes.

You open your mouth, yearning to feel him paint your face. Quick to grip his balls to feel them emptying out for you and you milk his cum out of him, jerking him off until his ropes smear on the corners of your lips, hot and thick. Yoongi pulls out his fingers, latches them onto your hip. “Stick out your tongue.”

You do as he says, in time to catch the last rope landing onto the muscle. You hum, swallowing, watching the tension screwing his features and the relief unweaving it as his orgasm reaches the end. Winded, dumbfounded, gruntled. A lovely sight to behold.

Jungkook’s grip loosens on your panties. And with his other hand, he feeds you his cum. Swipes his fingers from your cheek onto your mouth, plunging it inside. Yoongi kisses the side of your face, gripping your neck to hold your head steady for Jungkook, allowing him to finish the job.

You swallow everything, the taste of him suffused with mild earthiness, with tanginess and the tiniest hint of sweetness. Liquid candy, just for you. You allow him to see how much you enjoyed that, but it’s Yoongi first to whom you show that you’ve swallowed everything.

Your boyfriend beams at you. “Well done, honey.” He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, and the thought of him tasting the residue of Jungkook numbs your senses entirely. “You did so well.”

You’re panting when he withdraws and when you look at Jungkook, there’s a moment of stillness when you take in the thundering turmoil rushing inside him. You don’t have to guess what’s behind it. Jungkook voices it. “Let me kiss her, please.”

Such a soft murmur, charged with so much desperation. You break at the sound of it, gripping his hand, furrowing your brows, ready to give him anything he wants, boundlessly. Your heart thuds and it only takes one look at Yoongi and he folds, too.

Nods.

You thought he’d kiss you from the position you’re in, but Jungkook stands to his feet, grabbing you along with him, picking you up like a child by sliding his hands under your armpits. And when he presses you against him and kisses you hungrily with fast pecks, breathing hard, you discern how illogical it was for him to call you Mommy.

Even though he can listen like a good boy, it’s merely a role, one he plays for you, for Yoongi, one that fragments with each kiss. Who he truly is the reversal of it.

He’s Daddy. Undeniably.

You’ve never been keen for titles. You and Yoongi never used them, never felt the need for it, hence why you both laughed when it came up. But the more you kiss him, the more you sense it. The awakening dominance, the tendril of fatherliness that spirals around you, the deserved respect he emanates. It turns you on to the point that you find yourself wondering what else is there beneath the shadows of your undiscovered sexuality.

The feeling of his warm skin against yours, his still hard manhood against your stomach, the provocation of the lip ring, the softness of his mouth slowing down and prolonging the kiss—fuck. How much more can you possibly get aroused? He empties out your brain, but you’re calm, not panicked by it at all. And to stay conscious, to stay in control, you wrap your hand around him again.

He hisses, breaking the kiss, grasping your hand. “Too sensitive. Sorry. I came so hard.”

You coo, pecking him deeply, squeezing his broad shoulders. “It’s okay.”

When you turn around to give your attention to Yoongi, you find him deep in thought, fixed on Jungkook. “Remember how she came when you kissed her? At the cabin?”

Your heart speeds up. Not due to fear or anything of the sort, but due to excitement. You know where he’s heading with this.

“Hard to forget,” Jungkook murmurs and it thrums beneath your skin, spreading wide.

“She came multiple times when I made her think about that,” Yoongi starts and you can’t halt the smile growing on your lips. A tiny whirl of shyness mingles with the words coursing through your bloodstream. “It’s what we did. I made her imagine that you were kissing her, eating her out while she touched herself. And now I want you to give it to her. Give it to her good. Better than she was able to imagine.”

Sharp inhale of breath. You want to see his reaction to your secret—but then hands. Clammy hands on your hips, nose nuzzling in your hair. “Who’s gonna be in control when I do that?”

Your eyes widen, pulse quickening to the point that it troubles you.

And Yoongi looks at you when he answers his question, “You. It’s me who’s gonna watch now.”

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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epiclamer · 25 days

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Good god (tw: some light undertone themes of suicidal thoughts and self destruction/harm) but with lots of comfort to come so dont worryyyy

The rain poured down the hero’s face, they had their chin tilted up high towards the light grey clouds as if the mist surrounding them was suffocating. Their eyes were closed, but that didn’t stop the pelting droplets from finding their way under the hero’s eyelids.

It felt somewhat like relief, the cool water soaking through every single layer of their clothes. It eased their mind and their wounds, washed the blood from their chin and nose.

It stilled such a busy world.

On the other hand, the hero was freezing. It must’ve been at least six hours since they had had their arms wrenched behind their back and duck taped together to keep them bound to a school yard post. A singular piece covering their lips to keep them from shouting for help.

It was so simple compared to the intricate traps they had been stuck within before. Nonetheless, for some reason it was also the hardest to escape.

Partially, Hero knew it was because they had no will to. They had gone through the darkened alley behind the school knowing they were going to get jumped. They had let themselves be beaten and hogtied, they had accepted a concussion and a busted nose.

Hero knew if they were ever to talk this out with the Agency’s therapist there would be words strung out around the concept of ‘goodness’ and ‘greatness’.

Hero didn’t feel all that good—let alone great.

Hero didn’t feel anything except exhausted. So they had slumped back against the post, legs sprawled out against the asphalt, haphazardly painted with basketball gym lines.

Their arms were burning from the awkward position and consistent strain and the hero ignored it all the same. It was the weekend, so there would be no concerned teachers to save them and definitely no kids out to play in this weather. And sure, if they wanted, they could break free—they were a hero after all—but for now they just sat.

Unwilling and unwanting of any form of further freedom as the hypothermic chill coating their skin slowly reached into their bones.

“To freeze or not to freeze…” Hero’s eyes snapped open at the sudden familiar voice coming from behind them. “That is the question~” Villain’s head poked out from around the post where the hero lay still bound.

They stepped around to face the hero straight on, crouching down to meet at their level. “Sucker for punishment? Or are you just really too weak to get yourself out of some lousy tape?”

The villain grinned, even through the heavy rain the hero could practically feel the other’s heat and see their sultry eyes. They squirmed, suddenly all too uncomfortable in their position as they tried to push themselves up into a standing position.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” The criminal laughed, watching their nemesis wriggle helplessly and increasingly more desperately against their bonds. They reached up, one hand delicately cupping the hero’s face as the other ripped the duct tape off their lips in one swift movement.

Hero gasped mostly in pain, slightly due to their racing heartbeat. “Fuck— Villain—”

Gently the villain’s thumb brushed over the hero’s bottom lip, wiping the blood away with the rain water that tainted everything it could touch. Hero took in another deep breath, collecting themselves from a moment ago before looking into the villain’s eyes again.

“Need some help?”

The crime-stopper wanted to shake their head no, they wanted to spit at the villain and break free on their own, instead they mumbled an incoherent form of yes and let themselves be brought to their feet in a single pull. The villain’s hands did not leave the hero’s sides even after they were steady on their feet and Hero couldn’t help but notice just how cold they truly were without the villain’s warmth.

The villain didn’t question them a second time, once they were sure the hero could stand on their own they reached one hand into their pocket for their smaller knife. Flipping it open while their other hand still rested against the hero’s hip, wrapping their armed hand around the hero’s body to cut away the remaining tape from their arms.

And for the few seconds their bodies stayed pressed together, Hero wondered if this was close enough to be considered a hug. Then, in a sickening moment where all of the blood rushed from the hero’s head to their now free arms, they swayed and collapsed against the villain.

The criminal had barely enough time to catch them before the hero relaxed their weight completely into Villain’s chest. Head pressed into the crook or the villain’s neck, Hero’s icy fingers clawed at the fabric of their nemesis’ suit with what little energy they had left.

Hero was searching for heat, they had forgotten just exactly how badly their body craved it when they had let themselves rot against the post. Now that the villain was here though, they needed to warm up and they only wanted to while trapped in the villain’s embrace.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Hero. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” Villain reassured them, voice soft and inviting as they shifted their arms around to help walk their nemesis back to their car. “Do you know how long you’ve been out here?”

Hero took their first few shuffling steps with the villain’s support, making up for a lot of their weight. Their eyes flicked to the villain’s worried expression, “A few hours.” But they couldn’t hold their gaze.

They were ashamed now. They had been caught in their own self-destruction and saved by their mortal enemy. The person they fought tooth and nail almost every single day for the past two years.

Now that person was helping them into their car and out of the rain, where initially the hero had hoped to stay forever. How embarrassing.

The villain didn’t say much else, only answering with a curt nod before returning their focus to bearing the hero’s weight in their steps. It was safe to say the hero hadn’t expected to be as weak as they truly were and that maybe if the villain had never shown up, they wouldn’t have been able to get away.

That was worrisome. Worrisome enough to dry the hero’s mouth up in a second and send shivers down their spine.

Villain reached out, hand grabbing onto the passenger side door handle and they slowly opened it to reveal the inside of their beloved car Hero had heard about so many times in battle. Yet, they had barely even registered the walk from the school yard to the parking lot, let alone the fact that their enemy was actually helping them.

Hero looked to Villain, who gave them an assuring smile. “I’ll take care of you, or bring you straight home—no questions asked. Just don’t make me leave you out here any longer.”

That earned them a small smile.

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disillusioneddanny · 1 year

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This was inspired by this post. This will also be turned into a multi chapter fic on my ao3. You can subscribe here

But enjoy <3

Tw: talks of vivisection and abuse

Harley Quinn stumbled through the streets of Amity Park, newborn baby clutched to her chest as she furiously checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. She had done it, she had finally gotten away from Mr. J for good just six months before. If he came lookin’ for her, she would be able to handle him on her own, especially with the help of Ives. But Danny wouldn’t be able to do jack shit against his crazed sperm donor. So, Harley was doin’ what she thought would be best. She was going to ask her step-brother and see if he and his wife could take him.

If anyone would be able to protect her baby it would be Jack Fenton, her step-brother was a hulking giant of a man and while his aim may have been shit, his wife’s wasn’t. The two were scientists, ghost hunters if Harley remembered right and they would be just crazy enough to think Mr. J was a ghost if he showed his slimy face around Amity Park.

“Don’t worry Danny, they’ll keep you safe, I promise. You’re never gonna have to worry about a crazy father tryin’ to kill you or use you for his own gain, I won’t ever let that happen,” Harley said quietly before pressing a soft kiss on her son’s head and knocked on the door of Fenton Works.

His father was trying to kill him. Danny allowed his sister to drag him out of Fenton Works and to her car, head spinning, lungs burning for oxygen. Telling his parents about his ghost form had gone bad, it had gone so, so, so bad and now Jazz and Danny were running for their lives as Jack Fenton shot another ectoblast at the siblings.

“Jazz, where’re we going to go? What are we going to do? You destroyed the portal,” Danny gasped out once Jazz had shoved him into the backseat of her beat up, gray, ‘78 Volkswagen Beetle. He scrambled in just as Maddie shot in the spot he had just been occupying, his sister grunted as she took the shot. While she was liminal, she still had enough human in her that it was nothing more than feeling like she got an instant sunburn.

Jazz slammed the door shut, ignoring the shouts from the Fentons behind her as she got around to the driver’s seat and sped off, tires spinning against the pavement.

“We’re going to Aunt Harley’s,” Jazz said determinedly.

“My mother?” Danny squawked from the backseat. “Didn’t Da-Jack say she was crazy?”

“Jack’s crazy Danny! He had you strapped to a table-” Jazz stopped herself as a guttural growl escaped her lips. “Whatever. Aunt Harley will be the best option. If anyone can keep us away from the Fentons it’ll be her.”

Danny slumped down in the backseat and finally looked down at the giant cut on his chest and let out a groan. His mother. Jack and Maddie had never hesitated to tell Danny where he had come from. Jack in particular boasted about how his poor, abused sister trusted him of all people to raise her baby and keep him safe from harm.

Joke’s on him apparently considering he was the very person who had managed to hurt Danny the most. Danny wasn’t stupid, though, he had heard about Harley Quinn. The psychiatrist turned villain who was now in her own way a hero but remained the self titled Queen of Chaos. He knew that his mother was dangerous, each time she had come to visit with her pasty white, tattoo covered skin, chemically bleached hair, and slightly crazed look in her eyes, Danny knew. He knew that the reason Dan was a reality was because of his genes, because of where he came from.

He had done everything he could to make sure he wouldn’t turn out like his mother. And if his suspicions were correct, he would do everything to make sure he didn’t turn out anything like his sperm donor. There was a reason Danny hated clowns and it wasn’t just because of Freakshow.

“Do you think she’s going to be happy seeing us at her house, though? Or Aunt Ivy? She’ll probably be annoyed that we dropped in unannounced,” Danny said before reaching down and grabbing the metal box that held his first aid kit. He used his powers to thread a needle with fishing wire and bit his lip hard as he forced the needle through his skin and started to sew up where his parents had started the vivisection. It would most likely scar but Danny didn’t want to think about that right now. Danny didn’t want to think about anything right now except for the fact that they were going to his mother’s house of all places.

“Danny, your mom adores you. She didn’t drop you off at the Fenton’s to abandon you. She did it to protect you. Aunt Harley knew that she wasn’t capable of raising a baby and she did the most responsible thing she could think of. But she loves you, she’s loved you from the moment you were born,” Jazz told him, glancing in her rearview mirror to watch her baby brother sew himself up as she sped down the highway.

“And how do you know that?” Danny asked, a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth as he got to the worst part of the cut and continued with his sewing.

“Because I was there the night she brought you home. And I see it in her eyes when she comes to visit us. She loves you Danny, she was just in a bad situation,” Jazz reasoned, knuckles white on the steering wheel as she sped onto the onramp to start their journey from Amity Park, Illinois to Gotham City, New Jersey.

“And she’s just going to be happy to have her sixteen year old son randomly appear in her front door? She couldn’t take care of me then, what makes you so sure she can help us now?” Danny spat out as he finally finished his stitching and tied off the thread. He reached into the kit once more and grabbed a few of the antiseptic wipes that had been packed in and cleaned the ectoplasm-blood mixture off of his chest as best as he could before taping gauze to his chest. It wasn’t the best patch job and Frostbite would probably be horrified if he saw it, but it was the best Danny could do with a tiny first aid kit in the back of his sister's rickety car as she went well over a hundred miles per hour in a seventy.

“I think so, yeah,” Jazz admitted after a few minutes of silence. Danny let out a huff of a laugh as he struggled to sit up. “There’s a shirt in this bag,” she said, tossing him the backpack that sat in the passenger seat, the go bag for if the worst had ever come to fruition. Which it definitely had.

Danny dug through the bag and found the tried and true NASA shirt folded carefully within the bag and let out a sigh through nose as he carefully maneuvered around to get the shirt on without angering the stitches on his chest too much. Even if his mother wasn’t happy to see them or able to take care of them, she’d be able to help. She was a better option than any other.

Vlad was completely out of the picture. Dani was ancients only knew where and she wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway. Sam and Tuck still didn’t even know what had happened and Danny hadn’t decided how he was going to deal with that. Aunt Alicia would most likely call mom-Maddie if she saw them on her doorstep.

Aunt Harley was their only option now that the portal was destroyed and Danny certainly did not have the strength he would need to open a portal. Plus, Gotham had plenty of ambient ectoplasm according to Tuck’s research.

When they had first made this plan, Tucker had looked into any place that came close to having the same amounts of ectoplasm as Amity Park and Gotham had been number one on the list. So at least Danny had that going for him.

“I’m going to try to get a little bit of rest, getting cut open drains a guy,” Danny said with a chuckle, pressing the backpack into the car seat and carefully laid back down. “When I wake up, we can switch and I can drive for a bit. You need rest too.”

Jazz simply hummed in response and said nothing more as her little brother settled into the backseat and allowed sleep to take over.

“I told you I could have helped drive here,” Danny muttered as Jazz pulled into a shady looking, nondescript building.

“Danny, you had to sew yourself back up in my backseat. You needed the rest far more than I did, besides, no use in complaining, we’re here now,” Jazz said, glancing back at the tired, pouty look on her brother’s face and smiled. “Aren’t you excited to see your mom and Aunt Pam?”

“Is she technically my stepmom?” Danny asked once Jazz put the car in park and shut off the engine. She got out and went around to Danny’s door and helped her baby brother out of the car.

“Technically?” Jazz said, crinkling her nose as she thought it out. Yeah, that would make the most sense anyway. “Are you okay?” She asked as Danny winced, pressing a hand to his chest as he climbed out of the small car and leaned heavily against Jazz’s side.

“Yeah, just hurting,” he murmured and shook his head as if that would get rid of the pain. “Let’s just go.”

Jazz gave her brother a concerned look but locked her car nonetheless and started to help the boy up the stairs before she rung the doorbell.

The two tensed as they listened to footsteps stomp their way.

“Look, I’m Jewish, I ain’t interested in that Jehovah’s Witness shit,” they heard Harley shout before the door swung open.

Harley’s jaw fell open as she froze in place at the scene in front of her. The two teenagers were quite the sight. Harley had never seen the usually put together Jasmine look so frazzled as long as she had known her niece. Her son was in even worse states, if the eyebags on his face, the strange blood and green stains on his shirt, and panting told her anything.

He looked up at her tiredly, the dark circles under his eyes even darker than she had initially noticed. “Hey mom,” he said with a huff, hanging from Jasmine’s shoulders.

“Aw fuck, come in, come in,” Harley said wearily, ushering the two into the building. “Ives! I need your help!”

Harley carefully moved her niece out of the way before she quickly lifted her son into her arms and started down the hallway. “It’s okay Danny, Mama’s gotcha,” she murmured, cradling the sixteen year old boy to her chest as she carried him bridal style. Jazz followed her aunt as they made it to the living room just as Ivy came out of the bedroom looking confused.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, though, as she spotted the three before her. “Shit, I’ll get the salves,” she stated before her eyes landed on Jazz. “Come help me?”

Jazz looked between her aunt and her brother before looking back at Ivy and gulped, nodding her head once before following the eco-terrorist back into the bedroom.

“Oh sweetie,” Harley murmured, carefully setting Danny on the beat up couch. “Baby what happened to you?”

“Jack and Maddie happened,” he said with a hiss as his mother raised his shirt and took in the cuts that had been sloppily stitched up.

Harley’s eyes flicked between the incision that seeped red-green liquid and Danny’s pained face. “Jacky boy did this to you?”

Danny nodded, letting out a whimper. “It’s a long story,” he said as his mom traced a finger over the cuts, the pieces connecting in her brain.

Harley Quinn was a lot of things but she was not stupid. She may not have gotten the chance to visit her son as often as she wanted but the last time she had seen him she had noticed something was different about him. She had been around Ivy long enough to know when someone had gained powers that they barely had control over. She had noticed the way her son’s eyes would flash a startling green whenever his emotions got out of hand. Noticed the way he was colder than before and how his shoulders looked as though they carried the entire world on them.

She didn’t know what had happened to her son or what it had done to him, but she knew he was more than human now. She had seen that plenty of times before. And it looks like the Fentons had discovered this and decided that Danny was one of their new experiments.

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” She asked bluntly, recognizing the toxic ectoplasm that seemed from between her son’s stitches. “Not all the way but somethin’ happened and they didn’t like it.”

“Yeah. I uh, I was fourteen, didn’t kill me all the way, just enough for me to be considered a ghost and you know how mom-Maddie and Jack are about ghosts,” Danny said just as Ivy and Jazz came back with towels, wet rags, and salves to cover the incisions.

Harley raised her eyes from Danny’s wounds and looked her son in the eyes. “I’m gonna kill ‘em,” she snarled, snatching a wet rag from Ivy and started to better clean the wound. “I’m gonna murder them and then when they turn into ghosts I’ll give ‘em a taste of their own medicine,” she said, hands gentle as she cleaned around the wound.

“You’re going to need to redo those stitches,” Ivy said softly, sitting beside Danny’s head and taking it in her lap as she ran her fingers through the black locks, trying to distract her wife’s son from the stinging pain he was likely feeling.

“There’s no point, the wound will be closed by tomorrow,” Jazz said quietly and handed a warm, dry towel to Harley after she had finished cleaning the incisions and carefully patted the skin dry. She then took the salve and carefully coated it over her son’s chest.

“Don’t kill them,” Danny said quietly, taking his mother’s hand in his and squeezed the pale hand in his. “Just, mom, just protect me. Please?” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Harley let out a sigh and squeezed her son’s hand tight. “Baby, I’ll always protect you,” she promised, still feeling her chest burn in anger at the fact that her step-brother, the one person on this earth she had trusted to take care of her son had caused him this much pain. Jack and Maddie Fenton would rue the day they hurt Harley Quinn’s baby.

#dp x dc #DPXDC #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fanfiction #dc x dp prompt

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lightwise · 18 days

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Hidden Monsters

For some reason this has been a bear (dragon, Vrathean, pick your Star Wars creature) to write, but I realized after this last episode of TBB that there was more to the “monster of the week” trope that we all love to get tired of in Star Wars, and specifically for our beloved Batch members. I believe that some of the main “monsters” each member of the Batch has faced and could face represent inner turmoil and the storms/dark things within that each of them has had to wrestle with. The choices each of them have made to tame or calm or live with the creatures they have encountered, instead of automatically killing them or choosing violence against them, is a powerful metaphor. Something that looks like a monster on the outside may not necessarily be a monster on the inside, when cared for and acknowledged properly.

Echo and the Rishi Eel

Echo’s very first mission on Rishi station involved a giant monster, a droid army invasion, watching his superior officer die in front of him, and losing most of his squad along with the entire outpost he had been assigned to help defend. After the Rishi station is overrun by battle droids, Echo, Fives, Hevy, and Cutup escape through an air vent only to land in the middle of what turns out to be the Rishi eel’s nest. Echo is second to last in line and has to watch as Cutup is snatched up by the eel right behind him and swallowed whole. Echo is the only one to look back and commemorate Cutup with his name and a sigh before they have to keep moving. He does the same at the end of the episode when they lose Hevy, thanking him for his self sacrifice. Echo’s mind—strategic, careful, hesitant, wanting to do the right thing—is always on his brothers and their safety, and his own fears and questioning give way to courage and determination as he watches his brothers do what needs to be done.

This formative experience is literally emblazoned on Echo’s chest and becomes part of his identity when Rex shoots the eel in the eye, wipes some of its blood on his hand, and presses it against Echo’s armor as he encourages him to keep going. This combination of bravery, looking death in the eye, and holding compassion for each of his brothers as they fall continues to be a running theme throughout Echo’s character arc—from holding 99 in his arms as he dies, to hanging in the Techno Union chamber where his mind and body were used to hunt down the brothers he loved, to overcoming the changes and loss he’s experienced and finding a new family with the Batch and Omega, to coming full circle and joining Rex to help free his brothers from the Empire’s grip. He has had to watch as brother after brother is taken away from him, but he has learned how to keep going in the face of loss. These experiences bring out who he is—caring, loyal, brave, resolute, and a symbol of endurance—and trace back to the very first monster he had to face.

Hunter, Omega, and the Ordo Moon Dragon

In season 1 the Batch is newly on the run from Kamino after Order 66, finding Omega, and losing Crosshair. They crash onto an uninhabited planet and while trying to repair their ship, an Ordo Moon Dragon makes off with their capacitor, leaving them stranded. Like the Zillo beast seen in season 2, it feeds on energy but is actually peaceful when not provoked. Hunter wants to track it down, by himself, but Omega insists on accompanying him. While tracking the creature, Omega brings up Crosshair’s absence, and Hunter is unwilling to even say Crosshair’s name, and he is very uncomfortable with the conversation. He is unwilling and unable to face his demons right now, and instead is wallowing in self-blame. Hunter won’t be able to fully face his inner turmoil until Crosshair returns and they encounter the Wyrm on Barton IV, another dragon-like creature which also burrows underground (although it is much, much larger, and more harmful than the Ordo Moon Dragon, signifying how much Hunter’s avoidance and resentment grows over time as it is not dealt with). It’s also interesting that this episode cuts back and forth to Crosshair fully under the influence of the chip and wiping out Saw Gurerra’s insurgents in a very violent manner.

Hunter ends up being knocked out by the creature and Omega takes her flashlight and his blaster to complete the mission, going alone into the tunnels where the dragon lives. What Omega learns is that she doesn’t need the blaster to deal with the situation. As scary as it is, she doesn’t have to kill the dragon or use violence against it, as it’s simply hungry and looking for food. The terrifying creature becomes a thing of beauty, green electric shocks running over its rainbow colored body, illuminating the tunnel and Omega’s face as it feeds on the flashlight she throws to it in exchange for their capacitor. The visuals mimic the teal and green rippling over the Vrathean that Omega and Ventress encounter and have to calm down in season 3 (more on that further on).

However, this wasn’t Omega’s mission. It was Hunter’s, but she ends up completing it for him. Omega learns a valuable lesson here, which fits in with her natural tendencies of drawing both people and animals to her caring, compassionate nature instead of judging them based on appearance, but I’m not sure that this was her ultimate trial in facing her own inner demons. (See my thoughts on why this is important at the end of this essay in the Ventress section.) This also was a failed attempt for Hunter, and he would end up facing his trial again in The Return in season 3.

Wrecker and the Rancor (Muchi)

Wrecker was introduced as a character whose expertise is in explosives and making things blow up. He lives for making a ruckus and having a good time, but his strengths are engineered to be used for destruction.

Much of Wrecker’s character arc in season 1 is learning how to become more of an adult/parental figure for Omega, and how to put his own desires and needs aside in order to help take care of hers (letting her eat first, making a room for her in the gunners nest, watching out for her). In Rampage, the Batch is charged with rescuing a “child,” who they eventually find out is a young, ornery, and decidedly huge Rancor. Wrecker is the only one of them strong enough to sedate the creature after a lengthy bout of essentially hand to hand “combat.” They needed to bring Muchi back alive and Wrecker ends up gaining mutual affection and respect with her. Muchi is now calm and tamed enough that Omega can ride on her back with no fear or worry of danger.

Rancors adhere to a strict social and familial hierarchy, and have to challenge the alpha for authority. Wrecker starts out brash and boastful, and even though he is always caring, he becomes much more aware of his surroundings and his standing in their family unit as he grows in his responsibilities toward Omega. Rampage is shortly before his chip goes off, where he almost kills his entire squad. While his brute strength is an asset when used in the right ways, it is lethal if used for the wrong ones, and through his family bonds (especially with Omega) Wrecker is ultimately able to overcome the worst, chipped version of who he had been made to be, and instead be a source of safety and strength for Omega and his family.

Tech and the Zillo Beast

The Zillo beast is a marvel amongst Star Wars creatures. Its armor is impenetrable and highly valuable, and it feeds almost exclusively on energy, which allows it to become larger and morph into an even more powerful creature. When the Batch encounters it in season 2 in Metamorphasis, it tries to attack all of them, but Tech is the only one who is “fascinated” by the creature rather than scared of it. Similar to the Zillo beast feeding on energy, Tech’s mind was what he was known for, and he “fed” it by constantly consuming and integrating data about the world around him (which is transmitted by energy currents). During this episode Tech is confident in his own capabilities and extremely interested in learning more about the cloning technologies they were uncovering on this crashed ship. Tech’s research on the Zillo beast, while helpful, unfortunately comes too late and the Batch are unable to either put down or recapture the creature before it grows too strong for them to deal with. In the process, the Zillo beast escapes and is eventually recaptured by the Empire.

I’ve always been fascinated by the point in this episode where Tech is downloading the rest of the information from the terminal onto his data pad, and Hunter warns Omega that Imperials are inbound. She immediately tells Tech they need to go, and he refuses for a moment, saying he needs to finish capturing the data. If Omega did not pressure him to leave (and the electricity go out), he very well could have been standing there when ships bomb their location a few moments later, and gotten both himself and Omega killed for no good reason. At this moment his love of knowledge is overpowering his common sense and his love for his family, and it almost costs him everything.

Contrast this to a few moments later when he pulls Omega out of danger as they leave the ship, and Plan 99 when he chooses to sacrifice himself not for his own gain, but solely so his family has a chance to live. He had to face his greatest asset where it could also be his greatest failure, and learn how to prioritize and wield his strengths.

Crosshair and the Vulture

In The Outpost in season 2, Crosshair has spent almost two seasons engulfed in poor choices made both against his will (the chip), and of his own volition (staying with the Empire no matter what in pursuit of a sense of purpose and loyalty). His decisions are starting to grate on him and have led him down a dark path, but he hasn’t been fully ready to find a way to change them. When he lands on the icy planet of Barton IV, he encounters fearsome ice vultures shrieking overhead. He is told by the outpost’s commanding clone officer, Mayday, that the creatures are vicious, but admirable, because they find a way to survive.

Vultures signify both death and cleansing and are often feared and viewed with disgust, yet are an integral part of nature. Crosshair’s isolation and status as a clone soldier have put him in a precarious and often misjudged position, in ways he doesn’t even fully realize until this episode. His very life is in danger due to the Empire’s stance toward the clones, but so far Crosshair has believed that he is valuable to the Empire in ways that the regular clones are not. This attitude and perspective are severely challenged by Lieutenant Nolan, who speaks contemptuously both about and to every clone he encounters. Nolan’s lack of respect for them as soldiers, as officers, and even as people, is an extreme look at what Crosshair’s callousness and misplaced loyalty could lead him to if he is not careful. His fate is hanging in the balance.

After being sent on an inhumane mission to retrieve two crates of armor in a blinding snowstorm, Crosshair and Mayday are caught in an avalanche. After coming up out of the snow gasping for air, Crosshair could choose to get himself back to base and leave Mayday behind. Find a way to survive in the cold on his own, but kill the last of his compassion and personal values in the process. Instead, he chooses to put his life even more at risk to bring Mayday along with him.

Unfortunately for both of them, when they get back to base, Nolan has zero sympathy for their self-sacrifice, and allows Mayday to die unceremoniously on the platform from his wounds. Once again, a vulture is circling overhead, waiting to partake of its next meal. It signifies the threat of death but also Crosshair’s struggle and desire to survive. Crosshair is now staring his own lack of value and expendability in the face, and where he finds himself is now fully intolerable. He cannot continue on the way he has been without the very essence of who he is breaking irreparably in the process. Does he reclaim who he is, a compassionate and forceful individual who protects those he cares about? Or does he fall in line with what the Empire wants from him, knowing he will be discarded regardless?

Crosshair integrates his lesson in a visceral manner, his own personal traits mimicking the very essence of the ice vulture as he finally reorients his moral compass, takes a stand for himself and for his clone brothers, and takes vengeance on Lieutenant Nolan. His caution and inner turmoil are channeled into one desperate act as he becomes an agent/angel of death, the framing of the scene creating vulture-like wings spread on either side of him. He doesn’t expect to survive this encounter, choosing a path that looks like death on the outside but is cleansing and redeeming for him on the inside. He can now face the future as his whole, integrated self.

Hunter, Crosshair, the Vulture, and the Wyrm

The vulture and its meaning for Crosshair, as well as Hunter’s cut-short encounter with the Ordo Moon Dragon, both have their bookends in season 3’s episode The Return. Crosshair has seen immense character growth after his choices in The Outpost, and has not only redeemed himself but has been given the chance to start reconciling with everyone he has hurt. This episode has two creatures that serve two important purposes: the vulture returns as a metaphor for Crosshair’s need to reconcile with and forgive himself, and a new creature, a giant wyrm (nice Dune reference there, Star Wars) highlights the fractured rift between him and Hunter, and the anger, distrust, and resentment that Hunter has been running from since Aftermath.

The Batch has returned to Barton IV, and Crosshair is greeted by the ice vulture as they land. The weather is calm and clear this time, and the creature is observing him but not in a threatening way. At the same time, tensions rise to a breaking point between Hunter and Crosshair and a long-awaited argument starts between them. Before it can be resolved, the wyrm erupts out of the ground and puts all of their lives in danger. It had been kept at bay previously by high-pitched noises, (oddly similar to Hunter’s enhanced senses, which he has been so distracted from that he wasn’t aware of the danger ahead of time) and lived underneath the same snow that had buried Crosshair and Mayday.

In their efforts to draw the creature away from the outpost so they can turn the sensors back on, Hunter falls through the snow into the wyrm’s tunnels. Crosshair has already had his inner journey underneath the snow on Barton IV. This time, Hunter has to finally face his own struggles. Every step of the way he has been running and hiding, trying to keep his family and Omega safe by keeping them away from the Empire, away from Crosshair, away from danger, but failing miserably. This time, Hunter could simply let Crosshair haul him back up to the surface when he reaches the spot where Crosshair and Batcher have dug a hole in the ice to pull him out. But he hasn’t confirmed that the wyrm is actually past the boundary and that it is safe to turn the perimeter sensors back on. This time, Hunter stays below the surface, and keeps himself in harms way until he is absolutely sure that his family is safe and that his own emotions have been worked through. He is starting to take responsibility for his journey. His senses start to kick in again and he refuses to leave the tunnel until the wyrm is barreling down his neck, and then he finally accepts Crosshair’s help. Both of them run to safety, the perimeter beacons turn on, and the wyrm is now on the other side of an invisible barrier of sound, harmless and chastened until it finally slinks away.

The boys exchange glances and nods. Their rift has been bridged and they are both willing to move forward, together. This is proven by the end of the episode, where Crosshair, who has remained closed off and unwilling to discuss what he’s been through, opens up slightly to Hunter before they leave, and Hunter responds with forgiveness, acknowledgement, and hope for the future. And for now, it’s enough. Crosshair looks into the sky and watches the ice vulture flying overhead once again. Except this time, it flies off into the sunset, signifying that his lessons from this planet have been fully learned, that the spirit of survival in the face of death that he has been carrying with him can now be put towards living and thriving again. Both Hunter and Crosshair are leaving slightly more whole than when they first arrived, both as individuals and in their restored relationship with each other.

Ventress, Omega, and the Vrathean

Omega gets a second chance at taming a terrifying creature in The Harbinger in season 3. After Asajj Ventress shows up on Pabu to help the Batch figure out the m-count conundrum that makes Omega’s blood so valuable to the Empire, (and after Omega has begged her to stay and test her capabilities), she and Omega go out onto the ocean to test Omega’s potential Force sensitivity. (Also after Ventress had to whoop the boys’ backsides to get them to slightly trust her, but we won’t go into that here).

Throughout this season, (and really for most of her life), Omega has…not been doing well. Her time on Tantiss, leaving the rest of the clones imprisoned there behind when she and Crosshair escaped, and the relentless pursuit of her by the Empire has truly traumatized her and made her single-mindedly want to know why she is always in danger and putting everyone else around her in danger as well. Her mental health has been spiraling a bit and her inner turmoil is starting to rival Crosshair’s in season 2. She knows that m-count is important and is also thrilled at Ventress mentioning the Jedi, while the rest of the Batch and Ventress herself are very somber about the prospect that Omega might have Force capabilities. However, in her desire to have answers, she ends up being very impatient and frustrated and doesn’t even show her typical level of optimism and concentration in working through Ventress’ tests for her. It’s almost like her goal (finding answers) is at odds with what her idea of finding those answers looks like.

After having tried and failed to “reach out” to the Force to summon anything, Omega pouts and sits back down in the boat, seemingly defeated. Ventress has asked her to try to connect to nature, probably because she has seen Omega’s connection to Batcher and assumes that might be more in line with whatever her gifting might be. Two of Omega’s main traits and strengths are her optimism in the face of defeat, and her compassion toward literally every living thing she encounters. She is always curious, generous, caring, and wanting to connect with others. Which makes it even more curious that she is so easily stumped and disconnected by this exercise. She challenges Ventress to prove why *she* is the best person to be teaching Omega this lesson, and Ventress sighs but gently and carefully shows her powers by calling up a school of glowing green fish from the water. “I’m not the one holding back,” she tells Omega.

After a peaceful moment, however, another creature, this time a giant and tentacled Vrathean, emerges from the water as well and starts hunting Ventress and Omega down. It’s unclear if Ventress actually called the creature up herself or not, but if she did it was not intentional. She helps rescue Omega from the creature’s clutches and then chooses to put herself in more danger by letting it grab her, and communing with it through the Force as it tries to eat her. The deadly creature becomes a thing of astonishing beauty as the color of the sea ripples over its body and its eyes soften and recognize Ventress as a sentient being.

This is where it gets interesting, because this peacefulness, calm, and compassion is not something we would have associated with prior versions of Ventress. Her experiences and growth throughout the Clone Wars, her associations with Ahsoka and Quinlan, and her choices have turned her into a much softer and stronger version of herself. This has now become her trial by allowing her to showcase just how much she has changed, and how much her own worldview has flipped.

This is an incredible example for Omega, but similar to how she took Hunter’s trial for him in Replacement, Ventress has now filled what was supposed to be hers. This begs the question, what is Omega actually holding back on? Is she really Force sensitive? Or is just her compassion and tenderness toward everyone around her overtaking her in unhealthy ways? She has always had a tendency to put herself in harms way in an attempt to make up for the complications her presence brings her brothers.

Omega will have to face these implied monsters at some point. I’m not actually certain that she will end up facing a creature like everyone else has—there’s the possibility that because she naturally has more affinity with creatures and beings that look monstrous but really aren’t, she may end up facing her inner demons in another manner. Will it be a person instead? Or a choice? Even, might I say, an identity crisis? It remains to be seen, but the fact that she must face it in order to overcome and integrate it is unquestionable.

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fire-lizard-ro · 9 months

Text

SO UHHHHH- Beware the darker themes ahead. I know people were probably expecting more smut from me, but I find it hard to write smut for the Aeons??? Who even knows how that would actually work-

Anyways sorry for the lack of smut. OTL

I will feed y’all some good Geppie smut later!

GN reader

CW: mentions of death, permanent maiming, breaking bones, sadistic and obsessive tendencies, loss of self

Lemme know if I missed anything. T-T

I didn’t really get into it as much as I could have, so I don’t think it’s too bad. But still read that CW, please-

When it comes to the Aeons, I refuse to believe that they understand human conventions, morals, or ways of love. I think that with them, it's very easy for them to be a yandere??? Sorta?

Once they are interested in you, they won't immediately take you. They'll likely observe you, being interested in figuring out what it is that had them interested in you in the first place.

But slowly they become more convinced that you are someone they want to keep by their side.

Once they've decided that you should stay by their side, they'd likely kidnap you???

And I feel like as an Aeon who doesn't empathize with human emotions just has to keep you because you make them feel something truly novel- Is this that "love" that they always heard those humans talk about? That thing that they strive for yet the Aeons couldn't possibly hope to understand? So no matter how far you try to run, they'll find you.

Yaoshi

With this particular Aeon, I can see their love being one that is harmful for humans no matter how sweetly they put it.

They don't understand why you don't want the protection of their path and the blessing of everlasting life they can give you. :((

At some point, they'll likely give you the curse of mara, turning you into something you aren't. It's all because they love you and can't bear to see your mortal form crumble to nothing over the years and your life come to an end. They just couldn't accept that. So one day they tell you sweetly to close your eyes because they have a gift for you. One that you can keep... forever.

They understands that it will hurt. Yes. They understand that you'll lose your humanity and really your sense of being- But that's okay! They can take care of you. They'll never let you feel pain or suffering after this moment. You'll just have to take this moment of pain to have an eternity with them. Okay? :))

Honestly I can't really see why any of the Aeons would keep a human or other mortal around when what they pursue is something that mortal minds cannot truly fathom. Like with Nanook....

Nanook

(Disclaimer: what I said with Yaoshi? Y e a h - THIS ONE IS DEFINITELY HARMFUL TO HUMANS AND IT’S NOT EVEN PUT IN A SWEET WAY LIKE WITH YAOSHI.)

They are literally seeking the destruction of all things. Those who follow the Path of Destruction even sacrifice their own health and bodies in order to gain power in battle. The Path of the Destruction is one that seeks the end of all things. But maybe there's a slim chance that despite seeking to destroy all creation, they would find you oddly charming. A cute little thing that they cannot seem to take their eyes away from. Somehow, to them, you are just as beautiful as the fiery destruction they seek to bring to the universe.

Obsessively watching you and doing whatever they please to you. Keeping you close at all times, trapped in their embrace as though their hands were a living cage. Again- No matter where you run, no matter where you hide… they’ll find you. Their love is also Very Harmful to Humans TM. Holds you far too tight without really realizing it. But if you try to pry their large fingers off or you squirm too much… they only squeeze harder. To the point that you feel your skin bruising, flesh becoming sore and your very bones creaking. If you actually manage to get away from them somehow, I’m not sure what will happen to you. Not to mention the fact that it will be very VERY hard to run once you’ve escaped. Aeons can probably traverse the universe at speeds unfathomable. And their piercing gazes leave no stone unturned. How could you hope to hide from such all-seeing eyes? How can you hide from an Aeon? Once they’ve caught you again… you probably aren’t getting away. They may break you a bit. Juuust a but. Enough to discourage a second escape attempt- And maybe even enough to make that second attempt impossible. You don’t really need to walk if they’re always holding you, right? Maybe if they… break your legs? Careful you don’t anger them any more than that- Paralysis from the waist down is also a dangerous, but possible option. You may be broken after that, but they’re the Aeon of Destruction. You’ll be beautiful to them even broken. :))

At some point, if this was you second attempt and you’re somehow able to get away without them breaking your legs- Or hell maybe they did but you are just stubborn enough to devise a way to run away again (though likely not on those twisted legs of yours). Point is- If this is not your first attempt at escape, it’s likely that word of what happened the first time has spread. I doubt there’d be a planet in the galaxy willing to harbor you when Nanook could easily raze their cities to the ground and destroy the very planet they live on.

Nanook is the Most Dangerous of the Aeons to catch the attention of. Because I think with them, the most realistic thing would be that you are always one wrong step away from becoming a beautifully broken thing. The grand and beautiful destruction this Aeon sought. For what greater love is there than making you an example of their reason for being, right? Right? :)))

Or maybe it’s because they cannot be bothered with you if you become too much of a hassle even if they fancy you. I’m not really sure how Aeons really work, soooo…. I’d honestly be careful around this one… Even though I’m sure most would be considering their intimidating stature and nature.

Lan

I wonder if Lan would find it fun to let you think you’d escaped them only to hunt you down. I mean. They are the Aeon of the Hunt. Yes that means more than just that, but. I can see it. Some sort of sadistic glee they have in the fear in your eyes, the pounding in your heart, and the panicked breaths you take when realizing they’ve found you again. But they’d never hurt you! No, no, no- They certainly wouldn’t… Right?

I don’t think there’d be any getting away from the Aeon of Nihility. 💀

I mean- Considering what happened in the Simulated Universe when meeting IX, I think you know why. I don’t know too much about them and no longer have many spoons for this so ye.

Maybe will write more about the Aeons later.

Sorry for any wack writing and typos it’s ass o’clock and it’s time for my eepy ass to go mimimimimimi- Might fix it eventually if I catch it.

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uzuikyo · 11 months

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take me by the hand

inspired by this tiktok video that shattered my fucking heart </3 i couldn't stop crying after seeing that video send a therapist

pairing/s : akaza x fem!reader

genre : angst, fluff, smut maybe

warning/s : major character death, mentions of infertility, pregnancy, fingering, shower sex, pregnant sex, childbirth (normal & c-section), stillbirth (the baby suffocated from the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck), self-harm, suicide, everything’s just mostly sad and depressing, ): poor akaza, (pls forgive me if some of my medical knowledge or writing are inaccurate), also it was 2am when i wrote this so if there are some grammar or spelling mistakez, i apologize >.<

wc : 3.3k

ON REPEAT 🔂

🎧 understand x pluto projector (keshi, rex orange county)

“congratulations! we’re all sooo happy for the both of you!” your best friend, mitsuri, had tears forming in her eyes as she gently pulled you in a hug to not squeeze you and the life growing inside of you. you hugged her back, thanking her as you tried calming her down.

you accepted her gift after pulling away from each other, placing it on the table just for all the presents and gifts. you were feeling kind of overwhelmed as you did not expect this many of them.

your husband saw you and felt your anxiousness. “darling,” you hummed, looking at him. “you okay?” akaza had that soft look in his eyes like he always did ever since you two got together. you nod, “just a little overwhelmed is all. i didn’t know it was going to be such a big deal or something.” you chuckled and akaza let out a small smile, placing a hand on the small of your back and rubbed soothing circles on it.

“everything’s going to be fine. i’m going to be beside you. always. i know my soon to be princess needs her mommy and daddy.” he placed a hand on your round belly and kissed your forehead before both of you went on with the celebration.

all of your friends and family attended the baby shower and all of them were very happy for the both of you to be finally having a child of your own after years of babysitting and stealing your sister’s and mitsuri’s kids and after years of trying for one yourselves.

you and akaza always took it slow and patiently ever since your obgyn informed you about having a low percentage of conceiving a child. this, however, did not stop your lovely husband from adoring you and even told you that it doesn’t matter if you were able to give him one. kids or not, he still loved you no matter what and that was enough to make you feel better.

although you do admit that other women who were able to conceive in just a few tries made you feel insecure and jealous. it made you question yours and your husband’s relationship, but akaza always knew how to reassure you and make your mind be at ease. and you loved him even more for that.

you couldn’t ask for a better husband than akaza.

“akaza!” you giddily shouted from the bathroom and your husband was in your sight in a second. “well?” you showed him the result of all the the pregnancy tests. it all read ‘positive’.

“all three of them.” you said, tears forming in your eyes. “akaza…” a sob escaped from your mouth when he picked you up and spun you around. “we’re having a baby!” his blue eyes were filled with excitement and love as he looked at your tear-stained face. “i love you so much, darling.”

akaza put you down and kissed you like the world was ending. you pulled away, resting your forehead on his but you couldn’t stare at him for too long so you buried your face in his chest, uncontrollably sobbing. “thank you for being patient with me-“

“hey, i don’t wanna hear it. i told you, didn’t i? i don’t care as long as i have you with me.” akaza mumbled in your hair, caressing your back. “but right now we have received what we’ve been wanting for a long time. and i thank the gods for that.”

akaza was there with you for every check ups and ultrasound. you remember how smiley he was when he got the very first ultrasound pictures of your baby from the doctor. his smile got wider when the doctor added how healthy your baby was in that moment that you felt like his mouth would tore apart.

first trimester

“babe.”

akaza groaned from the light taps on his shoulder. slowly opening his eyes, he looked at the clock which read 2:48am. “you need anything, darling? is something hurting or bothering you?” his raspy voice indicates how he’s trying to stay awake.

akaza fully opened his eyes and immediately got up when he saw the tears im your eyes. “i’m craving some mangoes. and pickles.” your reply made him think about whether to laugh or curse at himself, but he eventually pulled you closer to him, trying to soothe you by caressing your hair.

“shh, it’s okay. i got you, baby. you’re not bothering me. i told you i would be right beside you, right?”

every midnight and 3am cravings were fully satisfied with a sleepless and tired akaza in the morning. everytime he would get up to buy or prepare your pregnancy cravings, he would make sure you eat well and go back to sleep which leads to him not being able to go back to sleep. although sometimes he does try, cuddling in bed with you and just waiting until he falls back asleep— which sometimes works.

akaza also dealt with your crazy mood swings during the first trimester.

how you would cry over as simple as not being able to fit in your old jeans anymore, or because the whole tub of ice cream that only you ate ran out. or it may also because of a character that died in a movie or series you’re watching.

how you would snap at him over the littlest things. like not holding your hands, or not giving his attention to you immediately, or not being able to answer your calls within the first ring.

and how you would laugh at literally everything. from rengoku saying his famous “umai!” everytime he eats, to mitsuri’s kids running around and trying not to fall face flat on the ground. also, how you laugh at every serious conversations and scenarios you’re in.

lastly, akaza was the most careful as if he was the one pregnant. he did not let you do any straining activities— even exercising or walking around too much! because he knew that this part of the pregnancy stage was the most crucial one.

and you understood that. you didn’t mind his overprotective nature since this was your first child and both of you you did not want anything bad happening to you and the baby.

second trimester

your bump was more visible now and you can kind of feel the additional weight on your body. you started buying more maternity clothes because most of your bottoms won’t even fit your waist anymore.

the little human inside you also started to kick in your womb. you and akaza would always wait for the baby to kick in the morning right after you wake up and whenever you were doing something exciting as you noticed your baby always responds to happy emotions. like when you’re laughing too much or eating your favorite foods.

akaza was still tending to your every needs and cravings. although it wasn’t as bad as the first few weeks of your pregnancy, but the mood swings were still there.

however as the cravings faded, your hormones started to spike up.

“babe- fuck, are you sure you’re okay with this?” akaza tries his best to hold back, but you always pushes him to his limits. “yes, akaza, please. need you right now.” you ran your hands from his naked chest to his lower abdomen, teasing the waistband of his boxers.

his fingers dipped inside your panties, gently sliding over your now wet slit. “already so wet for me, baby?” you nodded, cheeks flushed as you moaned from the feeling. “please- need to feel you inside me already.”

akaza placed his lips on yours along with the slip of one finger inside you, making you gasp in his mouth. “keep making those noises for me, pretty girl.” he groaned, adding another finger.

“f-fuck, yes-h-haa…” the kiss turned sloppy as his fingers moved faster, his other hand playing with your swollen tits. “look how pretty these tits are. so soft and swollen, hmm-“ you sighed, neck falling back onto the pillow as he sucked on your nipple, his other fingers playing with the other.

“‘m cumming- fuck! a-ah.. akaza-“

akaza curled his fingers inside you, hitting the spot once again as you finally released. your white juices staining the bedsheets as you tried to catch your breath.

“you need help bathing?” you nodded at your husband, smiling sheepishly. “yes please, i can’t clean my legs cuz of my tummy.” you pouted and he chuckled, “alright, ma, i’ll help you. like i always do.” akaza winked at you, and you lightly smacked him on the chest.

with a hand on your elbow and another on your waist, akaza helped you step in the tub, carefully guiding you down to sit as you held your growing tummy.

akaza made sure you were relaxed and settled before letting you go and grabbing the loofah, pouring a good amount of your favorite body wash. you sighed, closing your eyes as he began scrubbing and washing your body— starting with your shoulders and chest area.

"thank you," you mumbled, leaning your head against his chest as he continued on gently scrubbing your tummy and down your legs. "this is the best that i can do since you're doing all the hard work for our baby." he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

after your body and hair were all washed up, akaza got you a towel and carefully helped you get out of the tub to dry you. "lotion?" you nodded at your husband's question and he happily grabbed the bottle of lotion and started applying some on your back, softly massaging every area.

it was such an intimate and peaceful feeling. you were looking at him through the mirror as he was doing it and you let out a moan when he started massaging your breasts. "that feels good?" you nodded, letting out a whine when he suddenly pinched your nipples. "akaza!"

"wanna make you feel good.." he hummed, enjoying how you looked so naked and pretty in front of the mirror. akaza sat you down on the vanity and softly kissed you. your hands wrapping around the back of his neck automatically as the feeling between your thighs made you clench them together.

akaza pulled away and started kissing down your neck. his hands making their way back to your tender breasts and kneading them. "akaza.." you moaned, grinding your hips on his as you felt him get harder under his sweatpants.

"i know darling," akaza felt your wetness the moment his fingers touched your aching center. "fuck, already so wet for me." he pushed one finger in, then another, making you gasp. "more, f-fuck- akaza, more!" you moaned, feeling frustrated from how his fingers wasn't enough to satisfy you.

"just need to make sure you'll be okay, baby. fuck-" he continued pushing his fingers in and out of you, making sure you were feeling good but also comfortable in the countertop you were sitting at. he kissed your cheeks when he saw that you were close. "cum f'me, pretty girl."

you let yourself release the knot inside of you as your mouth formed an 'o', holding tight onto akaza's arms as you came. "that's my good girl. i love you so much," he kissed you passionately, and you responded, hands travelling down the band of his sweatpants to pull it down.

akaza helped you take it off and you bit your lip at the sight of his hard cock. "need it inside me, please." akaza hummed, "anything for my pretty girl." you stroked him a few times before lining the tip up your entrance. "let me do all the work, mmkay? don't want you tiring yourself." he gave you a peck and slowly pushed inside your needy entrance.

"ha-aah, s-so good-" you grabbed onto the back of his neck, watching as his whole length entered you with the sound of akaza groaning loudly. "you feel so fucking good." akaza pulled you in for a kiss and started thrusting in and out of your cunt.

both of you were moaning in each others mouths, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging on it everytime akaza pushes deeper inside you, making the man groan. "yes, right there! ah!-" your forehead were on his as your mouth opened into a silent moan.

"are you close, my love?" akaza adjusted his pace, still being gentle as to not strain you too much nor the baby. "yes, mhmm- fuuck!" you cried out, looking at akaza with the most pretty yet lustful eyes. "let it all out darling, cum with me." both of you came, releasing the loudest moans and groans as akaza caught you in his arms before you went limp.

"i love you, my darling."

third trimester

you loathed your third trimester. you felt so heavy and tired. as well as uncomfortable, because of how round you felt. but you kept on telling yourself to stay strong for your baby. that you had a few weeks left before you can welcome her into the world.

akaza always tried his best to help you carry all the weight by holding your tummy whenever your standing up. like when your cooking, or getting ready. "i know this sounds easier said than done, but just two more weeks and we're going to see our baby."

for the last for weeks of your pregnancy, you've been going to the doctor once a week just to make sure everything is set once you give birth and that the baby is healthy.

you've also been staying inside more since you mostly felt like shit. all the weight on your tummy makes your body hurts, especially your back and waist. thankfully, your husband is there to give you a massage whenever you need one.

"i look like a ball," you pouted, talking to yourself as you were observing yourself in the mirror. akaza looked at you from his office chair at home, and smiled. "no you don't, you look like a strong, pregnant woman to me."

you frowned at him. "you're not the one carrying a whole human in him, are you?" he chuckled, raising both arms to accept defeat.

"you're ready to push, you're at 10cm already." the doctor alerted all the nurses as they began setting up the room for you and your baby once she comes out to the world. "is dad going to be with you during the whole birth?" the doctor asked, and you felt akaza hold your hand. "yes."

"okay momma, i need you to push in one, two, three!"

everything got so blurry after that. you could hear akaza telling you soothing phrases while the doctor was telling you to push and be strong. you were screaming, crying, and pushing for what felt like forever until you heard the doctor say, "i've got the head!"

you were so tired and exhausted that you didn't even realize that everyone was acting so frantically. the nurses were running everywhere, and the doctor was shouting things you couldn't comprehend although you heard the word "suffocating".

akaza was told to wait outside, and eventhough he was confused and nervous, he did what he was told to do for the sake of you and the baby.

you woke up in a different room from the one you were in earlier. the fatigue was still in your system, but you were eager to see your baby, so you tried sitting up only to feel a shooting pain in your lower abdomen.

akaza immediately stood up when he noticed you moving. your brows furrowed when you noticed his swollen, red eyes, and his overall dishveled state. "how's the baby?" you excitedly asked, only to receive a sad smile from your husband as a reply. "akaza?"

"where's our baby? is she healthy? did the nurse take her out to clean?" akaza's heart shattered when he saw the excitement and hope in your eyes slowly disappear. "darling.." you shook your head at him, terror coating your face as the tears just started pouring from your tired eyes.

"no, no, no, no!" you started thrashing around, not giving a fuck about the pain in your abdomen, eager to remove all the cords and needles attached to you just to see your baby. akaza immediately hugged you tightly, trying to stop you from hurting yourself further while whispering, "i'm sorry, my love. it's not your fault. i promise."

you kept on shouting "no!" and "my baby!" and it alarmed the nurses stationed near your room as they came in to check on you. your doctor soon came in and once you calmed down, she explained everything. about how the baby suddenly changed position and that the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, causing her to suffocate. they also had to give you a c-section in order to get her out of you which explains the pain on your lower abdomen.

everyone was devastated when they heard the news. it was hard. no one could compare to a mother losing their child. mitsuri and your family tried visiting you, but you turned all of them away. you didn't want to feel ashamed and embarassed for failing to bring your baby safely in this world.

akaza knew you were more devastated than anything else, but deep inside he also felt defeated and broken. it was his first ever child. your first ever child. you both waited so patiently for one and she got taken away from you so quickly and suddenly.

he did not ever leave your side after that day, not caring if he missed work because you were more important to him than anything and anyone else.

akaza knew you needed him and he needed you.

however, you couldn't be there for akaza because you feel deep down the rabbit hole and you couldn't climb back up no matter how hard other people helped you do so. it was like the world and just life lost its meaning.

you never once thought about how akaza was feeling, because you were to focused on grieving and blaming yourself for being a bad and a failure mother. you never once saw how akaza would cry in his office or whenever he was alone in the bathroom or whenever you were already asleep at night.

but akaza never blamed you for anything. he couldn't imagine how hard it is to carry a life inside of you for nine months just for it not to live once it was out of your womb. he understood how you couldn't be there for him because he knew it how hard it was. he understood how you couldn't comfort him and make him feel better, because at least you were there with him. at least, you were still alive and breathing beside him.

you should've known. you should've listened to all of akaza's words about how "it wasn't your fault" and "i still love you no matter what". you should've felt it through his actions. how he would still kiss you every morning when you wake up and every night before sleeping. how he would still cook your favorite foods and try to cheer you up by playing your favorite shows on the tv.

because maybe. just maybe if you did, then akaza would not be kneeling on the floor with your lifeless body swimming in a pool of blood.

maybe he wouldn't have to bear the silence of the big house which was once a home for both you and him, and your baby. maybe the house would still be lively from your cheerful presence and maybe even filled with little akazas and you running around the house instead of two pink urns designed with cherry blossoms on a table.

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askdeoxys · 9 months

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Community PSA

[ This is only part of the full PSA (including evidence) which you can find here ]

Content Warnings

Grooming, Victim blaming, Harassment, Sexual abuse, Suicide / Self-harm mention, Emotional / Mental abuse mention

Introduction

Some of you may know about the PSA that circulated a few months ago regarding The-House-of-Hemingway’s relationship and unacceptable sexual interactions with someone who was a minor. Hemingway now goes by C-a-l-y-p-s-o. This post will discuss the details of the PSA, as well as this user’s concerning past and present behavior.

To the best of the ability of those responsible for this document, the username will continually be updated so that this person cannot interact with members of this community again without disclosing who they are, regardless if the interaction is safe-for-work or not.

The following post is intended to bring awareness to someone who is

Confirmed to be a groomer.

Attempting to convince members of the pokeask community that they have “changed” but is clearly trying to win favor with you.

A risk to the community, cannot be safely trusted, and needs to exit community spaces.

Disclaimers

Harassment of Calypso in any form is unacceptable behavior. The purpose of this post is to inform. This is not a call for hostile action beyond a block on every social media possible.

Please respect the victim’s boundaries and do not badger them for further details than what has been disclosed. While disagreement and discussion is OK, please keep your comments outside of tumblr and public discord servers.

If harassment occurs, the names of any individuals who dogpile, send death threats to, or doxx those involved with this situation will also be listed (with concrete evidence only) on this document.

TL;DR

Tumblr user @C-a-l-y-p-s-o, previously known as the mod behind the pokeask blog “house-of-hemingway,” is a confirmed groomer who has deleted their admission of guilt to save face.

Calypso has violated a boundary that is expected between a victim and an abuser by leveraging themselves into positions of authority (server moderators, event leaders, etc.)

Calypso has broken promises made to their peers over the course of their internet presence, changing names and website profiles/identities in order to escape the responsibility for their actions.

Calypso is attempting to fall back into good graces by sending copy-pasted positivity asks on mundays to sweep their notoriety under the rug.

This document will contain proof of the above in exhaustive detail under the “readmore”, or if you are viewing this in the public google document form, it will be under the resources.

We are using this as an opportunity to take a firm stance against grooming in the community, and to express our support for survivors. Our goal is to address the circumstances under which it happens with preventive guidelines and trauma-informed resources.

Resources & Education

What does grooming look like? A quick guide written by survivors of abuse within the Pokeask community:

The adult may not approach you with the intention of grooming you.

The objective of grooming is for an adult to turn their bond with a minor into a transactional relationship; circumstances in which the minor is providing something for them— whether that be emotional support or sexual gratification— and normalizes breaking boundaries to do so.

Though they may not realize they are blurring or overstepping your boundaries, the effect is still the same; they are desensitizing you to unfair and inappropriate treatment.

Many adults deal with mental illness, go through hard times, and struggle with loneliness. If you’re acquaintances or friends, you naturally might want to support them, “fix” their problems, or do them favors because they’ve been nice to you or because they’re not being malicious.

But ultimately, prioritizing their wellbeing compromises your own, well-meaning or not. That is what an imbalanced power dynamic looks like, and it is up to the adult to realize this, acknowledge it, and seek out other outlets, resources, people, and help available to them.

A responsible adult does not take advantage of your availability when given the opportunity to do so over other appropriate choices, no matter what.

The adult may expect you to be available at all times.

Guilt-tripping when you do not respond to their messages, spamming your DMs, or demanding that you spend most of your online time with them.

Making time for them might mean you end up spending less time with your friends and become distant from others in your social circle.

A red flag to look for is if they call you their “best / closest friend” over other adult relationships in their life.

The adult may put the burden of their mental health or well-being on you.

This can include constant venting / oversharing, validation seeking, or coming to you when they are in a mental health crisis. This can happen in private dms or in public servers.

Remember, no one individual is responsible for managing a loved one’s mental health, and it is not OK to expect a teenager to intervene when someone is threatening suicide or self-harm. That is for a trained professional to handle.

The adult may invite you into unmoderated spaces with other adults.

They might have “lighthearted” conversations with you or in front of you about sexual content, flirt with you, share explicit images / memes where you can see them, ask to role-play erotic scenarios with your ocs, or draw NSFW / suggestive art of your ocs / sona.

Red flags to look for are adults telling you that you are mature for your age, asking you to keep their interactions with you a secret, or interacting inappropriately with you in voice call so that there is no chat log of what they’ve said.

You do not owe your followers or fans your attention if you feel uncomfortable.

A friendship between two artists or between you and a fan of your work should not involve any pressure to reciprocate gift art, respond to asks, or role-play.

If someone crosses your boundaries based on a perceived parasocial relationship with you, or makes you feel guilty for not interacting with them, you are in your full right to block them.

If you suspect an ask is a covert fetish, such as asking you to draw an overly specific subject or situation, report them to an adult in the community.

Similarly, if someone you are a fan of is crossing your boundaries, take a step back to evaluate whether you would be OK with it if they were not someone you admire.

Just because someone is popular, skilled at art, widely respected, or well-liked does not give them the right to treat you in the ways listed above.

Listen to your gut; if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, but are doubting your feelings because you look up to the person you’re interacting with, take a step back and tell someone you trust. No friendship is worth being treated this way.

If you suspect you were groomed in the past, or are wondering if a relationship you have with an adult is inappropriate, please look through the information linked in this section. Hotlines, counseling and self-help resources for survivors are listed here as well.

List of Hotlines by Country | 1, 2

Global Online Image (CSAM) Removal | 1, 2

Education & Resources | UK, CA, AUS, US (eng, esp)

Online Image Removal | UK, CA, AUS

LGBT+ Specific | UK, CA, AUS, US

BIPOC Specific | UK, CA, AUS, US

United Kingdom

Crisis Support & Counseling (Email, Phone, Text, Video Call; Eng & BSL)

Canada

Counseling (Phone, Text; Eng, Fr, Indigenous languages, Other languages, ASL)

Crisis Support (Phone; First Nations responders available)

Australia

Crisis Support & Counseling (Phone, Text, Other; Several languages available; Aboriginal responders available; Auslan)

United States

Crisis Support & Counseling (Phone, Text, Other; Several languages available; Indigenous responders available; ASL)

About the bill to pressure American corporations to remove reported CSAM from their websites

Coming forward about abuse can be re-traumatizing and difficult, but it can also be healing and liberating— It allows for a survivor to be in charge of their narrative and to lead the conversation surrounding their trauma.

Sometimes, it takes years to recognize trauma or past abuse, let alone to be ready to publicly talk about it. It is validating to finally be able to say, “This happened to me. I survived it. I deserved better.” to the world.

Trauma follows us for a long time. No matter how much time has passed, a victim has the right to disclose their abuse and hold their abuser accountable. It is our responsibility to listen. https://metoomvmt.org/

Full PSA with evidence continued here...

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couldtransitionsaveher · 1 month

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Archetype Exploration: Perfect Soldiers

(Hey, please look at this blog's pinned post before reading this post; it gives a lot of context for the lens I'm looking at these characters through, k thx. also, shoutout to @finalgirl-nihilbliss for guessing the archetype)

CW: Abuse, Projection, Surface-Level Media Analysis

If your comfort character exhibits any of the following symptoms:

constant brooding

face frozen in a perpetual scowl

possession of a "dark past" they don't like to talk about

frequent blank stares into the middle distance

constantly trains for something uncertain

You may have just found yourself in the presence of a Perfect Soldier.

Perfect soldiers are characters who were groomed, often from birth, for the sole purpose of inflicting harm on their fellow man. These characters are efficient, tactically-minded, and above all else, violent. Perfect soldiers will often excel at combat and strategy, but struggle with emotional sensitivity.

Note that just because these characters are violent and closed off now doesn't mean that this is their natural temperament. Often, perfect soldiers have some kind of natural compassion that was stomped out through years of abuse training. This can come in the form of a sole loved one who tragically died, but more often than not, it simply manifests as a soft side sanded away.

If the Perfect Soldier doesn't start that way, who is to blame for their transformation? In sci-fi and fantasy, this transformation is usually caused by a morally corrupt institution built to churn out perfect soldiers (the Jedi Academy, the Galalunan Military Academy, the Space Marine Legions, etc.). Other times, perfect soldiers are groomed raised by a cruel and abusive father figure (Endeavor, Bro Strider, Belos, etc.). Some settings even blend the two by having an institution with a twisted general (think Shadow Weaver from She-Ra).

Typically, if a perfect soldier has a character arc, it's usually one of healing and letting go of their anger. This almost always contains at least two of these three steps in the order of your choosing:

The perfect soldier leaves the institution of their torment, either by circumstance or by excommunication. Once on the outside, they'll typically find that their raw might is irrelevant to their survival, and they'll instead need to rely on their lacking social skills. This exit from the comfort zone will prompt the soldier to learn a lot of people skills, typically leading to a "softening up" of sorts. Note that this doesn't have to be a literal escape from a physical place. Rather, it could just be a character being outside their guardian's zone of influence.

The perfect soldier discovers some imperfection with their guardian/institution. Perhaps there's some kind of inconsistency in its moral values. Other times, the soldier finds a secret the guardian/institution has been covering up. Whatever it is, this will prompt the soldier to question their leaders' infallibility.

The perfect soldier meets a person who shows concern for them in spite of the soldier's outward hostility. This outside party will likely witness or hear about the perfect soldier's tumultuous upbringing and take pity on them. This will likely prompt an attempt to reach out to the soldier, something which may or may not be rejected. Whatever the case, this act compassion will likely stick with the soldier, and prompt them to think about their own worth.

An arc like this usually resolves with a direct confrontation with the abusive mentor(s) who turned them into a weapon of war. If the soldier is a member of the supporting cast, this may come in the form of some heroic self-sacrifice, usually to protect the aforementioned outside party. Alternatively, if the soldier is a protagonist, their confrontation will likely be much more active, and may even be a proper fight. The soldier tends to win this fight either with the power of friendship or compassion but this isn't a strict requirement. If the writers really want to get spicy with it, they might even spare their tormentor, really leaning into the idea of abandoning violence (note that this runs the risk of coming off as a "forgive your abusers" narrative).

Alternatively, the lack of a grand confrontation can be a form of narrative resolution in and of itself. Living well is the best revenge, after all, and showing that our former perfect soldier has moved on to a happier, more peaceful life can be a far stronger statement of growth than a glitzy fight to the death.

(This is the part where I tie this whole thing back into the gimmick of the account. If you just wanted a Trope Talk style summary of the archetype, you've seen all there is to see. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to do your daily clicks.)

Why do you keep submitting this?

So, out of all the characters that I've seen submitted, this is easily the most prolific character archetype. At the time of writing, somewhere between 40-50 characters that have been posted roughly fit this archetype, and that's not including any of the characters I haven't posted yet.

Why do submitters connect this particular trope with trans women so damn much?

Firstly, it's important to consider that in most western fiction, the soldier is an inherently masculine archetype. From the classical epics of the Odyssey and the Iliad, to the superheroes and action stars of modern-day blockbusters, there's a very real conflation between a character's manhood and a character's capacity to do violence. A lot of mainstream military propaganda does the same, suggesting that men who enlist are more "authentically masculine" than those who do. This archetype serves as a critique of that idea; it shows us that this masculine ideal can be, and often is, a soul-crushing experience. In a sense, the idea of transitioning serves as an escape from this image.

Furthermore, it's important to consider what this character arc is actually about: a miserable character discovering that a better life is possible, and making steps to achieve personal peace. Often, these characters are fiercely loyal to the institutions that take advantage of them. These characters are often fine with it because they can't conceive of a better world. Once that's presented to them, that's when they start to leave. Frankly, given that a lot of people still don't end up knowing about trans folks until they're adults, I'm surprised more trans people don't connect to characters like this.

Finally, this arc gets back to the core question at the center of this blog: could transition have saved her? The archetype, in its construction necessitates a level of misery, ergo it implies that the character needs saving. It's no wonder these characters tend to garner a lot of Hurt/Comfort fanfic (Anakin Skywalker alone has more Hurt/Comfort fic than some of my favorite fandoms period). There's an inherent desire for these characters have better lives, and maybe some estrogen could do it.

This is my best guess, anyway. If you have thoughts, feel free to share them.

#archetype exploration #trope analysis #cw abuse #cw projection #cw surface level media analysis #transgender #sorry for taking so long to finish this post #i've been trying to phrase it as delicately as possible

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ifangirlalot · 6 months

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˗ˏˋ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 ˎˊ˗ | starring finn wolfhard

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] violent and dark themes, gore, kidnapping, murder, obsession, implied stalking

Please keep in mind that this is an AU. Nothing more, nothing less. Bear in mind that hate will not be taken lightly, and I WILL block you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

❛ A is for Affection ༉‧₊˚

↳ How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Finn is weirdly gentle with the way he shows his affection for the most part. His touches are feather light, almost like he's afraid he'll break you. He likes touching your hair and your neck because he likes how soft you are. Aside from that, he also buys you plenty of gifts, usually in the form of small, dainty jewelry, like necklaces or earrings.

❛ B is for Blood ༉‧₊˚

↳ How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Finn isn't super big on gore and blood, he actually has a pretty weak stomach, so whenever he deems it necessary to resort to violence, he usually tries to keep things blood-free and easily cleaned up. He prefers psychological torture more than anything but if that isn't an option, he'll snap the necks of those he deems a threat.

❛ C is for Cruelty ༉‧₊˚

↳ How cruel would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

No. Finn wouldn't mock you. He'd be sympathetic for you and how scared you would be by the situation. He isn't oblivious to how fucked up it is, and he'd be sure to let you know that no harm will come to you, so long as you comply and be good.

❛ D is for Darling ༉‧₊˚

↳ Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

No. Honestly, abducting you in the first place was kind of pushing it for Finn. He's kind of going for a Beauty and the Beast type situation, where if he's nice to you and gives you everything you could ever want, you'll fall in love with him. He's self-aware and knows that this is a fucked up fantasy. He would never force his affections upon you. When he touches you, he is sure to keep his touch and kiss light so that you may push him away if you so desire.

❛ E is for Exposed ༉‧₊˚

↳ How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Finn practically bares his whole soul to you. He wants you to see him as a person rather than your captor. He regularly sits down with you and talks to you about his thoughts and feelings, about how sorry he is that he put you into this situation and that he hopes you understand that he's too far in to let you go now.

❛ F is for Fight ༉‧₊˚

↳ How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He'd understand. It would hurt his feelings immensely, but he would understand completely. He knows he's a bad person for keeping you against your will and trying to force a love connection between you, and some part of him even admires you for fighting him.

❛ G is for Game ༉‧₊˚

↳ Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No, this is far from a game to Finn. He knows you regularly attempt to escape his grasp, and some part of him is regretful that he has to watch you so closely to thwart your plans. It makes him sad that his affections aren't working to make you love him, and he hates that you want so badly to leave him.

❛ H is for Hell ༉‧₊˚

↳ What is their darling's worst experience with them?

Since Finn isn't abusive, there haven't been many painful experiences for you in Finn's hold. By far the worst thing he's ever done to you is abduct/stalk you. What happened was, he saw you at his favorite record store and was immediately enamored by you. Something cracked within him. He crept behind you after you had left and followed you home, using the shadows from the night to his advantage. He felt so incredibly disgusting for doing so, but something inside of him was pushing him to do it. He spent weeks, months even, watching you. Absorbing your patterns. Learning your habits. Then one day, that crack within him snapped in half and he knew he had to have you. So one night while you were sleeping, he quietly slid your bedroom window open, chloroform-soaked handkerchief in hand. Slowly, so slowly, he pressed the cloth to your mouth and gave you a look filled with regret as he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

❛ I is for Ideals ༉‧₊˚

↳ What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Ideally, obviously, Finn would one day like you to realize you love him too. At the moment, that's as far as he's gotten, because he doesn't want to give his hopes up thinking about having a family with you when he isn't even sure you'll ever love him.

❛ J is for Jealousy ༉‧₊˚

↳ How do they handle jealousy? Do they lash out or do they find a way to cope?

Finn gets jealous quite easily, actually. Though, it isn't the lashing out, I'm so pissed I could murder someone type of jealous. At least, not super often. It's incredibly rare that he gets the angry type of jealous. Finn's jealousy is more along the lines of I'll never be good enough for you, it's pointless to hope you will ever love a monster like me type of jealous. His way of coping is just to love up to you, cuddling you, mostly just to make himself feel loved by you for at least a few moments, even if he knows he's delusional and that the cuddling is completely one sided.

❛ K is for Kisses ༉‧₊˚

↳ How do they kiss their darling?

Finn's kisses are, as said before, feather light. Practically whispers against your lips. His favorite way to kiss you is by slowly sliding his hands along your shoulders, neck, and to your cheeks. Then he'll slowly lean in and leave little butterflies kisses. He never full on kisses you with deep, forceful mannerisms, he feels that would freak you out.

❛ L is for Love Story ༉‧₊˚

↳ How do they meet their darling? How would they go about courting/pursuing their darling?

As stated above, Finn met you at the record store. Unfortunately, the idea of approaching you and asking to hang out didn't occur to him until after he'd already been stalking you for a couple weeks, which needless to say, made him question himself immensely.

❛ M is for Mask ༉‧₊˚

↳ Are their true colors drastically different when they're with their darling than when they are with everyone else?

Finn's personality isn't drastically different with you than with everyone else. He speaks to you like he would his friends, the only difference is he isn't keeping his friends captive in his apartment.

❛ N is for Nemesis ༉‧₊˚

↳ Who do they consider a rival?

He doesn't really have any one specific rival, he really just detests all the men in your life in general.

❛ O is for Obsession ༉‧₊˚

↳ Are they more obsessive or possessive?

Finn falls more on the obsessive side of the spectrum. He's not super possessive of you, but he does think about you near constantly. You rule over his every thought, he thinks about you whenever he does anything, even when it doesn't pertain to you.

❛ P is for Patience ༉‧₊˚

↳ How patient are they with their darling?

As you'd expect, Finn is incredibly patient. He wants nothing more than for you to love him, and he's afraid that if he's forceful or cruel to you, you will never love him. So, he lets you lash out at him, hit him when he comes too close to you, yell at him, demand him to let you go. He takes it all stoically, without a word and without anger.

❛ Q is for Quit ༉‧₊˚

↳ If their darling leaves, dies, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you were to die, or to leave and successfully escape, Finn would be devastated. Though the pain would be heavy enough to want to end his own life, he would never do so because in his mind, he doesn't deserve the sweet release of death. For he failed to keep his darling safe from harm, and to capture your heart. He would never get over you, and if he ever managed to, it would be years and years and years into the future. Most likely, his new darling would bare a heavy resemblence to you, because even if he moved on, he would never truly get over you and the affects you had upon him.

❛ R is for Regret ༉‧₊˚

↳ Would they ever feel guilty for abducting their darling? Would they ever let them go?

Finn feels guilty for kidnapping you all the time, he often toys with the idea of just letting you go and seeing if you will come back to him, but ultimately he never does. For one thing, he doesn't want to risk you leaving him and never returning. For another, he's scared you'll turn him in and he'll get arrested.

❛ S is for Stigma ༉‧₊˚

↳ What brought about this side of them?

Not even Finn himself is sure what brought it about. His past relationships were all fairly basic for the most part. He wasn't a bad boyfriend by any means, but he also wasn't a super protective one. But when he saw you.. something inside of him just broke. He wonders if maybe he had been like this all along, and that there was just something about you that brought it to the surface.

❛ T is for Tears ༉‧₊˚

↳ How do they feel about seeing their darling scream/cry/isolate themselves?

He hates it. It makes him feel awful. He is sad enough to let you know that he's here for you and loves and cares for you deeply, but respectful of you enough to keep his distance. He tries to make you feel better by leaving little gifts by your bed.

❛ U is for Unique ༉‧₊˚

↳ Do they do anything different that traditional yandere?

Finn isn't nearly as violent or possessive as yanderes typically are.

❛ V is for Vice ༉‧₊˚

↳ What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His love for you and his regret at resorting to kidnapping. Your best chance at escape is to butter him up by kissing him, hugging him, sitting in his lap and pretending to love him back. Then he would be more comfortable with letting you leave, and then he'd practically be giving you permission to escape.

❛ W is for Wit's End ༉‧₊˚

↳ Would they ever hurt their darling?

Absolutely not. Finn would never raise a hand against you in any way.

❛ X is for Xoanon ༉‧₊˚

↳ How would they revere/worship their darling?

He worships you from a distance. Honestly, his reverance for you is almost unhealthy. He puts you on a pedestal and is utterly convinced that you could do no wrong.

❛ Y is for Yearn ༉‧₊˚

↳ How long do they pine for their darling before they snap?

For Finn, it took about six months of stalking/pining before he finally snapped and took you home.

❛ Z is for Zenith ༉‧₊˚

↳ Would they ever break their darling?

No. He doesn't even consider that an option.

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joels-golf-club · 9 months

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Exhaustion

A/n: So this turned out way more angsty than I originally planned it to be but whatever. I also kinda hate it but I just wanted to write a little bit to get back into the swing of things.

All my work is 18+ MDI

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: Lowkey angsty but fluff at the end, kinda established relationship, reader doesn't know how to cope, miscommunication, implied traumatic past, mention of nightmares, post outbreak! Joel, no use of Y/n, swearing, self harm in the form of sleep deprivation if that's a thing. Please don't read if any of this is triggering to you.

When you were out on the road it was easy to avoid your nightmares. You would barely sleep in between watches with Joel, and when you did it was a light enough sleep that you wouldn't ever dream.

But in Jackson it was different. It took a few months to get adjusted to the new way of life, the somewhat normal life in the commune. Once you, Ellie and Joel had gotten used to the new town you had quickly fallen into a routine. Ellie would go to school while you and Joel took patrols with each other before coming back home to share a bed. For a while you would still sleep light enough that your dreams, or rather nightmares couldn't reach you in Joel's strong embrace, but eventually you got comfortable and your past crawled it's way into your subconscious.

On more than one occasion you had jolted awake in a panic not knowing where you were while Joel was forced to calm you down. It was these moments that filled you with guilt and shame. Joel had been through just as much, if not more than you had and he didn't need you ruining what little sleep he got just because you couldn't handle something that you had escaped from over a year ago. It was then that you decided to push through and suck it up. If Joel could handle a little trauma, then so could you.

So as the days went on you forced yourself to sleep as little as possible. Sure it made you a little jumpier on patrol but so far Joel hadn't noticed and you hoped he would just chalk the bags under your eyes up to long patrols nights and 'waking up' earlier than usual. You had made it almost a month sleeping just enough to keep you functioning, which meant about an hour or two a night, before Joel decided to corner you during patrol.

"So you gonna tell me what's going on with you?" He spoke one day while you were hiking up to a abandoned hunting cabin that had been shaped into a patrol outpost you two occasionally spent a weekend on patrol at.

His words caused you to momentarily freeze up during which he sent a glance over his shoulder at you, eyeing your reaction. "What do you mean?" The words left your mouth carefully with no emotion as you tried to focus on anything other than your pounding headache and the way Joel kept glancing back at you. Just another mile and then you would avoid Joel at the cabin. You've held off this conversation for a month, you could do it for another 30 minutes.

Joel, however, seem to think otherwise. He scoffed at your response and stopped walking, causing you to pause for a moment before walking past him towards the cabin. Just a little more...

"Don't bullshit me, darlin'. You're shaking and sweating right now just walking when you can usually do this hike without breaking a sweat. You're pale and you've had bags under your eyes for the past month. So tell me what the fuck is going on and why you won't talk to me."

Shit.

He noticed. Those weeks you had gone laying in bed awake while we slept at your back and you tried to play it off hadn't gone unseen like you had hoped. Now he was mad at you and you were just causing him more stress, the opposite of what you hoped your efforts would do. "It's nothing Joel. Just drop it, alright?" you kept walking and ignored the ever growing headache pulsing behind your eyes as the exhaustion caught up to you after not getting a wink of sleep the past three days and then hiking with this conversation thrown at you. Joel called out your name angrily and stormed up to you forcing you to stop walking and face him. The cabin was only a quarter mile up now.

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation here!"

"Yeah, and I'm trying to avoid it!" You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth because they only confirmed that something was wrong.

"And why's that, huh? What aren't you telling me?" His expression changed then and he dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. "Did I do something wrong? Is that why you won't talk to me?" His fears broke through you just a bit and you could feel your throat tighten up against the tears building up. When you spoke your voice came out thick and brittle.

"Jesus, Joel, no it isn't you. Shit. You didn't do anything wrong, it's just me, okay? It's just something I have to handle." Joel met your eyes again then and stared into your glazed over gaze. He only nodded then and started walking again. Thank fucking God, he was dropping it.

It wasn't until you thought Joel was fast asleep that your exhaustion truly hit you. You knew that if you slept now you would be out hard and it would be impossible to avoid the memories of unwanted grasps against your skin and cries of pain as you were struck would reach you. So instead of laying in bed with Joel where you knew you would be out in seconds if you stayed any longer you slowly climbed off the dusty bed and downstairs to sit by the fire place where a few glowing coals remained from your earlier tense dinner.

You sat there for what could've been hours or minutes just rubbing your temples with shaking hands, trying to physically force away your pounding migraine. You hadn't even noticed Joel appearing in the doorway until his voice caused you to all but jump out of your skin.

"This is you handling it then?" His voice was raspy with still and you couldn't help but be jealous at the precious hours he had to sleep in peace. "Jesus christ darlin, when's the last time you slept?"

His words immediately brought tears to your eyes and the walls you had spent weeks building high came crashing down. You crumbled as the first sob tore through your body, your entire being shook and you brought your hands up to cover your face as shame and pain ripped into you.

Joel was upon you in seconds and wrapped you up in his strong embrace as he slowly rocked you back and forth, trying to calm you down. "Breath, darlin', just breath. Listen to me okay? In...and out," when you only continued to shake and sob in his arms he lifted one hand to your face and used the other the grab your own hand and place it against his chest, forcing you to feel his deep breaths. "Come on you gotta work with me here. You feel my breaths? Yeah, you do, just match my breathing, I know you can do it. In, and out. Yeah, just like that, good job." When your breathing had finally evened out and all that remained was a few sniffles you began to speak.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to, uh, I didn't mean to wake you up. You can go back to bed." Joel just grabbed the back of your head and pressed you into his chest while shaking his head.

"Don't do that. Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong. I just need to know what happened so I can help you, alright?"

You shook your head and mumbed against him, "I don't wanna tell you." When you looked at his face he had a deep frown and concern etched across his features.

"Why not, darlin'. You know I'm here to help you, that's how this thing works." He gently pulled you away from his chest and made you look at his face while he spoke.

"I don't want you to think I'm weak..." You avoided eye contact when you saw his face crumble and realization flood his gaze. He had finally figured it out.

"It's your nightmares isn't it?" You just barely nodded and continued staring at the ground you sat on. "You've been forcing yourself to stay awake? Sweetheart, you can't do that, it'll get you killed out here if you aren't able to function properly. Why didn't you just come to me?" His words were spoken quietly but still firm in your ear.

"I didn't want to be a burden. You've been through so much as well and you don't wake up screaming every night. You're so strong. I didn't want to make you see how weak I am, so I figured if I just didn't sleep then they wouldn't be able to hurt me again." You shook your head in disbelief at yourself and scratched at your arms anxiously. "God I spent so long getting out of there and trying to heal and I'm still just the dumb little slave. Nothing's changed." Joel grabbed your arms and forced your scratching to stop and looked you in the eye with anger behind his eyes.

"Hey. Don't say that shit. What you went through is unspeakable and it doesn't make you weak to be affected by it." You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off before you could get any words out. "No, I'm talking right now. You are so incredibly strong, darlin'. You've been through so much and you still manage to push forward and live. So don't you dare call yourself weak because that is absolute bullshit and we've promised not to lie to each other. How about we go upstairs and get you some sleep, and if you have a nightmare you wake me up, I don't care how often or what time it is and you tell me what you need me to do, okay?"

You nodded your head and leaned forward to press a soft, barely there kiss to his lips that he immediately reciprocated. "Thank you. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me for anything, darlin. This is what I'm here for. Please don't ever feel like you can't tell me stuff like this, alright." You just nodded again and allowed him to help you back upstairs into bed where you fell asleep in his strong embrace within seconds of your head hitting the pillow.

#x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #tlou hbo #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou series #joel #joel the last of us #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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calpalsworld · 2 years

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ANOTHER MINIONS PSA

Im sick of hearing. “Minions would follow [insert terrible irl figure here]” as if minions aren’t living beings who can discern between right and wrong. I’ve heard enough of it!!! It is not true! And no, the reason they wouldnt follow [insert any terrible irl person here] isnt even because the movie is for kids! It is also not even because the minions universe takes place in an alternate history with alternate lore! It is because...

Minions do NOT in fact, want the most EVIL person as their Boss.

Minions follow the most VILLANOUS person they can find. There is a BIG distinction between VILLANOUS and EVIL.

Evil = doing horrific things

Villainous = flamboyant and self-indulgent anti-authoritarianism, particularly pertaining to the Evilcore AESTHETIC

(example 1: they spend centuries serving Count Dracula, some scraggly ass dude who probably only kills like 1 person every couple nights, or maybe just turns a person into a vampire, which isnt very evil if you ask me. but he is SERVING in that outfit. the minions probably stay held up in that spooky castle for the VIBES instead of finding some kind of warlord or landlord who inflicts suffering on thousands per day. so.)

(example 2: they dont even consider following the Queen of England who is RIGHT THERE at the end of Minions 1. No, instead they follow the random kid who came in and stole 1 crown because he has a cool escape vehicle and laughs maniacally.)

SO YES, Minions search for the most swaggiest bad bitches. Not terrible people.

AND ALSO, Minions are shown to desire an enriching environment full of fun and villainy. Not one where they mindlessly harm the world. Minions show empathy and compassion towards other people and all sorts of animals throughout the films. Minions do not thrive off EVIL. Which is why Felonius Gru was the perfect Boss for the minions. Gru was just a silly kid who wanted more than anything to be famously villainous when he and the minions first met. And he learned all the minions names, learned to somewhat speak their language, and treated them with kindness, unlike the many Bosses before him. (Would [insert irl s*rial killer here] tuck the minions into sleep? NO.) This is why the minions continue to be fiercely loyal to Gru no matter what -- even now that he is part of the Anti Villain League! Minions are conscious creatures with emotions. Minions form bonds and have opinions, and they serve Gru because he is a swaggy bad bitch and also a kind person.

So thats why Im sick of all these jokes about minions following horrific individuals.

Thank you.

#they also follow him because of autistic solidarity #god sometimes i dont know if i come off as parody or unironic #and i also dont know myself which i actually am #minions #despicable me

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blackautmedia · 3 months

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Sonic Prime, Nine, Pain and Protection

Sonic Prime Season 3 Spoilers

After watching Sonic prime season 3 it was a real joy to watch. It's certainly not without flaws, but I wanna talk about Nine and how people were reacting to him.

One of Prime's biggest strengths is the sheer amount of expressive faces it uses to indirectly communicate to the viewer. The unspoken storytelling goes a long way.

They emphasize how Nine is laser focused on his ambitions, but his path of trying to convince himself that he can't trust anyone is self-destructive.

He tries his best to hide his pain and assert himself as evil or powerful because Nine is desperate to maintain a sense of control, something that's important to him because his whole life he's only known pain, bullying, physical abuse, and isolation.

The prism itself really takes his toll on him and the show's expressions do not let you forget how much it's hurting him and he can barely hold together. He collapses several time, he grasps his body in pain--this kid was already hurting and he's self-harming in his pursuits.

Sonic even points out how it's destructive to him and throughout the entire fight Sonic genuinely sees Nine for what he is--a scared and deeply hurt boy in a panic and feeling threatened by everyone around him.

I'm pretty sure Sonic was going to point out how the prism power is harming Nine, especially because he points out how much the energy is hurting him shortly after this scene too.

Keep in mind it's not just the strain of using the prism energy.

By this point in the series, Nine was already held prisoner most of season 2. He likely wasn't fed well if at all.

After that, he spends a bunch of time and energy fighting alongside Sonic to escape with the shards. After that, he's having to do more fighting at ghost hill in addition to reassembling the prism.

And then he's doing all of this.

There's a great visual metaphor in Nine's barrier gradually closing in closer and closer until he can't escape having to confront his fears. Toward the end of their big fight, one of the last things Nine does is just form a barrier. Nine is terrified here.

Everyone else sees a traitor they want to get back at, but Sonic is the only one who has seen his vulnerabilities, seen his kinder moments, and sees the humanity in Nine worth saving and fighting for, especially when he's a large part of the cause.

What breaks Nine is that a big part of him is clearly hurt and wants so badly have companionship in his life, something Sonic is still offering him and something that continually breaks Nine's masking:

Notice how dejected and exhausted he is and how his metal tails drop down because he's tired of fighting before steeling his focus again. He's not saying how he can't give up with a look of confidence. He's trying to convince himself there's no other option.

He doesn't want to keep fighting but almost feels compelled to and shifts blame to Sonic because of refusing to process his grief or self-reflecting.

Nine yells at Sonic or cuts him off because he knows how much Sonic's words are cutting through his mask and how he knows that it's getting through to him emotionally. He needs Sonic to shut up so it's emotionally easier to keep fighting. Sonic knows Nine too well for him to be able to maintain a facade.

Nine feels violated that the only love he's ever felt after years of abuse was always seemingly for someone else. He feels that he has no other option than to pursue his ambitions and live a life of painful isolation even if his body and heart are screaming otherwise.

He's desperately trying to convince himself that he can't trust anyone so that it hurts less, he tries to make himself seem powerful and invulnerable, he tries to convince himself that he can only have voiceless machines for companions all to avoid feeling vulnerable and hurt.

He very much does not want to fight and can't keep it up, but he's also overwhelmed with feelings of fear and mistrust.

There's a very cool role reversal in how Sonic and Nine fight each other that becomes apparent throughout the big battle.

Nine is trying desperately to maintain some kind of control and when he's not hurting, he's continually frustrated. Look at how he reacts when things don't go as he predicts and despite his belief that Sonic would rush in, Sonic learns and adapts by relying on someone more experienced than him.

Nine gradually fights more like Sonic--reliant on just his own individual power (or rather the prism's) without slowing down to reflect on his actions--just keep going, just keep pushing. Protect your home. Rush the decay to force Sonic's hand. Gotta go fast.

He targets Sails and Mangey first because the thought of them reminds him of the projection Sonic was doing and he doesn't want to think about it. It also doubles as a way to goad Sonic into acting impulsively, something Sonic wants to do but ends up not going through with.

Meanwhile, Sonic is listening to reason, biding his time, making observations (like the dome shrinking, forming a plan that gives him the upper hand, using the pit to his advantage, etc) and capitalizing on the knowledge he's taking in.

He delegates tasks to other people instead of reacting. He's fighting and thinking like Tails and Nine would, while Nine is acting and fighting more like Sonic would.

I feel the pacing was a lot more tolerable this time compared to prior seasons because while it's one big fight, so much of it represents a gradual change in psyche between Sonic and Nine on top of the other side character moments.

But then Sonic sees the palm tree and finally recognizes Nine's intentions. What makes this scene so great is that Nine makes one last desperate attempt to hold up that same mask he always does. Scare off threats through intimidation. But he's too exhausted.

But then Sonic protects him. People are angry and threatening and attacking Nine (and while the CC isn't justified, everyone else has valid reason to dislike and distrust him) with no recourse. But for the first time in his life, someone stands up for him and protects him.

His brother still is showing him so much love and trust.

and Nine is moved by it. Moved by the endless compassion and brotherly love Sonic still is giving him. Compassion Nine doesn't even feel he deserves after what he's done.

The pained, panicked look as his friend sacrifices him for his mistakes is one of the best shots in the entire season. It's a knife through his heart knowing moments ago he would have willingly sacrificed the only one who showed him so much love.

I'm seeing reactions that people were upset that this was "obvious" when Nine was never trying to be deceitful about his intentions.

The whole reason Sonic and Nine communicate so poorly is made clear in watching the first two seasons. They spend very little time together where they can actually slow down and breathe. They spend almost all of season 2 apart with Nine a prisoner, then they're attacked for two whole episodes before the end when they fall out.

In season 1, they meet, get captured, seize the crystal, get separated, then reunite when Nine makes his offer for the Grim.

There's also this sentiment that Shadow was right about everything and Sonic messed it up--but really, Sonic, Nine, and Shadow were all partially right and wrong.

Sonic genuinely wanted to give Nine a better life, but he also failed to properly listen or communicate with him because he was preoccupied with his own hurt from having destroyed his own home and friends.

Nine does the same thing in how he just assumes Sonic wants what he wants and doesn't contend with how Sonic is hurting too. Both of them are hurting a lot for different reasons. But while they project on each other, they do genuinely love each other too and Sonic specifically argues with Shadow that Nine is real and should be treated as an equal with a stake in their situation.

If they had time where they didn't have a constant threat looming over their heads, their conflicting wants would have gone a lot more smoothly. Sonic could make his case properly and Nine would be a lot more open to see that Sonic not only cares about him, but wants to give him a paradise too.

Shadow is only partially right in that Nine doesn't want the same thing as them, but he believes Nine to be inherently untrustworthy or dismisses the other shatter beings as just fakes or obstacles which fails to get at why Nine is fighting so hard to begin with.

Shadow accuses him of wanting power and Nine agrees, but only in the sense that he's still trying to maintain that control. What he wants is a home, love, and safety.

Shadow routinely dismisses the others as Sonic just being mindlessly sentimental even though they're are a large part of how Sonic even got the shards at all and triumphed.

Sonic could not have succeeded without the others and especially not without Nine. He would have needed a way to extract his own energy and couldn't handle the other shards without Nine's help, Nine's regulators or some kind of cover.

He also would have had his running abilities impaired and that alone would have made things difficult if not impossible. How would he get around the ocean world or search for the shards without Nine's upgrade as a regulator and compass?

How was Sonic supposed to steal the shared from the Chaos Council by himself when his running was affected by the shard energy and he would have had to face that entire army alone? It was difficult to pull off even with the combined strength of five people.

Imagine how heartbreaking it would have been if Sonic agreed to Nine's plan, they try to build the Grim, and Nine learns he needs to sacrifice the brother he fought so hard for.

So not only was it ultimately necessary to work together, Shadow doesn't have the same knowledge Sonic does.

He hasn't seen Nine share his vulnerabilities like he did with Sonic.

He didn't see Nine manipulate the chaos council to protect his friend.

He hasn't seen the joyful Nine who's grown so close to Sonic that he's willing to move heaven and earth to build a paradise for his friend.

He's flat out wrong in the assumptions he makes even if he was right that Nine didn't have the same goals as them.

He didn't see Nine feel he failed his friend by inadvertently unleashing Chaos Sonic. He didn't see Nine stick his neck out so much for his brother.

That's not to say the others were obligated to listen to Nine--they had valid reasons to distrust him--but it doesn't change the fact that Nine is still ultimately an abused kid desperate for a home and has grown up in such isolation that he has no regard for others.

He's not trying to destroy the world--he wants to fix it and isn't against leaving others in isolation.

When Nine hugs Sonic, his mouth trembles. It's like he's struggling to find words to say but can't get them out.

(EDIT: I've updated some portions with new knowledge about the series when before I had speculations)

Now the bigger issue I have with the show is that only ending at episode seven leaves without a lot of closure for Nine.

Nine is the deuteragonist of Sonic Prime. Part of what made Sonic's plan to take Nine with him to Green Hill so moving was that he wanted to give Nine more than just one friend--he wanted a new environment and life for him and wanted him to be surrounded with people who love him.

It would have gone a long way to have even one scene maybe indicating they can travel to other worlds or have Nine meet the others in Green Hill, showing he has that now.

The moment where he hugs Sonic is very great especially because it's Nine himself initiating it. But as it stands it only leaves it at Sonic and Nine reconciling but not indicating what Nine's fate is after this. The other shatterverse people don't have any reason to trust him so it reads like he's just left alone again.

Even one scene of Nine getting to see a lush, green place for him to live, getting to just have fun with a whole group of friends, sticking him in a safe environment where he'll be loved and respected would have gone a long way.

Having said that, I've watched a few reviews now and find it frustrating none of them are framing this criticism in a way that addresses the fact that more people in the production industry than ever now are striking, we're in a pandemic, and exploitation of employees is a major issue with the advent of AI, among other things.

I can't say for sure, but I wish more of these criticisms were framed less as "man this show is lazy, even fan works are better than this" like I'm seeing on YouTube and Twitter and acknowledging the very real conditions that we're seeing play out in real time.

I'd have ended with the last episode being an entire epilogue or the picnic Scene with Sonic saying "hey guys there's someone I want you to meet" and it's Nine. Sonic would be showing Nine all the little joys in life he could never experience until now.

The final season went to great lengths to use its animation and writing to portray how taxing this all was for Nine, so easily one of the most important plot threads to resolve is him getting the safe home he wanted so badly and giving him some way of being safe and getting to heal emotionally.

The series did pack in quite a few character moments for the rest of the cast and I don't want to take away from that, but I feel a large part of the current mixed feeling or dissatisfaction comes from how it leaves a large portion hanging for Nine. The hug was huge. But it still doesn't really resolve the larger narrative built up with Nine.

That said, a lot of what we have seen was great and a lot of fun. Sonic chose to see what he always knew was in Nine.

#nine sonic prime #sonic prime s3 #sonic prime spoilers #sonic prime season 3 #sonic the hedgehog

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moanz111 · 9 months

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final round - choi san

🥊 pairing: boxer/fighter!choi san x boxing coach!gn!reader

🥊 genre: angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, dystopian au

🥊 summary: surviving in a city of outlaws has never been easy, with your days filled with emptiness and fear, and your only comfort being the weekly boxing matches in an underground club. but when you accidentally meet san, promising you a new beginning, your whole world is about to turn upside down.

🥊 featuring: biker!hwa; biker!yeosang; boxing coach/manager!wooyoung; cowboy(????)!mingi; oc!jay

🥊 wc: 5.9 k

🥊 warnings/tags: english is not my native language so there can be mistakes; descriptions of fighting/injuries/bleeding; setting is inspired by ateez's lore and the outlaw album (it's not accurate, just took some details from it, terminology can be inaccurate); use of pet names (angel); reader has an older brother; jay (reader's friend) doesn't represent any real person; there can be inaccuracies about boxing (i tried my best); mentions of guns/shooting (no one is harmed!!); repressive government; mentions of loss of family members/friends; reader is a bartender too; descriptions of kissing; lmk if i've missed something

credits for all the used graphics belong to their rightful owners!

🥊 note: happy (late) birthday to one of my favourite artists and people, sannie!

after all, i decided to post this fic even though i'm on a break lmao i feel a little bit more comfortable with posting it now and am doing better! and also i just couldn't wait to share this with you so...

i had so much fun writing this and got so inspired by ateez's album that i just had to do something about it. i'm trying a different genre this time so i hope you enjoy reading it!!

also, i'm super awkward when writing kissing scenes, help.

any form of feedback is greatly appreciated so don't be shy to reblog with your thoughts, comment or send me an ask! it really means a lot to me and keeps me motivated!

Sweat dripped down your forehead, tickling your chin and neck as you gripped tightly the ring ropes, lunging your body forward with excitement. Even though you’d never admit it out loud, the adrenaline running through your veins during the intense boxing matches you attended every weekend made you feel more alive than ever. The way the two boxers threw fierce punches at each other was not exactly abiding by the game’s rules but no one around you seemed to care or even notice.

Living in a world where tomorrow might never come, these were the only moments you could be your most authentic self without the mask of acquiescence on. This world was sick, filled with horrors and demons, haunting you even in your dreams and watching your every step. However, this world was beautiful too, filled with secretly exchanged hopeful glances and little reasons to look up at the grey sky, praying better days would come.

What you were doing right now - smiling, screaming, the sole act of feeling was illegal but the thrill that filled your body was something you were willing to risk your life for. You had made your decision a long time ago - the rules didn’t matter to you anymore.

“A win for Black Serpent,” you heard the referee shout in an attempt to fight the hundreds of voices, drowning his own as the champion threw his red boxing gloves at the public. Blue and purple marks painted his features and his almost closed left eye was swollen but the triumphant grin plastered on his face told you, as usual, his injuries were not one of his problems.

Such a show-off, you thought when your friend waved at you from the ring, flexing his biceps proudly. It wasn’t surprising to you that he won tonight’s match. During the few years you’d known Jay, you’d never seen him lose. Having been a professional competitor in the past, as he had told you when you first met, the underground club’s matches were his way to escape the harsh reality and remember the good old times.

Plus, you’d seen the bags full of cash from bets after a successful night. After all, that was why you had become his “accomplice” or as he liked referring to you - his devil accountant. The job was simple enough and you didn’t mind the extra income - working as a bartender at the local bar came with its perks but with the money you made you could never possibly afford a place of your own, neither did it give you the comfort you could run away one day from this awful blackhole. So you gladly kept track of the bets for Jay’s matches and sometimes you even helped him train as you knew a thing or two about boxing yourself.

Tonight was no different. As you pushed your way through the crowd, collecting the bills, you saw a lot of familiar faces who greeted you warmly. At least some of them. Others - weren’t so friendly, swearing and even refusing to give you the money, overcome by anger after losing, but they knew better than to test you. No one wanted Jay’s wrath upon them.

“I think you forgot about me, angel,” you heard a raspy voice behind you just as you were about to call it a day and go to the locker room where Jay was waiting for you. Turning around, you were, to say the least confused. The man before you wore a grey hoodie over his head, hiding his features, and matching sweatpants, looking nothing like the usual visitors of the fight club. He was tall but muscular - you could see it even though his baggy clothes left much to the imagination. His broad shoulders and confident stance told you he was much more than he led you to believe. Was he another competitor?

Looking down at his stretched-out hand, you saw a few bills folded in his palm. A cat-like smirk formed on your lips. “Though night for you, huh?” “I don’t like voting in favour of my biggest competition,” the man laughed as you took the money, writing down the amount in your notebook. Jay was going to be pleased with tonight’s profit which meant another celebration for him and another babysitting gig for you.

However, the stranger’s words made you wonder what exactly his intention was. If he was telling the truth, then why bother betting if Jay was his next match? With his face engulfed in shadows and mystery, his aura alone sent shivers down your spine, alarming you for danger. Taking a step away from the man, you folded your arms before your chest. “What is your deal?”

He tilted his head to one side, regarding you quietly like a predator about to chase his next prey. Closing the distance between you in a matter of seconds, he leaned down to your right ear, whispering softly, his breath hot against your neck, “You’ll find out soon, angel.”

Still in a daze after your encounter with the stranger, you watched him pull away from you, shooting you one last mischievous smirk before diving into the crowd. Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh.

Trouble always found its way to you.

The deafening sound of the morning alarm, signaling it was time for everyone to go to work, rang in your ears as you walked to the bar where you worked during the day. The sun was still hiding under the horizon and the sky was painted in a mix of deep blue, purple, and orange. The streets were empty without a single soul in sight except you and the black stray cat that accompanied you every day on your way. It brought you a sense of comfort - to have a small friend by your side in these lonely times of the day.

Forming genuine connections with other human beings was almost impossible. There were many stories about heartless betrayals, travelling from person to person in this city of outlaws. Today’s friend could easily turn into tomorrow's enemy. However, right now this place was your everything and all you could do is learn how to survive. You’d heard of other faraway cities where people had it way worse than you did and were much more repressed by the titanic power of the Guardians. Sometimes you were even grateful you were surrounded by outcasts and criminals rather than a white sea of masks, pointing guns at your face.

Here, the inhabitants had found their ways of rebelling right under the government's nose without being noticed and the bar you were currently opening was one of their favourite places to do it. You'd witnessed hundreds of pieces of intel being exchanged for contraband and hundreds of unfulfilled plans for the future dying under the dim yellow lights. Still, no one gave up. That was the only rule everyone followed wholeheartedly - better surrender and lose your life than give up your dreams and hopes and become a dead man walking.

Pushing your thoughts away, you braced yourself for yet another day during which you had to take on the role of the oblivious bartender. Your job was to keep your mouth shut and eyes closed so when you saw one of your regulars enter the building, looking suspiciously around, you almost laughed.

“Good morning, Mingi,” you greeted him leaning on the broom you were swiping the floor with to take a proper look at him. His cowboy boots and hat, the usual, now shabby, long brown coat and the chains dangling at his neck as he walked slowly towards you gave away that he was meeting someone important today. The tall and lean man oozed confidence and threat just by standing and you were glad you were on his good side.

You'd met Mingi on your very first day as a bartender and quickly developed a soft spot for him. You weren't aware of exactly what he was doing except sitting around with you and being a menace to your boss but there were dozens of wanted posters around the city, including on the wall behind the countertop you mixed beverages on. The portrait drawing sure did him justice and you'd always been perplexed as to how the Guardians hadn't caught him yet.

In your eyes Mingi was good-natured and considerate, always asking about your day and throwing a joke or two to make you smile but you'd seen his nasty side too. That was why when he pulled out his pistol from his holster belt and placed it on top of the bar as he sat down on his usual spot, you felt shivers run down your spine.

“Don't worry, Y/N,” said Mingi, turning to look at you with a reassuring smile. If you got paid every time you heard him say this before destroying everything and everyone on his way, you would've been a millionaire. Sighing heavily, you walked over to him to stand behind the bar and took his pistol in your hands. Earning a surprised squeal from the man, you shook your head.

“You're the reason I'm not getting paid, cowboy. The amount of repairs we’ve made in a month is insane.”

“I'm sorry,” Mingi answered with a pout. Your boss wasn't going to be happy he came here again. You could only imagine the old man's smile as he put up these wanted posters. Hell, if he could turn in Mingi himself, he would be on cloud nine. “But be careful and don't shoot anyone.”

“You worry about yourself,” you sighed and pointed behind him. A young man was entering the bar, humming an unknown-to-you melody and carrying a bag over his shoulder. Sunglasses hid his eyes and a grin showed off his dimples.

“You didn't tell me your friend was such a beauty, Mingi,” the man whistled, eyeing you from head to toe after he removed his glasses, placing them on top of his head. You felt heat burn up your cheeks and you found it hard to hold his intense stare. Now being able to properly look at his face, some sort of recognition passed through your mind but you couldn't wrap your head around where you'd seen him before.

As the newcomer sat down next to Mingi, you couldn't stifle your laugh this time. They reminded you of a comedic duo from the comic books you used to read as a child, now long gone and turned into ashes, with the newcomer dressed casually in a black and white shirt, the fabric flowing around his body and a few buttons undone, showing his collarbones, and Mingi in his “official” attire with a serious look on his face and furrowed brows.

“Don't even think of laying a finger on Y/N, Wooyoung,” warned Mingi as your friend took out a white envelope from his coat’s pockets, handing it to the other man. A silent look, holding thousands of words, was exchanged by them before Wooyoung swiftly hid it under his shirt. “We can talk comfortably here. They won't say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” you made a motion as if you locked them with a key and threw it in Wooyoung’s direction, earning a loud laugh from him.

“I like them. We should recruit them.”

“Absolutely no,” Mingi sternly refused, scolding both of you with a glance. “Let's talk business now.”

Mindlessly washing the shot glasses and polishing them, you listened to the two men’s conversation, pretending none of what they said was surely granting them a death sentence. The images they described with pretty words and empty promises filled your heart with longing for a distant land where everything you'd ever dreamt of was real.

Where there existed other sounds - other than your heartbeat and the screeching alarm.

Where you could look up at the sky and see the stars - not the brown clouds of dust and pain.

Where emotions like sorrow and fear were replaced by joy and comfort.

So you listened and listened until you'd memorised every single sentence, hoping to dream of this new world tonight.

“The others will call for us soon. We just need to wait for a sign,” said Wooyoung, getting up from his seat and stretching his limbs. “San has a match tomorrow so if- no…when he wins, we'll have enough money for the next mission.”

A match?

A lightbulb lit up at the back of your mind as your memories took you to last night’s events. The stranger's words made much more sense than before and you were pretty sure you'd seen Wooyoung, lurking in the shadows and grinning after Jay’s final victorious blow. Keeping this information to yourself, you remained silent even when Wooyoung gave you a knowing look.

“His opponent is pretty tough and so is his coach…,” he trailed off, playing with his silver earrings, shimmering under the first morning rays.

“Good luck then. I'll see you in a week,” Mingi answered, shaking his accomplice’s hand as he too got up to leave. Glancing at you, he placed a few bills on the counter, way too many than needed. “For the special service today.”

“You don't have to-”

“And a bet for Black Serpent.”

“Jerk,” whined Wooyoung, rolling his eyes and earning another warning look from Mingi to whom you returned the pistol you took earlier. “I look forward to our little dance tomorrow, Y/N.”

Giving you a playful wink, Wooyoung took his bag and trailed after Mingi who was already striding to the exit, talking about manners and social norms which you found amusing.

At least, he didn't vandalise property today.

“The underdog vs. the big champion, huh,” Jay hummed as he traced his finger over his opponent's name on the list, placed at the fight club’s entrance. The match was only a few hours away and unable to sleep from excitement, you'd dragged your friend to the ring to practice some extra time. You didn't know what kind of fighter San was but better be prepared than sorry later. The rumors about him going around in the underground club didn’t give you much information either - some said he was ruthless and vicious, others - just a showoff. One thing was sure though - he had an incredible win rate with his name at the top of the rank list at least once a month.

“Isn't it a bit cocky to call yourself the big champion,” you teased Jay as you pushed him inside the locker room so he could change into his practice clothes. You noticed one other locker was closed and were curious who else would've come here at that time of the day. Only champions and their coaches were allowed in when there wasn't a match.

“I know my worth, Y/N,” Jay sighed while rolling bandages over his wounded knuckles. The bruises from his last match were still visible on his body and you wondered if they ever healed. You also mentally noted he had cut his hair down to a buzzcut again. He was serious about tonight then. Not that you expected anything different. San was the only person who could challenge him for his title. “I'm not a loser.”

“Sure, now get up. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Jay, cover-up,” you shouted while monitoring your friend’s warm-up match, feeling your nerves slowly getting to you. You weren't exactly surprised when you found out the other fighter in the club and Jay’s opponent was the stranger you’d met the other night and of course, Wooyoung was his cornerman and manager.

San’s presence turned coaching Jay into a challenge, unlike any other time. His movements were practiced and calculated, his punches swift and precise. The white tank top he was wearing revealed his toned body and well-defined muscles and made you stare more than to your liking. His sharp features and handsome face mixed with his professionalism were a weapon San used well on the ring since you could see Jay was intimidated probably for the first time. Wooyoung’s annoyingly proud smile didn't help either.

Blood was dripping down San’s chin from a cut, gifted to him by Jay after one of his blows, and sweat formed on his forehead as he counterattacked, delivering a strong punch on your friend's face. Their match resembled a passionate and intimate dance that you weren't supposed to witness. Their pride and skills were on the line.

“Parry, Jay,” you once again yelled and seconds later the final bell rang, putting an end to their spar before your friend could react, taking a painful hook from San. Getting up from your chair, you went up to the ring and handed Jay a water bottle which he splashed on his face with a groan. You praised yourself for taking your first aid kit before leaving your apartment. If he was so beaten up right now, you didn't want to imagine what both of them were going to look like by the end of the night.

“You sure know a lot about boxing, Y/N,” San said, breathing heavily as he took his gloves off, throwing them at Wooyoung. It was the first time he addressed you directly today and you were taken by surprise when he jumped off the ring, coming closer to you. His face was glistening and his brown eyes were burning with passion you'd never seen before. Sure, Jay enjoyed fighting but you knew it wasn't the same as it used to be for him. San, however, had the eagerness to learn and win as a newbie even though his skills made you believe he was as good as a coach. Maybe even better than most. “Where did you learn?”

“Let's say I'm very observant,” you answered quietly, trying to avert his attention away from you and the topic. Still, the sting in your heart, forming as memories flooded your mind reminded you of the past you were so willing to escape from. You could still smell the distinctive scent of your brother’s gloves. The thrill that came with each victory. The pain that filled your being after leaving your past life behind without looking back. What had even happened with your family and friends? Were they alive? Were they safe?

“I'd call this more than just “being observant”,” Wooyoung joined the conversation, pulling you out of your thoughts. He put his arm around your shoulders, squeezing them tightly and you whined. “We hit the jackpot, San.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have an offer for you, Y/N.”

The next few months after the official match between San and Jay passed in a daze for you. Someone had to pinch you. Hard.

Wooyoung, you’d realised, was a gambling addict. There wasn't any other logical explanation behind his behaviour. Whatever you did or said, he turned into a bet out of which only one of you could emerge as a winner.

So just like that, after that practice match, he and San had made a proposal that was too difficult to decline and simple enough to follow. If San won, you'd coach him for his next matches and join their small group of outlaws. As they told you - they needed someone competent on their side. If Jay won, you'd go on your way and forget about it. Not that this was possible.

You would've lied if you’d said you had been surprised when San delivered the final victorious blow that night. Secretly, you had hoped for this turn of events not much to your friend’s liking. While you were patching up his wounded and bleeding face, whispering comforting words, your betraying heart was accelerating with your mind plagued by thoughts of San.

Today was no different. As you watched San practice his kicks on a punching bag in the fight club, you caught yourself blushing at one of his particularly precise deliveries. Boxing is my thing, I guess, you thought when he halted his movements to drink some water and pulled his tank top over his head, showing off his toned body.

Moments like this were routine for you at this point - just both of you sitting in silence, only his heavy breathing audible - him practicing and you observing. San’s progress was outstanding and this left you jobless - he didn’t need your directions anymore that much. You didn't feel the need to fill the space with small talk or pointless conversations when you were with him and thought of him as someone who had always been part of your life.

Intimidating at first glance, San was, in reality, the kindest person you had ever met. He cared deeply about the people he loved, always making sure to put them first above everything else. He was also thoughtful and considerate - attentive to everyone’s needs and was always there when you needed him the most. San brought you comfort unlike anyone else and you told him things you hadn't even dared before. Your relationship was progressing fast - with a lot of skipped steps, blurring the line between friends and lovers but you didn't mind. Labels weren't needed for you to feel what you did towards him. Not when you had so few opportunities to be together.

You two often daydreamed about this new world he and his friends liked talking about. He wanted to stop fighting - hurting people was what he hated doing the most but their group needed the money desperately. There was no other choice for him but to sacrifice himself every day. San, instead, wanted to build a home for his loved ones and create a safe space for them where they could be together and where he could protect them.

“You can't protect everyone, San”, you had told him the day he shared his plans with you while both of you were sitting on the cold floor of the locker room, shoulder to shoulder. His proximity had your head spinning and you found it hard to focus on his words. San held your hands, tracing circles mindlessly on them, before bringing them to his lips.

“I have to do what I can, though. I can't just give up on any of you,” he had answered, whispering into your skin, goosebumps forming all over your body. Before that, you hadn't considered yourself that important to him and his words made your heart skip a few beats.

“I know what it feels like…,” The lump in your throat and the painful memories of your family had tears forming in your eyes that you tried blinking away. No point in crying when you didn't have the power to change the past. San brought his big hands to your face, cupping your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, and you tried pulling away. The pity and guilt in his eyes were something you wanted to erase forever.

“You can't just run away from your demons, Y/N. Sometimes you have to face them.”

So you had wept in his arms, telling him your life's story for the first time and he had brushed every fear, doubt, and pain away with his soft touches and gentle gaze.

You had grown up in the Outlaw City’s outskirts, in a restricted area where the Guardians’ influence and presence weren't as noticeable. The people were happy - you remembered seeing children playing freely, people reading and drawing and creating with all their might without being disturbed.

Your parents were ordinary people, working ordinary jobs and living an ordinary life. You and your older brother, however, were nothing like them. The fighting rebellious spirit was something you had no idea who passed down to both of you but you were grateful to whoever ancestor was responsible for it.

You two always found ways to get into trouble - from stealing a guitar from one of the contraband gangs in the city to compose silly songs to your brother learning how to box only to enter underground tournaments to earn some extra income for your family. He had learned from the older kids a trick or two and you had made it your life's purpose to follow him around until he taught you too.

You missed those days dearly. The mornings when you would spar together under the blazing sun for hours. The nights when you would go to the restricted area of the city to fight and then run back home with the money you'd made before someone else took it from you. Every day was a game of survival, but you were happy. You had your brother - your only pillar in this dark world.

Until one day everything changed.

That day, the Guardians had come in groups to your city, taking every child or adult in their way, destroying every last piece of safety. You remembered your last moments with your family before they took them away. Your brother screaming at you to run, your father fighting the white-dressed Guardian, and your mother crying in fear. You had tried saving them but to no avail. At least, you didn't know if they had survived and there was no one you could ask. Five years had passed since.

You found your new home in Outlaw City where everyone was a runaway like you and where no one would ask where you'd come from. Your only resolve was to pray that your family was safe and sound and that one day you would find them. This time you were more prepared than ever, you were ready to protect them at the price of anything. So as San wiped away your tears with his thumbs, you felt the heavy burden of your past lift itself from your shoulders.

“I hate myself for leaving them every day, San,” you confess with a shaky voice, trying to calm yourself down.

“The only thing you could do is survive, angel,” he whispered, putting his hands on your shoulders, and squeezing them. Looking at his bruised face, you reminded yourself that everyone here carried their own scars - both visible and invisible, and your heart hurt even more. “It was the same for me. I had to leave my family behind when I came here so I found a new one. Not that it’ll ever stop hurting any less. All eight of us are the same at heart. We all want the same thing.”

A new world to come, you thought and smiled, thinking of Mingi’s passionate speech from the last time you saw him at the bar. He had told you all about their plans and wanted you to be part of them. To join their found family.

Now, returning to reality, you regarded San curiously and a little afraid as he came to stand in front of your chair, leaning down to place a kiss on top of your head. Blushing at the affection in his eyes, you cleared your throat, searching for the right words. A week had passed since this moment and none of you had said anything about it so you couldn't help but feel flustered at his every word and action towards you.

“How was I today, coach?” San chuckled, gently tracing the sides of your face with his fingertips, rough from the endless fighting.

“Could be better,” you gave him your usual response, San grinning and showing his dimples.

“I have to work harder. But maybe if you stared less...”

“And maybe if you paid less attention to me...”

“That's impossible,” San concluded, crouching down, placing his palms on top of your thighs, and you ran your hands through his messy dark locks. With glinting eyes, he excitedly added, “After tonight’s match some of the boys and I will have a meeting. They want you to come.”

“They?”

“I,” the seriousness in his voice made you let out a laugh and your stomach tightened with anticipation. You had only met Mingi and Wooyoung before with the rest of the boys surrounded by a mist of mystery, with only having heard stories about them. The fact that San was letting you get closer to the people he cherished the most didn't help your fluttering heart either.

“Can't wait.”

San had dragged you out of the fight club and drove you to your apartment to freshen up before meeting the boys with his old van that, who knew how, still functioned. As he had told you while focused on the bumpy road ahead, the vehicle had turned into, both a prison and a temporary home for him and Wooyoung while they were on the run from the Guardians. Guilt washed over you when San described all of their sleepless nights, fighting the demons following them right behind even in their dreams while you were hiding between the four walls of the safety of your home. Mingi’s wanted posters, his constant cautiousness, and the silver pistol always attached to his hip made so much more sense now.

Unfortunately, the Guardians had taken notice of them way too early into their secret operations against the government, and now as you were sitting in front of the boys - their features, illuminated by the dim lighting of the storage house you were in, your heart filled with hurt. In the few hours, you got to know Yeosang and Seonghwa, speeding through the highways every night in search of valuable intel and doing all they could to survive another day, your admiration grew with every next moment spent with them.

Sitting on one of your favourite fluffy blankets on the floor in a circle, eating an improvised dinner consisting of cold chicken nuggets provided by Yeosang, you felt more at home than ever. Mingi and Wooyoung’s silly bickering and friendly teasing, Seonghwa’s warm welcome, Yeosang’s kind smile, and San’s calming presence next to you, filled you with joy, and for the first time in a while, you forgot about the outside world.

“It’s a pity the others couldn’t come today,” said Seonghwa with a sigh as he passed on to you the chocolate bar all of you were sharing. You hadn’t seen one in ages, nor tasted it. Yeosang had just shrugged indifferently earlier at your genuine surprise, telling you he could get one inside the city for you anytime you craved it.

So now playing with the piece in your mouth, letting the sweetness tickle your taste buds, you hummed in agreement. The rest of the group had to stay undercover for a little longer before joining you. “They would’ve loved to meet you, Y/N.”

“They will,” San joined, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb over it. Turning your head to look at him, you were met with his dark eyes, shimmering with a glow as if hundreds of stars were in them. You slowly found yourself being pulled by the gravity of his gaze, unable to look away.

“Now, can you two not do this,” whined Wooyoung, earning a playful slap on his thigh from Seonghwa, followed by Mingi and Yeosang’s laughs. “I have to put up with you every day at the club. I’m going to start vomiting rainbows soon.”

“Get a life, Woo,” said Mingi, winking at you. Usually, you could fight back and tease Wooyoung but tonight, embarrassment washed over you after his words. “Leave the lovebirds alone.”

Just then, still holding your hand firmly, San pulled you up gently so now both of you were standing. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The distant hooting of owls, coming deep from the woods, the light chilly late-night breeze, carrying the smell of pines, and San’s warm touch against your skin engulfed your senses, making your head spin. With your eyes closed, all you could do was trust the man as he guided you through the darkness around you.

“Can I open my eyes,” you asked once again with your previous attempts to get a positive answer out of him being unsuccessful. His deep chuckle vibrated through your body, his hand letting go of yours. Longing for his touch again, you reached forward for him but only brushed through the air.

“I’ve got you, angel,” San’s raspy voice now came from behind you and you felt him put his hands on your shoulders. “You can open them now.”

The view before your eyes made you tear up and a lump formed in your throat, every word you wanted to utter getting caught up in it. The little fireflies, swinging around in a slow dance around you, their comforting glow, reminding you of those you used to catch in the hot summer nights in front of your childhood house with your brother, the vast field you were standing in the middle of, and the tickling in your legs from the overgrown grass were all images and sensations you thought you’d never see or feel again for the rest of your life.

“How did you find this place,” you whispered, too afraid someone would take this moment away from you.

“It’s my special place. I think the Guardians have forgotten about it,” said softly San, moving to stand in front of you with a warm smile on his face. “Now I can finally share it with someone else.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Yes, whenever I need to clear my head,” he trailed off, laughing. “And some time away from Wooyoung. The van can be suffocating as much as I enjoy living with him.”

You wondered if this beautiful place was next on the Guardian’s list for destruction. If you’d be able to come back ever again. If it too would disappear with every trace you’d left.

“You’re frowning again,” San’s voice pulled you out of your trance, making you focus on him instead. His face was almost indiscernible in the night, but his eyes and the silver chain, shining around his neck, were illuminated by the moonlight. “You do this often.”

“I guess I’m not used to things like this.” Genuine in a world full of lies. “I feel like you’ll disappear.”

Taking a step closer to you, San put a finger under your chin, your eyes finding his once again. The electrifying feeling of his touch made you dizzy. Now, you could hear his steady heartbeat, with yours drumming in your ears. “I’ll never leave you, angel.”

The moment his lips found yours, enveloping them in a soft kiss, you lost all of your senses and surrendered yourself to him. At first, his touch was gentle as if San was afraid he would hurt you, but once your hands found his neck, your fingers toying with his hair, he got more desperate for you. His own trailed slowly down the sides of your body, wrapping them around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Already out of breath, you felt a fire ignite in your soul that only San could put out.

He left your lips only to place a few shy kisses down your neck, your heart picking up its rate, slamming against your ribcage. Leaving you gasping and wanting more, San pulled away seconds later, the love and adoration you saw in his eyes making you lose your bearings completely. Cupping your cheeks and bringing his face closer, he rubbed your nose gently with his before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“The final round is coming soon, Y/N,” he murmured when you closed the distance between you, hugging him around his waist and burrowing your face at the crook of his neck. You took in his scent - woody and musky, hypnotizing you. “We’ll see the new world together.”

Even if that was just an empty promise and even if this new world never came to life, you didn’t care.

All you needed was San there with you - everything else was bearable.

please do not modify, copy, repost, or translate.

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