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messrmoonyy · 1 year

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Touch me gently

Tess Servopoulos x Joel’s daughter!reader

Prompt ( summarised ) - Joel’s daughter reader who is in love with/ secretly dating Tess. Reader is a virgin and it’s their first Time, possibly AU. Also paired with a similar request from devnmon: ‘ okay so hear me out: mom’s best friend!tess taking your virginity uhm… 🧎‍♀️’

A/N- first off. To clarify. Readers age is not exactly specified but they are 20+. Original promoter asked for reader to be 18 and that felt too icky for me. But yk. It’s self insert. Do what you will, but it is mentioned that reader is an adult and somewhere in their 20s. Anyways. I was actually happy to have this change for some gentle smut. You guys just wanna get fuckin body slammed by her, let her be soft! 😭💀 I twisted the prompt around quite a bit honestly. But. Here we are. This is a no outbreak au. Only proof read once.

Warnings- 18+ || implied age gap, Virgin/inexperienced reader, and the awkwardness that comes with it, smut: oral ( r receiving), fingering ( t and r receiving ) /mutual masterbation

Word count- 6.8k

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated/ encouraged <3

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You’d never really thought you’d be one for keeping secrets. Especially from Joel. As far as father-daughter bonds went, you liked to think yours was pretty damn strong. Your mother had left you before your baby brain could even attempt to form memories, so all you’d ever known was Joel. And you were quite content with that. You were incredibly close.

So there was never a reason to keep secrets. Not until she turned up.

Tess.

Tess had shown up one random Wednesday in the middle of June. You’d looked an absolute sight. The sweltering Texas summer was settling in and you were sat in front of an electric fan, Joel’s old shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts your choice of attire, hair scraped off your face as much as possible. Very much not expecting company any time soon and just trying to remember a time when you were cool, and not melting your face off.

And then Joel had come home, early rather than late for once, with her in tow.

You’d actually been a little shell shocked. Even now though you still weren’t entirely certain if it was because she was looking at you whilst you looked like some feral dog that had just been plucked from a pet shelter, or because you were quite certain you fell in love on sight. Maybe it was both.

It was probably both.

She looked a little out of place in your cosy, sickeningly Texan home. In her neat pant suit. All tailored lines and somehow not even breaking a sweat. You didn’t think you or Joel had ever owned anything that… crisp. You had come to learn over the time of knowing her that that was purely a work look, and she was just as rugged and down to earth as you and Joel were. But still. In the moment… she was like a shiny new Penny. And you were a magpie with its eyes locked on the glimmering thing from a distance.

“ this is my daughter, who I told you about. Kiddo come say hi. This is Tess “ you were pretty sure it’d taken you a little longer than socially acceptable to move, very much staring. Jaw slightly agape “ hello? Anyone home? “ you’d scrambled to your feet and made some attempt to look a little more presentable.

He’d explained how she had moved in across the street, and he had offered to price up some work for her. You could barely string a sentence together to properly introduce yourself. You’d never seen anyone like her. All sharp features that almost bordered on being harsh, but her eyes were soft. Warm. And they were looking right back at you.

Joel and her had become friends pretty quickly. In fact you’d teased him at first for having a crush on her, even if it did sound a little bitter from time to time. Because you had a crush on her. A really fucking big one. And wouldn’t that just be a kick in the teeth if your dad started dating her? You’d be like something out of one of those crappy books youd read. Falling in love with your… would she be your stepmom? You did not want to be thinking about that.

At all.

But thankfully it turns out that even if Joel did have a little something for her, it was well and truly pointless.

“ She’s not exactly into.. my type “ he’d said when you’d subtly tried to bring it up as you sat ready for a movie night one time.

“ contractors? “

“ yeah. She’s got this god damned grudge against contractors “ he’d said with a mock look of seriousness before laughing and swatting your arm playfully “ no. She ain’t into guys. That’s why she’s moved here, divorced her wife. Last year. Wants a new start and all that- are you gonna make that popcorn or not? “

And that had really set things in motion.

It was like you’d been permanently stood at a red light since she’d arrived, engine revving and ready to speed forward and see if you were delusional about the way she always looked at you or not. And now? Now it was flashing green, telling you to go.

You’d made every excuse possible to go across the street to her house, tailing after Joel when he started work, eventually popping around on your own accord with cookies or the offer to share some takeout together because Joel was working late.

You couldn’t remember the exact moment it had finally pushed past slightly awkward flirting, some random night 6 months down the line when you’d ended up showing her around your room after she’d turned up at the front door. You were a little tipsy and you regretted ever picking up a glass to this day. Because it had made your brain foggy so that you couldn’t quite remember the exact moment she’d kissed you. Or had you kissed her? Either way it didn’t matter. You’d kissed.

She’d broken it off suddenly, rambling apologies and an excuse to get out of the house- much to your confusion. Then you hadn’t seen her for over a week. Avoiding you completely until you grew bored of it and knocked on her door relentlessly until she’d answered you. Maybe you’d looked a little insane. But what else were you supposed to do?

She’d eventually invited you in and after a mildly awkward discussion- and another kiss- you’d finally come to the agreement that you were both idiots.

That had all been 8 months ago. And now you were sneaking around like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

It felt odd keeping it from your dad. He’d known about every awkward part of your slightly lack lustre love life. From the awkward kiss of your then boyfriend at prom, to the first time you’d kissed a girl, to the hideous break up with said girl on your 21st birthday of all days.

He accepted and listened and understood it all, being the mother you’d never known and the father you had all in one. But something told you he wouldn’t quite understand this one.

She wasn’t all the different in age than he was. Somewhere in her early 40s? He wouldn’t understand it. Not at all. He’d go all ‘protective dad’ mode you knew it. You were grown ass adult yet he still looked at you like you were 13. In his eyes you probably always would be.

You wanted to tell him, you really did. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t risk the highly likely chance that he wouldn’t get it, make it even harder to spend time with her. It could ruin everything. Not just with you and Tess, but with you and him.

You couldn’t put that at risk.

So sneaking around had become the norm for you both. Sometimes you could get away without even needing to make an excuse, when she’d come over to see Joel for one of their beer and card nights with Tommy and she’d excuse herself for a moment and seek you out. Or when Joel was out at work and you go across the road to visit.

It wasn’t ideal. But it was working for the most part. So you weren’t going to mess with the flow.

Even if it didn’t always work out exactly as you wanted. Like the present night. Joel had been lacking in work for most of the week and you’d barely had chance to see Tess, so when he’d finally gotten some work and said he’d be home late you’d jumped at the chance. You’d made some story up about your friend breaking up with her boyfriend, needing you to go over and see her. That you’d probably stay the night.

In reality you’d simply crossed the street when you’d finished work and had been there all evening. She’d clearly missed you as much as you had missed her, she’d barely let go of you since you’d arrived.

You couldn’t actually recall how long you’d been in the current situation, sat in her lap half undressed, lips swollen from how much she had kissed you. Things were progressing a little more than they normally did. Your sundress had been pushed from your upper half, hanging around your waist, and you didn’t even know where you’d thrown her tshirt.

You’d never gone further than that. With her or anyone. You usually made some excuse to stop before she could strip you out of anything else. Any excuse of Joel being home soon, of needing to get home to bed. Anything.

Its not that you didn’t want to. God did you want to. You thought about it constantly. How many times had it been that you’d woken up with your underwear ruined, or found your mind drifting off when it was quiet at work, daydreaming about her with every silent moment you got.

You were just… scared. Because she was older. She knew more. She’d been married for fucks sake, she obviously knew what she was doing. What if you were bad at it? What if she broke up with you the day after because she couldn’t believe how awful you were? It all boiled down to the same situation as it did with Joel. You didn’t want to put what you had in the present at risk.

You’d grown too attached. Too used to having her around. To being with her. You couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that. No matter how badly you wanted it.

She wanted it too. You could tell. Simply from the way one of her hands was fiddling loosely with the back of your bra and the other squeezing softly at the flesh of your ass. She never did anything without asking you first. Would never push you. And you wondered if you finally had the courage to go after what you wanted. You’d already been braver than you thought and something was yelling at you in your head, telling you to stop being so stupid. To go after what you wanted.

But another part was telling you no. Some deep rooted anxiety that it could ruin everything threatening to overwhelm you.

“ are you okay? “ she asked suddenly, pulling you out of your head and lifting her face from where she’d been working at your neck. She’d become quite the expert at leaving trails of love bites just out of the sight of Joel. Always placing them where your shirt would hide them from view. But still in a place you could see them, could trail your fingers over the blossoms of bruises in the mirror and remember how her lips felt.

“ sorry- yeah I just- “ you sighed, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment on your face “ sorry “ Tess frowned and reached up, brushing her fingers across your cheek and tucking some stray hairs behind your ear.

“ want me to stop? You look tired “ you shook your head and ran a hand over your face “ what’re you thinking about? Come on. Tell me “ You debated telling her. Fear of embarrassment looming over your head making it harder to voice your thoughts “ if it’s too much- “

“ no. No. It’s not I just. Look can I tell you something? But you can’t laugh “ she raised an eyebrow but nodded.

“ you can tell me anything. You know that “ you avoided her eyes, tracing your fingers lightly over her collarbones instead and across the faint white mark of a scar. One day you’d ask her how she’d got it.

“ I know you want- want us- well. You know… and I want to as well it’s just. I’ve never like- god this is so embarrassing “ you groaned hiding your face in your hands.

“ ohh “ Tess said softly, clearly all her confusion suddenly vanishing like a mist clearing “ never? “

“ don’t laugh “ you groaned, dropping your face onto her shoulder making her chuckle. She cradled your head with her hand and ran the other lightly up and down your spine, instantly relaxing you.

“ I’m not laughing baby. It’s not a bad thing. Look we don’t have to if you don’t- “

“ no “ you said a little too quickly, lifting your head again. I want to. Just… slow. Yeah? “ her eyes ran over your face for a few moments, clearly looking to see if you were completely certain. So you leaned forward and kissed her, telling her without having to actually say it out loud.

“ only if you’re sure “ she said quietly against your lips, brushing hers against yours.

“ I’m sure “ you whispered.

She gave another small nod and dropped her head again, her lips back on your neck but gentler. Soft, wet, open mouthed kisses across your neck and your chest . Pushing at your bra strap as she went, following the path across your shoulder with her lips. You felt all the anxiety melting away, your bones turning to mush.

Her hands were everywhere, soft and gentle in their exploration as they slid up your back, holding you close against her as she worked at easing you into a completely relaxed state.

You realised that as much as your fear had been prominent only a few moments ago, it was almost nonexistent now. There was still that heavy, anxious weight lingering in your chest. But only barely. Enough that you could ignore it and focus on the stronger emotions, the desire. The lust. The way it felt to know that you were desired. That she lusted for you. That she loved you.

“ can I take this off? “ she asked softly, her hands trailing lightly over the lace material of your bra. She squeezed softly and you were desperate to know what her fingers would feel like without the material in the way.

“ yes “ she removed your dress completely first, pulling it over your head from the spot it had been looked in around your waist. Then her fingers were nimble as she reached around and unhooked the clasp, sliding your bra from your shoulders and dropping it down beside her. Your eyes fell closed again, feeling so incredibly exposed. Vulnerable. But also… safe. Knowing that there wasn’t a single other soul on earth you’d be comfortable sitting there like that with.

“ so beautiful “ Tess whispered, her warm hands cupping your tits in her hands and pressing a kiss to your jaw. It felt strange to feel her hands on you in a place they had never been, squeezing and caressing. Nipples pebbling beneath her fingers as she whispered sweet things in your ear, not really even taking in what she was saying but relaxing at the low hum of her voice.

You felt a little strange being so undressed when she wasn’t. So before your anxiety could overwhelm you, you gingerly reached out for her. Pawing awkwardly at her own bra in some silent request to get her to take it off too.

She got the hint and you felt her smile against your skin, reaching behind her to remove it and adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“ that better? “ she asked and you nodded, reaching out with cautious hands, touching softly. She let you explore, let you touch her, watched you as you looked in awe at the way her nipples hardened under your fingertips. She sat there far more confidently than you were, you silently hoped you’d be that confident in front of her one day.

You were surprised at the way touching her so intimately made you feel. How it made you squirm lightly where you were sat in her lap. She seemed to notice, smiling and sliding her hands around your back to pull you in closer, her lips back on your skin.

Her chest pressing against yours and her lips caressing every inch they could reach, made your own lips part in a blissful sigh. Her skin so soft against yours, burning hot and prickling with desire in every place that your bodies connected. It felt… romantic though too. She wasn’t speaking yet you knew how much she loved you, how deeply she was attempting to show it.

It almost confused you how you could mingle such deep affection with the ever growing presence of you lust for her.

You could hardly sit still, your cunt begging to be touched. The fabric of your underwear offering not even the lightest amount of friction.

And she’d barely done anything to you. You wondered if you should be embarrassed. Or if she’d like it.

She seemed to pick up on your restlessness and she looked up at you again.

“ baby, lie down for me? Let me help you? “ she asked, cupping your face in her hands and peppering kisses across your cheeks. You let her lay you down, hands never leaving you for even a second. Kissing you as you sank into the soft pillows of her bed, the smell of her shampoo and her perfume that lingered in her sheets filling your senses.

She ran her hands across your hips and squeezed softly at your thighs, silently appreciating every part of your body that she could get to. Even though the Summer heat of the day had dissipated now that night had fallen, the room still felt stiflingly hot. Your skin burning in every place that she touched you. Or maybe you were imaging it. You couldn’t tell.

She sat back, taking a moment to look down at you, her eyes trailing slowly along your body. You found you didn’t feel even remotely self conscious now, the things you didn’t like about yourself and usually poured over in the mirror no longer bothered you. Not when she was looking at you like that. Not when she was gazing down at you like you were a piece of art. Looking at you as if you were the moon and the stars combined.

“ so perfect. Look at you “ she said it almost blissfully, like she couldn’t quite believe you were right there in front of her “ you’re so beautiful, did i tell you that? “ you smiled as she leant back over you brushing her lips over yours lightly.

“ you’ve mentioned it once or twice “

“ well do you believe me? “ your silence was her answer “ then I’ll tell you until you do “ your cheeks flushed and you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as she kissed you again. You’d never tire of kissing her. Never tire of the feeling of her nose bumping yours, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, the taste of her. You’d kiss her until you were dizzy, desperate for air “ or I can show you? Do you want me to? “

You didn’t need to think about it, simply whispered a yes and felt your heart beat faster in your chest.

She trailed her lips down your chest, between the valley of your breasts stopping for a moment to smother them in kisses too. Her tongue hot and wet as she licked at your nipple before entrapping it between her lips. It sent sparks straight to your already throbbing clit, making you wonder if they’d always been that sensitive. Or if she was just working magic.

“ feels good? “The cool air from her breath against your wet skin sent goosebumps prickling across your chest and she smiled giving the same attention to the other.

“ mhm. Yeah “

She soon continued downwards and across the soft skin of your belly, making you shiver as she reached your underwear, her lips pressing softly just above the cotton material keeping your cunt covered from view. Your heart was pounding in your chest, head racing with ridiculous thoughts of if what you had to offer her was good enough. Pretty enough. Would it look right? Weird? Would she think about how much better her wife’s was?

“ stop panicking “ she said, suddenly moving back up above you “ baby “ she cupped your face in her hand, brushing her thumb across your cheekbone “ we don’t have to do this. I can stop “

“ no. No. I want to. Just nervous “ she gave you a warm smile and nodded before pressing a kiss to your forehead

“ I know. But it’s just me. I’m not gonna hurt you “

“ I know “ she scanned your face with her eyes, reading you in a way you wished you could do to her. Maybe you would with time.

“ just tell me. If you need me to stop. Okay? “

“ yes “ she kissed you again, not moving back down until she felt your tension melting away again. And when she did move back down your body, planting herself between your legs, your bones were mush again. She ran her hands softly along your thighs, goosebumps following in their wake.

“ can see how wet you are “ she said with a smile, your face burning as she brushed her fingers over the soaked cotton. Had you really soaked your panties through? Your face was on fire, but you shivered at the barely there feel of her fingers ghosting over your soaked cunt “ can I take these off baby? “

You nodded embarrassingly quickly but she didn’t say anything, simply hooked her fingers into the material and carefully pulled them down your legs, dropping them onto the floor. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see her reaction as she placed her hands back onto your thighs again.

“ don’t hide from me. Let me see you “ it took you a moment and the gentle coaxing of her fingers on the squishy flesh of your thighs, but she managed to make you move. She pushed your legs apart, another shiver slivering up your spine as the air in the room hit your wetness. She took a sharp intake of breath and you mentally prepared yourself for some Excuse for her to stop. But of course it never came “ Jesus you’re so fuckin wet”

She sounded almost amazed. That it was shocking that you could ever possibly be so aroused by her. Which made you wonder if she was having thoughts just as ridiculous as your own. You still couldn’t open your eyes, so you gasped when your felt her press a soft kiss to the inside of the thigh, lips drawing closer and closer inwards.

“ this okay? “

“ yeah “ it came out as barely a whisper, too focussed on the feel of her lips working at the soft untouched skin of your thighs. Then the cool sensation of her breath fanning over your cunt, your clit throbbing in a way that it never had before. Silently begging for something you couldn’t ask her for. Simply because you didn’t know.

You felt so exposed. Laying there completely bare for her, her face so close to you in the most intimate place possible. So close you could feel her soft breathing on your skin.

Her fingers were on you then, gently parting you like the petals of a rose.

“ so. Fuckin beautiful like this “ Tess whispered, making you squirm a little under her gaze “ prettiest pussy ever “

“ Tess “ you whined her name in embarrassment and she chuckled lightly, pressing another soft kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“ remember to tell me to stop if it’s too much “ you whispered a yes and gasped as you felt her tongue lick a slow and gentle line from your dripping entrance up to your clit. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Unlike anything you could ever possibly have imagined.

You were pretty good at staying silent usually. You’d practically trained yourself to not make a sound incase Joel heard you. So the soft moan that escaped your throat took you by surprise , embarrassment flooding your face and making you try to close your legs. But she held you carefully in place

“ don’t be embarrassed. It’s just us here. You don’t need to be quiet. It’s okay baby. I want to hear you, so I know you’re doing okay. Yeah? “ she moved back in, her actions so small and gentle, circling your clit with her tongue in a way that drew a string of soft sounds out of you. You let your eyes flutter open, looking down at her desperate to see what she looked like.

You found her eyes already watching you, focussed firmly on your face as she set your entire body trembling with her actions. Your entire body tingled from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, mesmerised by the sight of her face buried between your legs.

You’d had dreams about it, had seen it behind closed eyes as you silently touched yourself in the shower or in bed at night. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing. Nothing could’ve made you feel as good as she was. Her tongue touching places that no one else ever had, lips suckling at your clit in a way that made you see stars.

“ you taste so good “ she said, detaching herself from you for a moment and soothing a hand over your trembling legs “ you’re doing so well baby. Want me to keep going? “

“ yes. Yes. Please. Please more “ she smiled and immediately went back to her previous actions, drawing another high pitched moan from your throat. Your head fell back again, the blinding hot pleasure she was giving you far too overwhelming to focus on looking at her anymore. She stayed slow. Soft. Gentle. Easing you closer and closer to the edge, tightening the knot deep in your belly.

You wondered how you had ever lasted this long in life without feeling like that. Though you doubted anyone else in the world could do it like her. Surely not a single other person on earth could make you feel the way she was, you were ruined for life. No one would ever compare, no one could ever make you feel better than that you were sure of it.

“ Tess “ you whimpered her name, not even sure what you were asking her for.

“ you okay? Talk to me baby? “

“ yeah I just… yeah “ she soothed her hand up your body and gently grasped your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze “ please don’t stop “

“ I’ve got you baby. I got you “ she kept a hold of your hand and went back to her previous actions, lapping at your seemingly never ending arousal dripping from your entrance. You could hardly stay still, squirming in the sheets and feeling her fingers press lightly into your thigh to keep you in place. You squeezed her hand tightly, brain going foggy as she sucked a little harder.

You finally felt something that was familiar to you after a few more moments, the pressure and tightening.

You’d never been able to make yourself come that fast and you weren’t sure if you should be embarrassed or not. Especially when you involuntarily lifted your hips from the bed, some silent request for her not to stop. She squeezed your thigh lightly, acknowledging your needs without needing to speak.

“ I think I’m gonna- “

“ I know. It’s okay. Go ahead, show me how beautiful you look when you come for me “ a few more gentle flicks of her tongue was all it took, sounds you’d never heard yourself make falling past your lips as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You’d never come so hard before, shaking and twisting your hands into the bed sheets as she worked you through every single second. It seemed to last forever, a deep burning in your veins making your entire body feel blistering hot but still making you shiver.

You were trembling as you finally relaxed, body going slack against the sheets as she soothed her hands over your legs. She was whispering something but your ears were ringing too loudly to hear her properly, a stupid dopey smile spreading its way across your face.

She reappeared at your side, propping herself on her elbow beside you and trailing her fingers in patterns across your stomach.

“ how you doing baby? “

“ so good “ you sighed, a small laugh bubbling past your lips “ so fuckin good “

“ you did so well. Proud of you “ you reached up for her face, pulling her down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on her lips and it shouldn’t have made you feel the way it did. Desire swirling in your veins again and making you squeeze your legs together.

It made you want to taste her. To make her feel the way she had made you feel. But you didn’t think you’d be particularly good at that. Not yet. But there were other ways. Other ways you had at least an inkling on how to do, practicing on yourself for so long had to be some use to her.

“ Tess “ you practically moaned against her lips, the thought of touching her making you almost dizzy with lust “ would you… can you show me. Like how to- I wanna make you feel good too… you know… make you feel good. Maybe? Please? “ she smiled almost sympathetically at your embarrassed attempt to ask her for guidance. She brushed your hair away from your face and nudged her fingers under your chin

“ you don’t have to. I won’t make you. It’s your first time and that was a lot- “

“ but I want to. Please. You just need to show me cause- please Tess “ she seemed to deliberate it for a moment, her eyes scanning over your face before giving a small nod. She was a sucker for you. It never took her much to give in to whatever you wanted.

“ alright. But. Maybe somethin a little easier to start, yeah? “ you nodded, thankful that you didn’t have to actually tell her you were terrified of repeating what she’d just done to you.

You wondered if she was wet. If she was as wet as you. What would she feel like, what would she taste like on your fingers. How would she sound when she came. Could you even make her finish?

“ do you ever touch yourself? “ your cheeks flushed as she cut off your panicked thoughts. You nodded “ it’s just the same “ she took your hand in hers and gently guided you down between her legs, shifting slightly so you could see her more. You moved to get a better view, no shame in wanting to see her better.

She guided your hand down to touch her, your lips parting in awe as you realised she was wet. Maybe even as wet as you had been.

Yet you hadn’t touched her. You hadn’t done anything really. She was simply that wet from giving you pleasure. From looking at you. Touching you. Tasting you. It sent another moan slipping past your lips.

You felt her breath stutter, falling against your cheek, as you brushed your fingers over her clit.

“ how do I… how do I know if you like it. Help me? “ you whispered, eyes still glued on where you were curiously touching her.

You startled slightly as her fingers brushed over your still sensitive clit, pushing through your folds and moving down to circle your dripping hole.

“ tell me to stop if you need me to but just, copy me. Okay? “ she started rubbing slow circles onto your clit , your own hand halting for a moment as you got your bearings again before copying.

“ like that? “ you were slightly breathless, the feeling of your sensitive clit being touched again stealing all the air from your lungs “ Tess? “

“ like that. Like that “ you wondered if she was as tightly strung as you were. You wondered if she had been thinking about this night for months like you had. Had she lay in bed at night, hand toying with her cunt and thinking about you? Had she desperately gotten off to the thought of tasting you or having you taste her? You wanted to know what she looked like when she came. Wanted to see her face relax with bliss, hear the sounds she would make.

“ fuck that’s so good “ you whined, trying to focus as best you could on moving your fingers and not getting distracted by the masterful way she was touching you.

“ wanna try something a little more? “ curiosity won out and you nodded. A slightly pathetic whimper of a sound bubbled past your lips as she moved her fingers down, circling your entrance slowly “ I think you can take two, yeah? “ she slowly pushed past the resistance at your entrance, your mind blanking at the odd feeling. It felt so different to when you did it yourself. Maybe her fingers longer or bigger. You didn’t know. But she seemed to be reaching places you hadn’t even known were there.

“ f-fuck “ you breathed out, trying to refocus yourself on the task at hand. Trying to remember you were supposed to be making her feel good now. But you faltered again as she curled her fingers, hitting some devastating part of you that had your eyes falling closed “ Tess”

“ you okay? I can stop “

“ no. Fuck. No just. You’re distracting me “ you said with a soft laugh, pressing your face into her neck with a smile.

“ you asked me to show you “ you could hear the smile in her voice and she pressed a kiss to your head “ you can try now. I’ll let you “ you looked down at where your own hand still hadn’t really moved and you did as she had. Cautious, soft hands, your fingertips running over every part of her, tracing along the slick folds and ridges of her cunt. Marvelling in how different it felt to feel her under your fingers instead of yourself.

She let you be curious, let your hands wander and explore. Let you be silently vulnerable and inexperienced with no judgment at all. She made small noises into your hair, small quick intakes of breath when you brushed over her clit, a gentle hum of a sound when you swirled your finger softly around her entrance. Gathering her arousal on the pads of your fingers and feeling her muscles contract beneath them.

You wanted to taste her too. In the same way she had done to you. But you didn’t quite feel brave enough for that yet. So you copied what she had just done to you, gently pushing your fingers into the welcoming warmth of her cunt.

“ you’re so soft “ you murmured more to yourself than her, awestruck at the feeling of her velvety soft walls fluttering around the intrusion of your fingers. She sighed blissfully, sucking you in until you couldn’t go any further.

“ that’s it baby “ her fingers shifted inside of you again, reminding you she was still there. You’d gotten so caught up in her you’d almost forgot.

“ u-upwards? “ you asked as she curled her fingers inside of you, making your breath stutter

“ mhm that’s right “ you did as she did, curling your fingers until she let out a soft moan, her face still pressed against your hair “ you got it “ you copied the rhythm she did, the feeling of her wet warmth clenching around your fingers paired with the way your own cunt fluttered and contracted around hers… it was almost too overwhelming.

The entire thing felt so unbelievably erotic yet so beautifully intimate. Your face still nuzzled into her neck, peaking slightly at the way your fingers disappeared inside of her. Her face pressed into your hair, stuttered breaths and soft moans. The sensuality of being wrapped up and pressed against her, working at each other in a steady rhythmic pace. The almost pornographic wet, sopping sounds coming from the both of you. Unsure exactly which of you it was.

You’d never felt so vulnerable yet so safe. So loved. So cherished. Like you two where the only people alive, simply intent on making the other feel good, drawing each other closer and closer to the edge.

Her hand shifted a little, her thumb pressing lightly against your clit in a way that made you gasp. You didn’t quite have the same precision as she did, your hand at an awkward angle and you felt her smile against you.

“ keep up what you were doing. Feels so good, you’re doing so fuckin well. Keep going baby “ you did as she asked, holding onto her arm as you felt her abusing a deliciously perfect spot inside of you.

“ god don’t stop “ you whined, pressing your face further into her neck. Not sure how you were supposed to handle all the new feelings she was evoking in you.

You came first, which you had expected. Trapping her hand between your legs and clenching your eyes shut as you came over her fingers, moaning and whimpering as she made sure to draw it out for as long as possible.

“ that’s it baby. Fuck you look so pretty when you come for me, let me hear you. That’s it “ she coaxed you through every single second, whispering an abundance of praise and love into your ear as you came down.

You winced lightly when she withdrew her fingers, suddenly feeling empty at the loss of her inside of you.

“ holy shit “ you breathed out as you caught your breath “ I don’t think I can do that to you “ you said with a small laugh, remembering you still needed to get her off “ I wanna make you feel that good. Tell me more. Help me? “

You were entranced as you watched her start circling her own clit with her fingers that were still coated in you, the two of you mingling together in a way that made your face flush so violently red you went light headed. You continued curling your fingers in the same way she had, even chancing scissoring them open like she had done to you. You practically beamed when you made her moan, knowing you were the one causing those sounds.

“ that’s it baby, keep doing that. Just like that for me okay? “ you nodded, dumbfounded and unable to speak as you watched her touch herself, your fingers still moving inside of her and hitting the spot that made her moan in a way that went straight to your over sensitive cunt.

“ am I doing it right? “

“ mhm. You’re doing so well. So well baby. Almost there “

The feeling of her coming on your fingers was something otherworldly. The sounds she made, the way her warm walls clamped around you to keep you where she wanted you. It drew another moan from your own mouth. You kept up your actions until she gently pushed at your hand, a small laugh leaving her throat

“ too much baby. You can stop “ you withdrew your fingers, awestruck at the sticky residue she’d left on your fingers, the blissful and content look on her face.

She pulled you close against her, shuffling down so that you could lay your head on her chest and press soft kisses to your forehead.

You were both quiet, basking in the afterglow, content to just be together. Your slick skin slipping against each other as you shuffled to get impossibly closer to her. You could hear her heart beating steadily in her chest, her fingers trailing up and down your side lightly. The room was sticky and hot, sex filling the air. But you felt perfectly comfortable, safe.

And if your worst fears were to come true and she decided you were horrendous at getting her off. Then you’d be quite happy that that had been the first and the last. You’d never felt more at peace.

“ how are you feeling? “ she asked after a few minutes, when sleep was starting to seep into your bones “ you did so well. Sure you’ve never done it before? “ you giggled and shook your head

“ never. I promise “

“ and how do you feel now that you have?”

“ perfect “ you whispered not even embarrassed at how cheesy it sounded, not needing a second to even think about your answer “ and tired. So fuckin tired “ she smiled at you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“ shower first. Then you can sleep. Trust me. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t “ she chuckled and patted your arm lightly to make you sit up. You watched her walk around the bed, stretching her arms up above her head and groaning slightly as she stretched out her aching muscles. It felt… domestic. The way she was so unbelievably comfortable around you, showering together, sharing the bed afterwards. It made your heart pang.

You watched her as she walked around to your side of the bed with no shame, very much ogling her without a care. Even when she caught you “ enjoying the view? “

You were. You absolutely were. And you hoped you’d get to enjoy it for quite a while longer.

#sorry I’m late #pls don’t be salty #tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfic #Joel miller #smut #fluff #x you #Anna torv #Joel’s daughter!reader #lesbian #tlou hbo #Tess tlou

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kikokus · 2 months

Text

I had asked for fic prompts for Sanji's birthday and @woodenela had suggested "maybe Sanji cooking some North Blue dishes? Either his favourite for himself or something Sora liked" and "some good old straw hats pampering Sanji on his birthday despite him fighting it tooth and nail" so I kind of...combined those and came up with this!

(And I didn't quite make it for his birthday but I hope you enjoy regardless... No pairings, just Strawhat-centric fluff, set at some point shortly before the time-skip)

A frustrated shout from the galley was what greeted her as she pushed the door open, and while that level of volume on the ship wasn’t necessarily abnormal, usually Luffy was somehow involved and Nami had seen him a mere five seconds earlier tinkering with one of Usopp’s inventions so she knew he couldn’t be the culprit this time.

The sight of Sanji hunched over the table, running one hand through his hair with enough fervor to completely tousle the golden strands, was far more unnerving than if Luffy had managed to sneak into the fridge again.

“Sanji-kun?”

“Ah, Nami-san!” he sat up immediately, his face brightening, but it still lacked the normal enthusiasm he would typically address her with. “Do you need something from me, my darling?”

“I was just coming in to grab some water…”

She barely had the words out before he was zooming past her, and the protest that she could have gotten it herself died in her throat when she saw what was on the table.

It was a piece of paper, a hastily-scrawled list of ingredients and a few haphazard star-shaped drawings littering the sheet, and somehow she knew that this was the cause of Sanji’s emotional outburst.

And while she doubted that asking about it would result in any kind of a straight answer, that wasn’t going to stop her from trying.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh! Ah…” Sanji paused, fingers gripping the edge of the countertop like a lifeline. “Just coming up with some new recipes! Nothing you need to worry yourself with, my dear!”

“Okay,” she decided to let the subject drop, though she didn’t believe him for a second.

“He’s from the North Blue, right?” Usopp tilted his head, trying to decipher the words written on the page.

“Why is that important?” Nami was shuffling through books in the library, the pile beside her increasing in size as she quickly discarded almost every one that she opened.

“Well, his birthday’s tomorrow,” Usopp replied, idly scratching his nose. “Maybe it’s some sort of traditional dish? Or something he remembers from his childhood?”

“His birthday?” Nami stopped stripping the shelves of all their books and blinked at him. “How do you know?”

“He mentioned it once and that’s the sort of thing I remember,” Usopp leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “We do talk, you know.”

“Right,” she heaved a sigh and dropped down beside him. “Okay. We’re set to make landfall in the morning, so what are the chances we can pull this off?”

“Well, it’s not really complete,” Usopp went back to looking at the sheet. “But this combination of spices can’t be that common. If we could just find a reference that’s close…”

“Usopp, you’re brilliant! I’ll talk to Robin,” Nami snatched up the sheet and zoomed away, leaving Usopp to realize in slowly-dawning horror that it was now apparently his responsibility to put the books away in the same order she’d removed them.

Robin wasn’t exactly expecting the local Grand Line bookstore to have a book specifically on North Blue cuisine, but the employees were decidedly unhelpful and couldn’t even point her in a useful direction so she was stuck scouring the shelves by herself.

Since Nami’s search of the library had been fairly fruitless (and Sanji would have likely started there anyway), she’d volunteered to do some research while the rest of the crew kept Sanji thoroughly distracted until dinnertime.

They’d managed to come up with a decently long list of spices from the outline Sanji had provided, and Robin’s best guess was that it was meant for some sort of stew or curry.

Luckily, the shop did have books on that, but she was running out of time and--after a quick glance to make sure the shopkeeper was otherwise distracted--using her abilities to page through several books at once seemed like the best option.

She was about halfway through a rather dense edition entitled Stews of the Four Blues when a page with a photo of star anise caught her attention, and thinking back it did bear a striking resemblance to the doodles that Sanji had added to the original sheet…almost like he was trying to picture that exact page in his mind’s eye.

The rest of the spices lined up as well, and given the time…

Well, they’d have just long enough to get it ready before dinner.

“I can take those.”

“You what?”

“The bags, idiot,” Zoro immediately regretted his choice of words because Nami had made it clear they had to be nice to the cook today, but that wasn’t exactly his normal way of interacting with him.

“Why?” Sanji took a step back, immediately suspicious, and Zoro briefly considered knocking him out with the hilt of one of his swords and dragging the bags away by force but that seemed like the opposite of ‘being nice’ so he quickly dismissed it.

“I’m going back to the ship anyway,” he tapped the toe of his boot against the ground. “I need a drink and I don’t have enough extra money to buy more booze.”

“Well, I’m not buying you any, so whatever you drink you’ll have to replace,” Sanji still wasn’t passing over the damn bags and Zoro was reaching the end of his patience.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro held out his hand and Sanji slowly--eventually--handed them over, prompting Zoro to make a hasty retreat so as to avoid prolonging the conversation any more than it already had been.

Nami owed him big time for this.

“Saaaaaaanji! Food!” Luffy wasn’t exactly a master of distraction, but all Nami had told him was to keep Sanji away from the ship and lunch seemed like a great way to do that.

He launched himself at Sanji, wrapping him up in a rubbery hug.

“Food! Food! Food!”

“Okay; okay,” Sanji had been looking at a stall selling some fresh fruit but he staggered awkwardly away with Luffy still wrapped around him. “Can’t you bug Usopp or something?”

“He’s busy,” Luffy pouted, and honestly, he was pretty proud of his acting job right now.

“You’re paying for your own food,” was all Sanji said, and Luffy finally unwound himself enough to grab Sanji’s hand and lead him in a direction that he hoped was away from the ship.

Mission complete.

“Hey, Sanji-bro!”

“Franky?”

And okay, maybe Franky shouldn’t have just stopped in front of him since walking into a wall of metal would knock anyone back, but he managed to catch Sanji before he landed ass-first on the pavement.

“You busy?”

“Not exactly, but I was…”

“Cool! You know how to play guitar, right?” Franky had seen him plucking away at his guitar more than a few times when he was sure Sanji didn’t think anyone was looking, and the flush on his pale cheeks only confirmed what he already knew.

“I mean, I…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it!” Franky clapped him on the shoulder, again realizing that any normal human would probably be thrown off-balance by the force of his hand and hauling Sanji back to his feet. “Found a music shop and I was looking at grabbing some new strings. Wanna come with?”

“Sure?” Sanji still seemed more confused than anything, but he didn’t protest, so Franky guided (see: probably pushed too hard again) him into the shop.

“Sanji-san!”

“Hey, Brook,” Sanji walked over, the slightest slump to his shoulders the only indication that his energy was low. “What’s up?”

“Nothing to worry about! I just discovered a lovely tea shop around the corner, and since you’re one of the only people on this crew that appreciates a good cup of tea, I was wondering if you’d like to join me?” he half-bowed, extending a skeletal hand in the direction of the shop.

And Sanji looked…relieved, almost, which made Brook wonder what sort of ‘distractions’ the rest of the crew had tried to implement.

Still, there wasn’t anything inherently stressful about drinking tea, so he was sure Sanji would be able to relax for the next little while.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Sanji smiled at him, hands stuffed in his pockets as he followed Brook to the shop.

“You’re sure I can grind all of these?”

“Yep!” Nami had the book open on the table, reaching to tie her hair back while she studied the recipe. “Some of them have to go in whole but all of those should be good to go.”

“Okay!” Chopper grinned, happy that he could use at least a bit of his medical knowledge to help out here. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the same, but he knew how to use a mortar and pestle and he wanted to join in as soon as he heard Nami’s plan.

Usopp was working on the rice and Robin seemed to be generally supervising, and between the four of them Chopper knew they could pull this off.

He added the mixture of cardamom, peppercorns and fennel seeds to the mortar and set to work, determined to do a good job.

Sanji was going to love it.

It was nearing dinner by the time Sanji made it back to the ship, and while he hadn’t seen anyone from his crew since leaving the tea shop with Brook, they’d been unusually persistent all day and he was starting to wonder if something was up.

The galley lights being on only furthered those suspicions, and while his first instinct was to be annoyed that someone was invading his space without his permission, the smell wafting through the door was startlingly familiar and he had to clutch the door frame to keep his knees from getting weak when he realized what it was.

Because it was something he hadn’t smelled in over ten years, and before he could think to collect himself he was already pushing through the door, hands fumbling for his lighter because he really needed a cigarette right now.

The first breath he took once he was in the galley proper almost brought tears to his eyes, and he barely registered the joyful shouts of ‘Happy Birthday!’ or Luffy’s high-pitched explanation that there was cake, too, and flatbread but they didn’t make cake or the flatbread because ‘Nami said we couldn’t bake anything so we had to buy it and…’

“So who said you could use my kitchen?” he finally managed to clear his throat enough to talk, his voice noticeably shaky, but then he had to fend off Luffy, Usopp and Chopper from trying to tackle him and eventually he just gave up and let them drag him to the table.

“Sorry, Sanji-kun,” Nami looked a little sheepish. “Robin was overseeing things, though!”

“Ah, well, if there’s anyone I would trust in my domain, it’s my lovely ladies,” he was speaking almost on autopilot, his senses still overwhelmed, and if he closed his eyes he could imagine himself sitting at the table while his mom…

Yeah. Unless he wanted to start sobbing, maybe now wasn’t the best time to get lost in those particular memories.

“Thank you. It smells amazing,” he said honestly, leaning into Usopp when the sniper threw an arm around his shoulders, and he knew how lucky he was to have friends who were willing to do this just to make him happy.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell them everything yet--about how meals like this where his mom could prep in advance and let it cook on its own for a few hours were one of the only things she had energy for as her body continued to weaken--but that didn’t mean he was any less appreciative.

And maybe one day…

Well, maybe one day he’d be able to.

But for now, he could just enjoy the evening.

…After he reminded them that the star anise had to be removed before the dish could be served, of course.

#one piece #opfanfic #sanji #strawhats

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stcrfeesh · 1 year

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the secrets of endings and beginnings

Xiao x Reader

for @mondaymelon; @favonius-library; exchange gift event

wc. 4101

A retelling of all the secrets the crown prince, Xiao, had to keep about the beginnings and the endings—and all the things he had with you in between.

There were three things the crown prince, Xiao, knew about you. And because he did, he thought you to be rather odd, and yet, at the same time, he found you absolutely intriguing.

One, you liked staying in the palace gardens. You had once told him how you adored the bed of glazed lilies and its fragrance. Though, you would also complain about its authenticity. You would speak as though you were an old hag—during my time, the blue in which they bloomed was purer than that of the springs of Liyue.

Or, something along those lines. He couldn’t exactly remember each specific word, but he remembered the pride on your face. The way your eyes sparkled as you finished speaking. You were silly, and the crown prince found himself not minding it one bit. Perhaps it was some form of subtle prejudice… but it was a secret only he would be privy to. He swore to take it to his grave.

You were funny. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. You spoke as if you were centuries older than him. The people of Liyue lived very, very long lives. Blessed with something akin to immortality, but not quite. But, his point was, he too, remembered how pure the blue of glazed lilies used to be. Of course, he would remember. Glazed lilies were his late mother’s flowers. They sprouted in her wake, blooming on the ground she stepped on. He grew up watching his mother tend to her precious flowers—in the very same palace gardens you have recently taken a liking to.

Nevertheless, the crown prince humoured you anyway.

“You know, when I was younger, glazed lilies used to be bluer than they are now.” You once told him.

The crown prince had long since deduced that you were younger than him. A century younger, if he were to roughly estimate. He knew what glazed lilies looked like as if they were the back of his hand, but he let you talk anyway.

He would let out a hum of acknowledgement, prompting you to continue on. But you don't, and he would always know why. He’d decide to play along, just this once, he would tell himself—and he would continue to tell himself that for the next hundred times.

“Oh?” He had asked, feigning intrigue.

He was almost certain that you were already aware of him and his memories with the said flower, but each time he would let you speak of all the things you knew—things that he, too, already knew by heart. How could he not? He was the crown prince. It was his duty to know these things.

The crown prince was expected to know all the things you spoke of, but he pretended not to because he got to see your face light up. That was enough for him—to keep on pretending. When your face lit up, it would make him feel warm inside. It was like apricity, seeing you smile. It was a smile that radiated joy, and if he were being honest, he felt your joy, too.

Like every other thing he was supposed to know, he knew you loved the palace gardens. And every time, without fail, he would find you waiting for him there. Thus, on one sunny Tuesday morning, he found you in the palace gardens. As always, you were crouching by the bed of glaze lilies—as if staring and squinting at them long enough would return them to their true colours.

“Hullo, your highness.” You would greet him with a clumsy bow once you'd noticed his presence behind you.

Routinely, he would respond with, “You do not have to call me that.”

“Then I would be one disrespectful subject,” You would click your tongue, shaking your pointer finger. “Dear archons, my parents did not raise such a brute.”

The crown prince would always find himself sighing at your antics, saying, “Not referring to me as such does not make you a disrespectful… person.”

“Oh,” You would say in a sing-song voice. “Is it because—”

But, before you could ever continue, he would always cut you off, saying, “That is not what I meant. You need not refer to me by my title because you are my friend.”

“Okay,” You would reply bashfully, and then you’d start to tell him things. You’d tell him about the things you’d learned—about the deep waters, the stars, and many others. You’d talk for an entire afternoon, and the crown prince would patiently listen to every word.

Because… there were three things the crown prince, Xiao, knew about you. And because he did, he would find himself roaming the palace grounds for you—all so he could help you.

Two, you were lost—and stuck, for the most part. You couldn’t tell him how or why, your memories failing you when you needed them most. The crown prince never doubted you, though. You were his friend; while that seemed to make him look like an utter fool, with his entire heart, he knew you were not here to cause him and the court trouble.

One moment you were somewhere else, and the next you found yourself in the palace—or so you told him. He could attest to that too, yes. He did not even know you. Not until he got to know you. Your face was not familiar, nor was your voice. Everything about you was new to him.

The crown prince has never seen you his entire life—ever—until he found you lost within the maze that was the palace. He could not remember one instance in all the centuries he’s lived in the palace where he’s received your acquaintance. He did not know you at all, rendering you a complete stranger to him. But you had looked so confused the first time he saw you, as though you didn’t even know why you were in there or how you got there.

And so, despite his better judgement, he asked if you were alright—well, not exactly asking if you were alright, but it was close enough.

“What are you doing?” He had asked you. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheath it should you attack him. “Who are you?”

You had looked at him in distress. At that time, the crown prince thought it was the look of someone who was caught in the act of a crime, but now he realised it was as you had seemed. You were disgruntled, confused, and many other things he would dare not pry from you.

“I do not remember,” Was all you had to say about yourself at that time.

The crown prince concluded months later that it was true. You truly did not know your name or how you got there. You had told him you wanted to return home, wherever that might be.

He never truly understood what you meant by that, and he would not understand you for a very long time. How could someone who cannot remember where home was—or how home felt—long for home? How could you want to return home when you do not even remember where it was, or better yet, who it was?

Your sentiments were never questioned, though. He takes everything you say at face value, much to his own chagrin. He should never trust strangers, let alone ones who suddenly appear in the palace without much explanation. And yet, the crown prince trusts you because he listens.

He has heard how much you longed for a faraway place you could not recall. He believed you wanted to return, but you could not. You spoke with such fondness for a place that might not be real, and so, he believed you. He believed in the existence of your home in a faraway land and hoped one day, you’d find your way back.

“I want to go home,” You once told him meekly. “Do you think me to be silly, your highness? Longing for a home I do not remember?”

He shook his head then, in an attempt to reassure you. Your wishes were things anyone with a heart would wish for. Even for you, whose memories were like scattered puzzle pieces. You were allowed to wish for things beyond your reach.

“No, I don’t,” He remembers saying. “I think everyone is bound to long for home, even when they don’t seem to remember it.”

You hummed at his reply, “I wonder what it is like to return home. Do you think I have family waiting for my return? Will I even find my way back?”

The crown prince only shrugged and asked, “Is that what you truly want? To return to your home?”

You had told him it was what you wanted most—at least, what you could recall wanting most since the moment you found yourself lost in the palace. You said, “It feels empty to only have my memories in bits and pieces. There is this hole in my heart, and somehow, it tells me that all I need to fill it in is to find my home. I do not mind if looking for it takes an entire century. So long as I get to return home, then I suppose, that’s what matters most.”

He nods, understanding. He has listened to your yearning, and so had he listened to your dreams. All of which weren’t things that were so inconceivable. You were allowed to have your wishes granted and even fulfilled.

So he does the unthinkable. The crown prince made an oath to himself—and to you, by extension. You were his dear friend, and he swore an oath to always help you. He swore on his honour to bring you home, no matter how long it would take him.

After all, the people of Liyue lived very long lives. He had centuries ahead of him to fulfil your one and only dream. For his dearest friend, though it was unusual of him, he would search the ends of the world to return you home.

He does this all because there were three things the crown prince, Xiao, knew about you. He knew a truth that not many dwellers could ever fathom to understand. It was the key to getting you home—a hint to a puzzling mystery.

Three, the crown prince knew you were dead. It was something the both of you immediately acknowledged the first time you met. But, it was the one thing he could not bring himself to believe the first time around.

He refused to believe that he was seeing a ghost—that he was seeing you. Ghosts weren’t supposed to be real. They were stories parents used to scare their children into leaving the house after dark. And yet, there you were. Right before his eyes, a ghost with no memories.

“Is it so hard to believe?” You had asked him. Then, you took those words back. “Maybe it is. After all, I remember dying, but I do not remember anything before that. But also—your kind are descendants of the imperial dragons. Is it so hard to believe that ghosts may be real too?”

“There are no ghosts in the imperial palace,” The crown prince stubbornly insisted. “At least, there weren’t ghosts in the imperial palace. Why are you here?”

You do not know. That was the same answer you’d tell him time and again—you do not remember anything from your life before. You had told him that you could only remember hopping from place to place. As though there was something pulling you along.

Though you had told him you would never usually admit it, you went ahead and threw yourself under the carriage, saying, “It’s like I’m on some sort of leash. I keep getting dragged around. I haven’t a clue why.”

Your guess was right, he learns months later. You are tethered to something, and it was on the palace grounds. Whatever it was that anchored you in the world of the living needed to be buried, lest you never find your way back home.

The crown prince knew many things. From Liyue’s long and glorious history to spirits and ghosts. Admittedly, he only learned about the latter recently for you. He knew that whatever it was keeping you around was something brought in recently. After all, he had never seen you around until a couple of months ago.

Of course, he could still be wrong… and the crown prince, who never knew how to be selfish, wished there was a chance that he could be wrong. He finds himself with another secret he would take to his grave—he wants you to stay a little while longer.

“I have figured it out,” You had told him one particular afternoon. What exactly you had figured out, the crown prince did not know yet. You had a knack for pointing out the obvious—or at the very least, the obvious things he never seemed to take note of—as he had noticed. He wondered if that was the case this time around. “Whatever’s keeping me here arrived on the same day I appeared.”

That specific information, the crown prince already knew. It was just that; he just never told you that he did.

“You appeared six months ago,” He recalled.

He still remembers the first day he met you; witty, glowing, see-through, and dead. He remembers the first time he saw you pass through a wall as though it were nothing—and the first time you smiled at something that he said. He remembers every first and selfishly hopes there won’t ever have to be a last. But that was just wishful thinking.

“I appeared six months ago,” You repeated in confirmation. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

The crown prince remembers the long pause after that. He remembers not knowing the right words to say but knowing what he wanted to tell you. He remembers every moment and every second—the silence that seemed so loud and the unspoken words that begged to be blurted out: he had already figured out what was keeping you within the palace walls.

It started with a random thought—a nonsensical memory.

Since the day you first laid eyes on the palace gardens, the crown prince has noticed how you gravitated towards a potted plant. A glazed lily that was different from all the others. One that remained in bloom in the mornings, and one that you would berate the most. Though flowers were not sentient, you had called it conceited—why must it be potted while the rest are together on the bed? What does it think it is, the emperor?

It was a fairly new addition, and he remembers the gardener mentioning that it was found blooming somewhere in the west of Liyue. It was a rare sight to have glazed lilies blooming in the west. The land in the west was not fertile enough to keep ancient flowers alive, and yet that lone glazed lily stood tall, full of life.

With its rarity, it was uprooted and brought to the palace as a gift—an offering to the late empress. The crown prince spent many months not finding interest in the lone flower. Having only glanced at it every now and then whenever you fumed. He did not care about glazed lilies since the empress had passed. He had no reason to care for a flower his mother had loved, not when she was no longer around.

But then there was you.

You had told him you hated the lone glazed lily. You hated how it was different—how it was alone when it could be somewhere with the others. But you understood why the flower must bloom in solitude. Because it was different, it suffered a lonely fate. The crown prince thought the flower was much like you.

“Why are you showing me this?” You had asked him as you stared the potted flower down as if glaring at it would make it disappear into thin air. “I do not like it. Can we not look at other flowers instead?’

“You know,” He began cryptically—it was unlike him, but some twisted and selfish part of him wanted to keep you here a little while longer. The crown prince was selfish, just this once, he swears. “My father once told me that we resent people and things when we see in them the parts of ourselves that we do not like.”

“I didn’t know you were into philosophy.”

“Because I am not.”

“Huh. Very well, then.”

“You do not sound like you believe me.”

“But I do,”

“Truly?”

You replied with a hum of agreement and a smile. The crown prince wonders then, how could something so beautiful make his heart ache so painfully? Maybe this was what the elders meant when they said that beauty will always come at a price. He gets to see a smile so ethereal, but at the cost of an odd feeling of heartache that he cannot begin to explain.

You hated the lone flower, and you would remind him of this every single time without fail. And yet, despite all your complaints and grievances, you would treat the flower as how one would treat a newborn child—delicately, and with love. Had the crown prince not known any better, he would have assumed that you’d taken a fondness for the flower. Perhaps you did, and your stubbornness stood in the way of admitting it.

You crouched down, just as you had told him you wanted to leave. You stayed, and your hands reached out to touch the flower instead. Your fingers do not pass through its petals; the flower moves, albeit slightly. It sways to your touch and to the breeze that suddenly blows—he watches you quietly, intently, as his mind races with a million and one words.

“I already know how to get you home,” The crown prince suddenly blurted out.

“You do?” You asked.

You did not seem elated as he had hoped you would. You had droned on for months on end about how much you longed for the home you could not remember, but why does your eyes not smile when he tells you this? Why do you remain stoic? Why won’t you jump around and squeal in delight? Have your wishes changed?

Slowly, he nodded and offered you his hand, “Walk with me?”

And you did. You walked with him, side by side, through the palace gardens that the both of you had memorised over the months he’s gotten to know you—at least, the you that he knows, who cannot remember a single thing about their past.

He takes you in circles, dragging this dreaded moment on. You did not complain and only sang a familiar tune he could not put a name to. A tune that reminded him so much of you—one of the many other things about you that he cannot put a name to. You were a familiar mystery, an unanswered prayer and question, one whose ending was coming soon.

You walked with him, and his hand brushed lightly against yours. But he was not so bold as to take it in his, to feel a nonexistent warmth that only his heart could fathom feeling. Archons, no.

“The flower…” Then he trailed off.

The crown prince was many things, but not once in all the centuries he’s lived has he considered himself to be selfish. You were a spirit tethered to a world you no longer belonged to, and as with all that has passed, you deserved to find peace. You deserved to have your soul set free from the mortal chains that bind you to an even more mortal world.

But he tells himself that the people of Liyue lived long lives. Wanting to keep you a while longer should not be an unforgivable sin.

“Is my way home,” You finished for him instead. You had spoken the words he could not get himself to tell you. His steps come to an abrupt stop, and then he gapes at you.

There was silence between you both, and all the prince could hear was the rustling of the leaves and the crunching of grass beneath his feet. He feels your presence, but he feels you fade away all the same. In that very moment, as you stared at him and he stared at you, he decided that you were a contradiction.

Before the silence became too much to bear, you spoke once more, “Why must I be attached to the one flower I despise the most?”

The pieces finally fall into place for the crown prince. You hated the flower because it was you. The flower was you, and it was the one thing that kept you tethered to the world you were unfairly yanked out of.

“Would you like the answer?” He asked.

“No.”

Your walk continues in silence. The silence did not make the crown prince want to run away this time around. In fact, it made him want to stay—and he does. He walks with you, leading you through the maze, through flower arches, past the ginkgo tree, and then back to where you began. Right in front of the potted glazed lily you hated.

“How does this work?” You asked softly. “Do you just throw it away? Destroy it?”

“No, that would erase your soul.” He replied. “We uproot it, I suppose?”

“Do you think the last of my remains are somewhere in its soil?”

“Likely.” He answered. “You’ll be home after all this.”

“So eager to get rid of me?” You teased. “Oh, my dear heart—here I thought you liked my presence!”

“Do you want to return home or not?” His question only hangs in the air.

You bit your lip, inspecting the potted flower, his question now forgotten. “But what if it doesn’t work, what happens then?”

It would work, and the crown prince was certain of that. He looked at you and noticed the hesitation in your eyes. Did you not want to return home?

Bits and pieces of what was supposed to have been apparent to him months ago flood the gates of his mind. You were hesitant because you had known all along. The moment you first touched the lone glaze lily, you already knew your story and your name.

He does not chastise you for this, instead, he reassures you.

“It will work,” He knows it will, and he has never been so certain… and much like you now, he wishes he wasn’t. He wished that somewhere in the order of things, something would fail, but the crown prince reminded himself, seemingly for the last time, that he wasn’t selfish.

The crown prince finds himself with a new secret.

There was one thing you never knew about Xiao, and you might never know about it—or maybe, you already knew. Whether you did or not was a secret you already took with you to your grave. He would no longer be able to ask, and you would never be able to tell.

A bittersweet ending to an equally bittersweet beginning. He was content this way, but still, Xiao loved you.

In the beautiful chaos of meeting, befriending, and loving a lost ghost, Xiao had found a home within you. While you had told him how much you yearned to return home, his selfish heart had built one through you. You were his home, and Xiao loved you. He loved you so much that he allowed his new-found home to crumble before his eyes. His home should not be home when you, in all that made you ethereal to him, were not free.

Xiao loved you, and so he set you free.

The lone glazed lily that you had once loathed no longer had to bloom in solitude; it finally found its way back home amongst the bed of familiar blues. No longer did it need to be conceited because the flower was you, and you were far from conceited. You were many things; cheeky, witty, bright, and a thousand other wonderful things—but never conceited. He would always remember you that way.

Xiao made it a habit to always pass by the palace gardens, at least once every morning. He’d watch your flower dance to the breeze, and it would leave the smallest smile on his face. Of course it would. You were Xiao’s chance encounter, the only one that could make him smile. He was sure to remember you for the millennia to come…

Because Xiao knew many things, but one he would never forget was that he loved you.

This is a gift for a friend and a kind-of-entry for an exchange gift event hosted by the Favonius Library! I had a lot of fun (this claim is false) writing this, and thus, I hope Melon, and everyone else who'll read this, will have fun as well. Hehehehe. Oh! And! I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my beta readers (I'd put a heart emoji here but I'm using HTML to format this).

GENSHIN MASTERLIST | KO-FI SUPPORT

#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #stcrfeesh; gifts #stcrfeesh; oneshots #xiao x reader #angst #genshin impact fanfic #genshin royal au #xiao insert reader

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 10 months

Text

Makeover

@cullen-blue23

🧟💄💅🏻Prompt from the one I missed last time; Wen Ning using make up to make himself lol more alive

Part of the Wen Ning fucks agenda because I have found my calling as a Wen Ning simp.

Enjoy!

Wen Ning stares through the windows of the little makeup shop, at the many bottles, vials and colorful boxes on the shelves lining up the cream-colored walls - and the way the shopkeeper applies the finishing touches of makeup to her client. The young woman looks... regal, almost, the colors around her eyes and the shine on her lips enhancing her already delicate features. She looks... beautiful. Alive.

Wen Ning remembers how he tried to paint his nails one day, a light, fleshy pink. It never lasted, but it made him feel...good. Human.

Oh, how he wishes he also was...

It feels ungrateful to think this way - he isn't... fully alive, but he's not dead either, and that's more than he could have ever dreamed of the moment he succumbed to exhaustion and died all those years ago.

He has a home now, and a family, and he's trying to make a name for himself other than the Ghost General. He can go wherever he wants, do whatever he wants, he even has money now! He can travel the world and meet all sorts of people, learn all sorts of things...

Still, there is so much he cannot do anymore. Precise movements are difficult, and sometimes he feels stuck in his body, every sensation muted.

He doesn't feel a lot of the things people do. Most sensations he gets to feel have to be very intense for him to get anything out of it. And it's... weird. That's the word Wen Ning has decided to settle on, even if that's not quite right.

(What a shame, that he doesn't get to feel with his body, but his soul is still so painfully human.)

Anyway, he does wish he was more... alive. Or at least look it. He isn't sure he still remembers what he used to look like...

"You can just come into the shop, you know?" the shopkeeper smiles at him from behind her counter. "I promise I don't bite! ...well, not without prior consent at least!"

If Wen Ning could, he'd be blushing. A bit ironic, considering the things he's been getting up to lately...

Still, he decides he might as well - he's been staring like a creep for too long not to purchase anything, and perhaps he can find something here that's going to make him feel less... different.

"So, what can I help you with today?"

"I'm looking for... makeup."

The lady laughs, and Wen Ning feels like blushing again.

"Well, you've sure found it! But what exactly are you hoping to achieve? What kind of look would you like?"

Wen Ning feels suddenly very self conscious, out of place in the shop, in the world.

"I want... to look more... alive."

The lady laughs, again. "You know, that's a very common request. And anyway, I see people that look dead-er than you on the daily! Go sit by the window and I'll try to work my magic!"

He does as instructed and struggles a little bit not to feel silly about it. What is he even doing here? The fearsome Ghost General is getting his makeup done.

The lady return from the back of the store carrying a few items. "I brought some foundation and some blush, I tried to go for the lighter colors because you don't seem like you had a dark skin tone."

"Oh, no, I used to burn very easily in the sun too..."

"This is the powder for your face, it's a bit thicker so you're going to need a special brush to apply it." The lady explains as she opens the cap to a round box and dips a thick brush into it. "The good thing about your skin is that it's even-toned, so the color should apply seamlessly, with a great finish."

She moves the brush expertly over Wen Ning's skin, focused. "You have very beautiful features, Wen-gongzi."

"Um, thank you..."

She moves the brush down his neck, applying the product in quick, precise strokes, as far as his robes show skin. "I'm not just saying that, my livelihood is beauty, I deal with it all the time, and so when I tell you that you're beautiful, I mean it."

Wen Ning doesn't know if the lady should be so close to him, but she seems not to notice the sudden few inches less of distance between them as she evens out the powder around his nose and cheeks. This feels... weirdly intimate.

"Say, can I do something for your eyes too?" she asks as she finally finishes livening up Wen Ning's complexion, adding blush powder onto his cheek bones.

"Something like what?"

"Eyeliner, maybe? I think it would make your eyes pop, give you that seductive gaze, know what I mean?"

He looks away, sheepish. "Not-not really..."

The makeup artist laughs, picking a small container off a nearby shelf. "I promise I won't overdo it, and if you don't like it, I'll wipe it off, okay?"

Wen Ning nods and closes his eyes, only to feel a tender swipe over each of his eyelids in turn. His makeup artist works very quickly. But so very closely to him.

"You can open your eyes now, I have a mirror you can look in."

And so, Wen Ning does. The reflection in the mirror is him - it is, but not really. His skin is glowing, his eyes appear painted on, lively, no longer faded, and just a bit less lifeless.

It's him if he was alive, if nothing went wrong, if-

"Everything okay?"

He blinks his thoughts and his phantom tears away. "Yeah, yeah, everything is... okay."

The makeup artist scrutinizes his features, curious. "Can I try some eyeshadow on you as well?"

"I guess...?"

The makeup artist already sweeps her eyes around her collection of displayed powders. "Are there any colors you don't like?"

"No red, please. Anything else is fine..."

She nods, and reaches for three little boxes. "I'm thinking some warm browns would compliment your look well, and I also just got this glittery powder that catches really prettily in the light, I think it will look amazing on you!"

Wen Ning flutters his eyelids closed. He's excited, almost - having seen how well the makeup artist has revived his complexion, he can only wonder what other things she'll surprise him with.

He feels the tender touches of brushes, the closeness with the other person - and he knows he's going to become a regular customer. He enjoys this, the feeling of being pampered, of being made beautiful.

"Not to toot my own horn," she says, a few minutes later, "...but I think I turned you into a bit of a god."

"Can I see?"

"Not yet, keep your eyes closed, I want to do something with your hair too."

"I-I really don't think I can afford-"

"No worries about that! Money isn't an issue." He feels her fingers comb through his hair carefully. "And anyway, money isn't the only way you can pay for something."

"I could help around... carry boxes or..."

"Wen-gongzi. That's not what I meant."

"Oh. Oh... But the makeup..."

She hands him the mirror as he opens his eyes, admiring the shine around his eyes, and the beautiful hairpiece atop his head.

"I use very high quality products, Wen-gongzi." the makeup artist smiles. "Nothing will run, no matter how strenuous the activity."

"Mm... Let's test it out?"

"Let me close up shop."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #writing attempts #wn #i really enjoyed writing this one!

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the-lonelybarricade · 9 months

Note

I'm dumping this (lovingly, i hope you don't mind) on you, because i feel like you appreciate feysand stuff more than me (i just occasionally think about them, even though rhysand with his love for feyre has haunted me more and more these days). But anyways, had a really short dream about rhysand being like a dream.. demon.. there's a word for that but i dont remembeerr (I'm barely awake i just had to tell someone who loves feysand asap), anyway, he's like, been there for feyre "for as long as she remembers". I'm not sure exactly what transpired in the dream (ha, a dream in a dream lol) but i remember it being very soft and comfortable. It kind of felt like rhysand comforting feyre in her dreams without saying something, just by the presence, helped me sleep better, so win-win-win i guess :D i do vaguely remember feyre saying something about wishing her sleep demon something something about wanting him i don't know but i remember that rhysand was absolutely FLABBERGASTED and kind of "THIS WHOLE TIME??" Like he didn't think that feyre shared the feelings and idk his reaction was really funny lmao

Also I'm very sure that either you or ur bestie has written something with a sleep something demon rhysand. Maybe it's because the prompt is just so inline with canon Rhysand idk but hey if you randomly know a fic with this idea, I won't mind a suggestion 👀 although if its one of your or ur besties fics (I'm talking about separatist-apologist im so sorry i don't remember how she shortened her name), then im already planning on scouring through your masterlists to quench this thirst for Feysand that I've been inflicted with.

Sleep demon Rhys you say 👀 I might have, um, written something along those lines. Although it wasn't quite as wholesome as how it happened in your dream hehehe. If you're okay with Demon!Rhys being a little mean, then I'll humbly point you towards The Music of the Night

You dream sounds lovely though 🥺 I do love the idea of soft Feysand finding each other in their dreams and falling in love. It's not necessarily wholesome Feysand, but another fic that comes to mind is In the Woods Somewhere by SweetVillainDarlingGod, where Feyre and Rhys share some dreams while she's in the human lands and he's UtM

#If you would like me to treat this a prompt and give you wholesome feysand sharing dreams 👀 It's definitely something I could keep in mind #Although I'm realizing As the River Flows sort of loosely follows this plot too hahaha #Anyway thank you for sharing this with me!#Fic recs #Feysand #Feysand fic

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blackswallowtailbutterfly · 2 years

Text

“When she was talking about her supposed abuse, she was acting!”

Of course she fucking was. She’s an actress. She has a particular skillset and training and she had to tell extremely private and humiliating experiences to the whole world. You think she wasn’t going to use that?

I too have a particular skillset: writing. And I used it in my victim impact statement in the case against my stepfather. You think I was going to write something to read in front of an audience the way I write casually? The way I speak when talking to friends? Fuck no!

You people are judging her testimony based on how you talk with your friends about this shit. She wasn’t talking to friends, she was talking to millions of actively hostile people. Of course she was going to put on a performance. The emotions she expressed were still real--yes, even though she seemed to switch off quickly afterward, an ability by the way which is common to victims of trauma--she simply conjured them to try to use to her advantage.

You can talk about the worst shit in your life with trusted friends and barely get misty-eyed. Even laugh while you’re saying it. Hell, it’s common to do so. How the fuck do you think that would have gone over for her (you know exactly how)? And now I think about it, I remember when I first called the sexual assault crisis number about my stepfather. At that point I had already told my nana and some other people and was at the point of, yeah, this happened, it’s out now, and I wasn’t a mess about it. Yet the second my call was answered and I heard the voice on the other end of the line, I burst into sobs. I remember feeling embarrassed afterward, like I had faked it even though it was a pretty spontaneous reaction. Anyway, after the poor receptionist put me onto an actual counsellor who set up an appointment I was no longer upset and just resumed my teenage activities.

See, it’s not pleasant to conjure those memories and especially not to conjure up all the negative emotions you felt, so yeah, you’re going to drop them the second you can, and it may very well seem like an abrupt switch. It’s not actually that abrupt. The thoughts are still in your head for some time afterward but you have ways of coping with him and ways to distract from them. Expecting Heard to continuing to perform the emotions for you even while she’s off the stand is pretty fucking perverse.

That fear she displayed, though, when he came in her direction in the courtroom? That was not a performance. That was a deer in the headlights response to being unexpectedly face to face a few feet away from your abuser whom you have told the world is your abuser. The way she walked away while being escorted by the security guard telling her “he has his back to you” wasn’t a performance either. She didn’t have time to rehearse that. She was done performing, He was presenting her with something new. When their eyes met, did she see a look she knew all too well? Interesting that he, the supposed abuse victim, headed straight for the exit closest to where his supposed abuser hadn’t even left the stand. And laughed when he saw his effect on her.

And here’s the thing: Depp was acting too. He also is an actor, remember? One whom many people agree is quite talented, he has awards and nominations for fucks sake! He’s an actor who has a lot of charm, and one who has practice using expressions in subtler ways to express emotion to an audience. And he does it quite effectively. I could almost be convinced--did my own father not act exactly same way with similar tones and mannerisms when telling a story. And I do mean a story, see, you couldn’t trust a word out of my father’s mouth. He’d paint himself the victim, his actions the desperate ones of a man who had no other choice, and you’d believe him--if you didn’t know for a fact that what he was saying was bunk.

When men act we praise their sincerity. When women act we shame their insincerity. An experienced and talented male actor can tell his side of a story and we call it truth. A less experienced actress tells her side side and conjures up a high level of emotion to do so and we call it lies. Society believes men, not women, and there is not a thing Heard could have done differently that would have made people believe her who don’t believe her now, no matter what they say. If she hadn’t conjured up all that emotion, if she’d spoken about the abuse she endured more calmly and expressed emotion more subtlely, the way Depp did, she’d have been accused of copying his style, and you are delusional if you think otherwise. If she’d spoken about it the way one would with trusted friends, she’d simply be accused of lying and of treating the whole thing like a joke, and you absolutely know that’s what would have happened.

Anyway, expecting me to believe she was the abuser means expecting me to believe she planned some ridiculous con for 7 years for absolutely no real payout. This isn’t a fucking movie where surprise! the woman was the evil one all along! This is real life. Was there exaggeration in her testimony? I’m sure there was. See, I did a lot of research on abuse while trying to process my own and it turns out “exaggerated and untrue information” is actually common in victim testimonies and in reports to police. Not because what happened to them isn’t true but because A) trauma fucks with memory and B) victims are afraid they won’t be believed. Yeah, I can believe there may have been some exaggeration to an otherwise true account. I can’t believe she was somehow calculating enough to cook up this whole thing but also not smart enough to not keep faking emotion until she wasn’t on camera anymore.

As for all the abuse victims who believe Depp over Amber, like, I’m sorry, but you fell for another abuser. And I sure hope you don’t do the same when your sister, cousin, or daughter falls for one. Because abusers charming the loved ones of their victims, charming experts, charming former abuse victims, charming law enforcement, and charming other people you’d hope would know better? That’s common too.

#my posts #abuse #domestic violence #men's violence against women #victim reactions #victim testimonies #intimate partner abuse

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starbornsoulrider · 2 years

Text

this whole horse girl mess still really confuses me and I do agree with what ppl are saying on here, like sso should use redefine instead of reclaim. but I mean... on the other hand depending on the context “horse girl” can still be used maliciously. Obviously it’s nowhere near as bad as much worse slurs and sso shouldn’t treat it like it is, and that nowadays people say it in a more playful way than mocking way. But I’ve seen people use the term “horse girl” as a way to belittle someone as recent as like... two years ago now I think? and a few times after that.

this incident comes to mind every time sso brings up this whole thing about the term horse girl, and whenever I see people saying no one rlly uses horse girl as an insult anymore. I’ll try to be as vague as possible since I don’t wanna like, expose anyone I guess? but like two or less years ago there was this activist I often saw on my tik tok for you page. I don’t remember her very well or even her username, but a LOT of fascists and trump-supporters targeted her. one day she just posted a normal video of her chilling or playing with her horse, I don’t exactly remember. and the comments were flooded- and I mean FLOODED- with typical trump supporters saying “of course she’s a horse girl” “you’re a horse girl you really think your opinion matters” “shut up horse girl”- yknow stuff along those lines. obviously it was disgusting, and of course those ppl were just saying that stuff cause they didn’t actually have good a arguement, but still. mocking a woman’s interests and saying they made her inferior, typical misogynistic bs.

and there were a few less bad but still kinda sucky uses of “horse girl” I was exposed to. or just like general sneering at having an interest in horses. SSO was what re-ignited my love and interest for horses, but for maybe the first year of playing it I was kind of nervous to express it. I overheard my sister say to her friends “yeah, their thing is horses now” in a tone that felt like... a little mocking, I guess? and I felt the need to speak up and say “o-oh, I just play SSO out of boredom, I’m not actually that horse crazy, haha” and I’m pretty sure I felt the need to repeatedly say “I just like SSO for the weird and wacky story, that’s all!” on multiple occasions, too.

so yeah incidents like that were what made me hesitant to fully express that horses were a big hyperfixation of mine now, cause I felt like all my friends and family would find it silly and cause I had already seen some pretty viscous attitude towards horse lovers before. even now I’m a little cautious talking about it at times. like I feel embarrassed whenever my family makes a remark about my interest in horses sometimes cause deep down I worry that they think it’s childish or something.

anyways, idk where I’m really going with this, I guess I’m saying that yeah there’s DEFINITELY a better way sso could approach this, although I wouldn’t say this “standing up for horse girls” stuff is completely out of nowhere? Idk, I feel like it’s important that “horse girl” can be a playful term but there are times where it’s used in harmful contexts. I mean, it’s definitely not as bad as slurs, and as I said before sso should rethink this and use better wording. it’s just ever since they started this whole horse girl campaign and saw people saying it felt a little ridiculous, I felt like sharing my personal experience with the term, so I supposed now was the time to finally do that. I wasn’t born into the horse world or really grew up with it, though there are quite a few equestrians on the other sides of my family. again, not exactly sure where I was going with this and I have a lot of “ehhhh...” feelings towards SSO’s approach at this topic for several reasons, even though they do seem to have good intentions, I dunno if my input will help at all but I felt like if I was ever gonna say anything about this it might as well be now. not trying to be like “YOU’RE ALL WRONG HORSE GIRL IS A BAD WORD” of course, my experience with the term “horse girl” has been on my mind before the “reclaim horse girl” post was made and the post and people’s reaction to it made me remember it again. I guess basically, I think sso’s heart is in the right place and I don’t think it’s totally out of nowhere but this was definitely not the best way to approach it.

#there’s still a few other things that bother me about this ‘reclaim horse girl’ thing #like how there are still male and nonbinary people this issue applies to #but this is all I’ll post abt it for now #maybe if I sort out my thoughts more I’ll make another post #I just wish sso was a bit more sensitive to this issue :/#sso #shut up blake #again- not trying to attack anyone or prove someone wrong #just sharing my own thoughts and experiences on the matter #maybe my input will help maybe this post is useless I dunno #if anything this was just me writing down my thoughts #so I might not keep this post up #delete later #EDIT: just adding some additional thoughts to this #because to be honest #while I don’t necessarily thing sso is going about this the BEST way #I heavily disagree with people on here saying that it’s pointless or means nothing #obviously horse girls aren’t some super oppressed group #but from what I’ve seen from a few other sso players #it’s still often thought of as cringey or weird or dumb to like horses #as I said in the post even I feel awkward or embarrassed bringing up my interest in horses sometimes!#so like. it’s nice when people reassure you that you aren’t childish or ridiculous because of your interest #so while I absolutely agree that sso should change the wording and acknowledge that this issue isn’t limited to girls #and stuff like that #I don’t really agree that there’s absolutely no point in doing this #anyways that’s my stance I guess #maybe I’ll remake this post idk #I doubt anyone will see these updated tags lmao

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whentranslatorscry · 8 months

Text

Miss Kyouko’s Locked Room Lecture (4/7)

However, how do we get out after sneaking in?

A fitting room is a fitting room, even if not locked.

Without drawing the curtain, you wouldn’t know the situation outside— the design prevents those outside from seeing one inside changing, and vice versa, there’s no way to tell if someone outside is looking this way, impossible to know the right moment to come out without detection. If at this moment a clerk felt this customer was taking unusually long to change and opened the curtain—

“I just did it without thinking too much— anyway, intentional or not, I happened to not be seen by anyone when I came out, that's probably the most reasonable explanation." Kyouko-san's explanation was really quite reasonable.

Not even on the job, her detective reasoning was so reasonable that it approached disbelief. Still, uncanny luck does, in fact, favor some criminals.

A “perfect” crime, it seems, isn’t as complicated as you might think. Making elaborate plans and showing how clever you are tends to leave more clues and make it easier for the police to figure things out. The more obvious the trail of thought, the easier it is to spin a story. Perhaps a chaotic, seemingly contradictory approach is what truly stumps the authorities.

“This so-called ‘locked room’ has many holes, formed as it is by lines of sight. If the killer managed to slip through a blind spot and commit the crime unseen, they could have made a quick escape.”

“But wouldn’t security cameras capture the fugitive? Maybe we can't identify who, but surely we could narrow down the suspects to people who left the store after eleven…”

“Who’s to say the killer fled outdoors? Mingling with customers might even be safer… and if the killer were, say, an employee, they can’t exactly abandon their job on the clock.”

Murder somebody and then go back to folding clothes? Tooasa found it hard to believe there were too many employees that dedicated. Based on the ‘murdered without much thought’ image of the killer he had in mind, they’d probably ignore the cameras and make a panicked escape. On the other hand, we couldn’t rule out the possibility that our bungling culprit might have stayed at the scene simply because they didn’t think things through. Panicked people do the most foolish things.

“All witness testimonies appear reliable without major discrepancies. A little far-fetched as a narrative, but nothing fundamentally implausible has occurred.”

Kyouko-san declared the verdict.

Thus confirming his initial suspicion; if there were glaring inconsistencies or blatant errors in the statements, he wouldn’t feel so troubled. Despite everything appearing logical, something about it felt off-putting still.

“If anything, avoiding detection by numerous individuals and surveillance cameras is highly unusual… but, not entirely inconceivable that they could evade capture, given the existence of blind spots for both parties.”

“So based on your deduction, the culprit didn’t intentionally play tricks on this point?”

The word ‘tricks,’ coming from a policeman, might be somewhat reckless, but he had long since abandoned any pretense of shame. Unfortunately, the reply he received was,

“No, no, no. I don’t do deductions, remember?”

Stubbornly frustrating.

“It's merely hypothesis. I deliberately avoid deep thought as it leads me to verbalize my ideas excessively. When an interpreter starts inserting their own interpretations, communication becomes harder, does it not?”

She was right.

On the other hand, Officer Tooasa typically enjoyed watching foreign films with subtitles since he appreciated how interpreters simplify and complement dialogue. Therefore, listening to Kyouko-san’s interpretation shouldn’t be problematic despite its non-literal nature.

“Being a responsible adult, I cannot allow myself to be so unlucrative… Oops, be so disruptive to others’ work.”

“……”

“To get into the specifics anyhow, Yanei-san was reportedly a regular patron— but it seems she wasn’t a dear guest.”

She put it delicately, but agreed with him on this regard. The Nashorn staff who knew her did not outright insult a regular, especially one now deceased, but the nuance in their choice of words was apparent enough that it didn’t need interpreting for Officer Tooasa.

Although a regular, she was not a guest of honor.

“She would shamelessly haggle to lower prices, often complain about the goods, try to make unreasonable returns… Well customers are only human, you know.”

As somebody who ran her own agency, Kyouko-san could perhaps understand. Thinking of the outrageous requests the chief made of the Okitegami Detective Agency on a regular basis, Officer Tooasa could only bow his head in apology as part of the force—He would assume the forgetful detective did not remember every single one of them, but it must have left some impression. Maybe her memories reset day to day but experiences remain in a corner somewhere— maybe.

Being often mocked as a civil servant paid by tax, Officer Tooasa understood very well, if you didn’t acknowledge that “the customer is God,” you could hardly do this job.

"Annoying though she may have been, she wasn’t so bad as to drive people to wish for her to cease to exist…still there was a reason that necessitated her death,”

Kyouko-san said, tapping her pen.

She'd been filling the empty space on the timetable with information about the victim's identity, but by now, the whiteboard that was her arm was nearly out of space.

“Necessitating… her death?”

It may be a so-called motive, but people are killed for reasons so trivial they couldn’t conjure them up in their wildest dreams, so digging too deep here may prove to be a futile exercise— Some are killed for being wicked, some for being good— it’s impossible to generalize. There may even be those who are killed simply because they are ‘impossible to generalize’.

Besides, if only a few hours of hearing from a limited number of people were enough to judge her character and personality, the deceased would not be able to rest in peace.

As expected, Officer Tooasa’s men were in the process of filtering through the victim’s interpersonal relationships at home and work, and with this thought, he felt a twinge of guilt, as though he were slacking dining elegantly with Kyouko-san this evening. As part of his job, he realized anew that good progress had to be made from these talks.

“It could be a murder without motive, or it could be that the murderer did not mean to kill but the victim died as a result.”

Kyouko-san further listed the possibilities.

“Yes… Or maybe a case of mistaken identity?”

Officer Tooasa ventured a hypothesis that he himself found unlikely, merely to pass the time— and after reacting to it with a “Mistaken identity?”, Kyouko-san went on to say,

“Killed by mistake— interesting, it could be.”

“Oh, could it be? Mixing up who to murder…"

“It's quite possible. She was said to have worn unusually large flat-framed glasses— and in the heat of emotion, it’s possible they couldn’t quite make out who it was.”

She said and touched her own glasses.

“Anybody would be tremendously nervous when murdering. When human life is on the line, people are prone to astonishing errors.”

She spoke as if standing in the killer’s shoes, something very difficult for Officer Tooasa as a policeman to do— the sole province of a private detective.

Remaining calm and rational was not easy when you can't afford to fail— though being wrongly killed would be the last thing anybody would want.

“But Kyouko-san. No matter what the motive was, you wouldn't want to commit murder in a busy store.”

The conversation had come full circle, but this was still the bottleneck— it's easy to understand if it were an ad hoc crime in which somebody was struck while walking alone on a street at night.

“Particularly, assuming the reason for killing Yanei-san was her being a troublesome regular— which is to say, if we assume the murderer to be an employee, it makes even less sense. Few with any sense at all would think for a second to plot murder in their own territory.”

Almost like the murderer saying, “Suspect me.”

Even discounting that, when viewed as a matter of simple cost and benefit, the fact that a person met their demise within a high-end boutique, where the brand image is of paramount importance, could potentially deter the flow of customers. Should rumors circulate that somebody was bludgeoned to death with a hanger in the shop’s fitting room (and they will), it could lead to the worst: bankruptcy. At minimum, it would simply feel unsettling to have your workspace become the scene of murder.

All harm and no gain.

If we were to, rather forcefully, entertain the idea that there might be a benefit in committing murder within one’s own territory, the only conceivable upside might be a slight easing of nerves when embarking on such a grave endeavor.

Nevertheless, in Officer Tooasa’s gut feeling it would still be more convincing if the culprit acted impulsively, without any thought, considering neither gains nor losses, merely that they ended up bludgeoning the victim.

“If there were other advantages to committing a crime in a familiar place,”

Kyouko-san said, offering a capped pen— from the look of it, she had already written down as much information as she could. She had indeed roughly reviewed what they had heard today— he took the pen, put it back in his breast pocket.

“Could it have been because meticulous preparations can be made in advance? Setting up mechanisms, making arrangements— creating traps to kill the victim.”

“Mechanisms… Locked-room shenanigans, huh?”

However, with regard to this particular murder, it was really difficult to imagine there being any large-scale contraptions behind it. It still gets hung up on there being too many witnesses. Somebody would have surely seen, what with eyewitnesses and ceiling cameras. Avoiding all was virtually impossible. Unnatural to leave to chance and impossible to do systematically—

The Little Prince says, “What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” Yet Kyouko-san says, “What is visible to the eyes is also equally essential.” If we were to extrapolate a “third rule of essentials” by analogy, it might be, “even unessential things can be invisible.” Now if only someone had eyed the despicable villain—

“Even unessential things can be invisible to the eye— such a profound thought indeed. We often miss the crucial in crucial moments,”

Kyouko-san praised this strange thing.

“Speaking of which, a locked room featured at the beginning of The Little Prince, too. The sheep in the box…”

“Oh… now you mention it.”

But Officer Tooasa did not nod in agreement as much as to say “now you mention it.” In fact, interpreting that as a locked room was where his mystery-loving mind had led him.

“The sheep in the box though, is just like Schrödinger’s cat, isn’t it?”

Trying not to reveal his mild trepidation, he joined in the conversation so casually. At least Schrödinger’s cat was a term more compatible with mysteries than The Little Prince.

‘Haha. The Prince would cry if the sheep were dead—oh!’

Just when Kyouko-san looked to be laughing warmly along with their casual chitchat, she exclaimed an ‘oh!’ She clamped a hand over her mouth and, in the process, knocked over the demitasse of espresso she had been about to sip after the meal, in evidently the reaction of somebody who had just realized something.

“Wha— what just happened, Kyouko-san?”

“It, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? That sure didn’t seem like nothing.”

“I said it’s nothing,”

She repeated, taking another sip of her espresso, the first person he’d ever seen drinking a double-shot, black, no less.

“Erm… Kyouko-san. If you, you know, noticed something…”

“I noticed nothing. Nothing’s come to mind, nor have I deduced anything. The mystery of the case is far from solved, and not one doubt or inconsistency has been cleared up.”

She declared with certainty.

Declared with too much certainty, in fact, that it was hard to believe a word she said. It was baffling how she could lie so blatantly.

“You’ve… solved the mystery?”

“I said I haven’t. Ugh, I just can't make any sense of it. Now, it’s getting late, about time to go home. Thank you for today, Officer Tooasa, the meal was delicious. I’ll be looking forward to your future accomplishments.”

Kyouko-san wiped the meticulously written timetable clean with a wet wipe, rolled down her sleeves swiftly, and made an all-too-obvious move to call it a night. She couldn’t just leave like that.

It appears that she, who was only supposed to act as an interpreter, somehow ended up putting the pieces together due to Officer Tooasa's offhand remark. The relationship between the detective and the policeman, as embodied in detective novels, was unfolding— an unexpected turn of events, especially for the professional detective that Kyouko was.

If, however, she had indeed uncovered some truth, Officer Tooasa was in no standing to let that go unasked.

This was no battle of wits.

He wasn’t that far gone to lose sight of his responsibilities.

He needed to hear her deduction as soon as possible to react appropriately— no matter how popular terms from detective novels such as ‘locked room mystery’ or 'impossible case’ may become, such words are powerless in the face of the reality of ‘a murderer at large’.

“Oh dear, I’m in a pickle now, aren’t I?”

Kyouko-san crossed her arms, showing a truly troubled expression.

“It is so very unfortunate I can’t be of any help. This time I was only requested as an interpreter. I may discover the truth yet cannot grandstand with my deduction.”

As apologetically as she said it, the underlying message screamed ‘if you don’t pay, the machine won’t work’ so stubbornly.

Or, considering her respect for professional ethics, perhaps this should be respected just the same.

In the first place then, it was Officer Tooasa who wanted to send Kyouko-san back home. He could have insisted on solving the case all on his own and turned away the detective. Unfortunately for him, these developments were unwelcome as well.

Had that detective been any other than Kyouko he would have seen them off here— But.

“Erm, how about we head to another place next? There’s a quiet bar where we can sit down and talk things through.”

He had no knowledge of any such quiet bar (that would be another one owed to his colleagues), and never in his life had he been so forward with a lady.

“Well for my part, I’d like to proceed directly to the station to receive my compensation, hurry home to bed, and completely forget about the truth I happened to piece together.”

As if he would let her forget so easily.

But she could do just that. The forgetful detective had that ability. To reset any deduction or culprit profile, erasing them from her mind— by tomorrow morning, she would have forgotten it all. If he did not ask her tonight, her deductions would vanish into oblivion.

“But then again, it is difficult to say no when you’re so insistently invited. I will accompany you then. But— I will only provide some hints; if you could, based on these hints, make your own deductions, please do.”

“Hints… huh?”

“Correct. Hints distilled from the information that anybody listening to witness accounts would know.

Hint number one: Numerous eyewitnesses saw the victim, Yanei-san, approaching the store about eleven AM. But when you organize the testimonies you find all the eyewitnesses were customers who came to shop at the time. Why do you think that is?

Hint number two: Because Yanei-san never left the fitting room, staff suspected something was amiss, opened the curtain and discovered the body. But how did that staff determine Yanei-san had been in the fitting room all the time?

Hint number three: You cannot see inside the fitting room from outside, but can we say for certain you cannot see out from inside?”

“Err, uh, um…”

Kyouko-san talked so much and so fast that he wasn't able to catch the three at first, and had to count them off on his fingers to confirm what they were.

Hint #1: The biased eyewitness accounts— all who had seen Yanei Sashiko were customers.

Hint #2: Why did the first person to discover her notice something was strange in the fitting room?

Hint #3: You can't see outside from inside the fitting room— is this really true?

The first hint he hadn't realized until he'd been told, but looking back on it, it seemed to be accurate— we can’t say for absolute certainty without listing the eyewitness testimony of all questioned. However, since the detective-turned-translator said so, well, it's probably the case.

As for hints number two and three, he already had some ideas. Staff had noticed after Yanei had been in the fitting room for a considerable amount of time. And you couldn't see outside from inside as you couldn't see inside from outside, right?

That would be all there was to it.

Officer Tooasa, who understood neither the mystery of the case nor the meaning of these hints, was hoping for a fourth hint, but it seemed to end at three.

“Now then, shall we be off?” Kyouko-san stood up to leave her seat. “Try unraveling these hints yourself, officer. Ideally by the time we arrive at the next venue— so that we may enjoy some light mystery discussion over drinks.”

Contrary to her smile, he, alas, utterly failed to meet her expectations.

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#boukyaku tantei #okitegami kyouko

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pinkseas · 1 year

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on my hands and knees begging u to say your words about xiaolumi… i want to hear them… i’ll pay you back in art i prommy—

WHY WOULD YOU ENABLE ME LIKE THIS no need for art i literally owe you my fucking Life just for that one piece like oh my god. ohhhh my god. the amount of times i have linked that to my friends and waxed poetic and maybe cried a little. ANYWAYS. i am about to be So Silly And So Disorganized

so here's the thing right?? it depends SO heavily on how you interpret lumine. the traveler definitely has their own personality and agenda ingame but there's still SO much wiggle room in terms of what you do with that. if i really wanted to i could probably make it a Lot More Accurate by focusing on the traveler in canon and going from there however i will in fact be completely ignoring that and focusing on my interpretation of lumi specifically light and love <3 <- thats my little disclaimer ANYWAYS

they are So Similar in a lot of ways. young adults who are also centuries old. stubborn bastards who would give their lives protecting those around them even if they got absolutely nothing in return. so quick to throw themselves into the line of fire for the sake of friends and strangers alike. such a strong instinct to protect. not mortal, not by a long shot, but not quite gods either, something uniquely inhuman and in between. a centuries worth of weight on their shoulders. reaching their breaking points and pushing further still, refusing to let themselves crumble. and, even with very close companions, i think they're very lonely. there's no one quite like xiao in teyvat, no one quite like lumine without aether there by her side- maybe no one quite like lumine at all, anymore.

i think its about sharing. i think they'd find it easy to talk with and be around one another, even though they're typically so slow and so careful with trust. i think fighting together comes as easily as breathing, that their urge to protect lines up perfectly with the others and leads to them doing so much for those around them as well as each other. they will not let the other fall. they share the weight on their shoulders, share the centuries of bloodshed and horrors seen and caused alike, share in the unique brand of loneliness that comes with knowing that where someone was once by your side there's no one like you left.

vulnerability does not come easily to any of them. they can always push themselves further, always be a little stronger, always run a little faster. but its exactly that, i think, the recognition of someone so like themselves that makes it easier for them to trust in one another. lumine can call xiao's name when she needs him, xiao can find lumine if he needs her. i think that for all they would shoulder the world on their own and know the other would do the same in a heartbeat, they trust one another to come to them when they need help. it would be so, so easy to ignore it, to press forward, to remain alone. but they made a promise, and they intend to keep it.

i like to imagine that lumine's presence has a purifying effect on xiao. something she could control and channel should she realize, but for now something small, just enough to ease that weight. just enough to make sure he won't succumb.

i think a big part of it is about learning how to live again. they both carry that weight, that stubborn mindset, but wanting to see the other happy helps. knowing the other understands helps. when it hurts they can breathe together, and the type of pain they feel may never truly go away but they dont have to experience it alone.

every snowflake, every sunrise, every flower is just a little bit different from the rest. xiao's favorite quiet places are nicer with her there. they live so very differently but lumine's teapot is always there and xiao is no longer bound by his contract, learning ever so slowly how to let himself go. they have spent so, so long surviving. now, though, they remember to taste the fresh air, learn to indulge in the smallest things. lumine experiments with recipes until her almond tofu is catered to xiao's tastes exactly, the perfect texture. at night in liyue xiao tells her stories of the constellations and she remembers every word, at night in the teapot lumine will lift a hand and the sky will match her memories, her turn to tell stories about stars he's never seen.

they are both so, so tired. and i think that they would trust the other enough to let themselves rest. you can put your strength down. im sitting here with you at the kitchen table. you dont need to say anything. <- that quote is so them for real its shared silences mutual understanding and comfort always having each other's backs its twin moons twin stars two beings caught in each other's orbit and choosing every day to stay. sitting side by side on the mountaintop, hands entwined, lumine's head on his shoulder. breathing. loving. living.

#feeling so normal right now #um. um. um.#yeah i have no excuse im just out of my fucking mind #currently being plagued with post-chasm thoughts where zhongli saving xiao lent him energy and that energy Fades #and xiao is fucking exhausted and still hurt and completely burnt out #and lumine is there and its the first time he enters the teapot because if she says theyll be safe there he trusts her #if lumine says no harm will come to them here he believes her #very 'you took care of me now let me take care of you'#washing the dirt and debris from their skin from their hair shielding his face with a hand so she doesnt get shampoo in his eyes #every movement gentle and careful and precise and purposeful. i love you on purpose i care about you on purpose that quote is so them too #making both of them food because neither of them need it but it helps with their energy regardless #making both of them sleep because they desperately need the rest #and its a little selfish of her to wrap her arm around him because she needs the reminder that hes there and safe and whole #but he doesnt stop her. and everyone has to be selfish at times #spending hours and hours laying there beneath the stars breathing deeply existing together remembering that theyre alive #idk. like i said. the quiet moments the unconditional trust #im so tempted to try and think of more but i am Stopping Myself finally. we're done we are DONE #one day i will be normal about them but until then.#aly.genshin #aly.writing

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justafrogandherumbrella · 2 years

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Welcome to Nowhere: Welcome to Dispassion (pt. 2)

Dispassion is a strange little town. You don’t know exactly what it is that makes it so strange, but then again everything seems a little strange to you as of late. Still, there is something especially odd about this place. Perhaps it is the brightly-colored pink and yellow buildings, or the flower bushes, dead in their pots that line every cobbled street. Maybe it’s the fact that those streets are completely empty. No people going window shopping or heading to work, no birds perching on the wires between power poles, not even a tumbleweed making its way haphazardly across the road.

“Is it… abandoned?” Emerson says after a few minutes of walking down the vacant streets of Dispassion.

Aderyn shakes her head. “No, it’s not. ” She says, pointing to the dead flower bushes in front of the empty shops. “Look, you see those?”

“Yes?” Emerson says quizzically, tilting his head to the side. “What about them?”

“Look how neatly pruned they are. People need to be here in order to maintain that.”

Now that you look closer at them, you can see Aderyn’s point. They are neatly pruned. Rather than wild criss-crossing branches reaching out in different directions, the bushes are styled into tidy, perfect, dead spheres.

“Maybe there’s an event or something?” Gia theorizes. “Maybe we should try heading to town hall? There's gotta be someone there…” They trail off, looking back down at the pamphlet in their hands. The pamphlet is similar to the sign at the entrance to the town. With “Welcome to Dispassion” written across the front in pretty, pink lettering, but the ink is fading, slowly disappearing before your eyes; just like the chipped paint on the sign.

“Town hall sounds like a good idea.” Emerson agrees. “There might be some kind of air conditioning too… it’s awfully hot out here.” They say, raising one of his flipper-like hands to their face, whipping away a thin layer of goo from their skin. “I suppose wearing a thick sweater like this doesn’t really help.”

“Honestly,” Aderyn says, “I don’t know how you can stand to wear those things. I always hated when I had to wear them back before I moved someplace warmer.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always liked this kind of clothing, though it’s not exactly the best for dry heat.

“Guys, take a left here.” Gia interjects, “Town hall is just down this road.”

“Got it!” Aderyn calls back. “Anyways- what was I saying?” SHe turns back towards Emerson. “Oh, right! You don’t like the dry heat very much do you? I suppose that makes sense given the fact that you’re like- a slug? Slug-person? If this doesn’t sound too impolite, what are you, exactly?”

What a strange question, You think to yourself. It wasn’t exactly something you’ve ever bothered to question before, but looking at your friends around you, you realize there is something just a little… off about all of them. There’s Gia, with their swirling blue planet-head; there’s Aderyn, with her succulents growing all across the side of her face, trailing down her left arm in spiral patterns; and then there’s Emerson, who while they have legs and arms, he still has the body and face of a slug. Bea, too, looks rather strange to you; being a six-legged dog and all. It doesn’t really make much sense. Why, though? Why doesn’t it make sense? You know that for some reason, your friends all have strange appearances, but you can’t quite place what it is that’s strange. There’s just something a little… inhuman about their appearances that’s all. Inhuman? What a silly little word! What does it mean? You can’t seem to remember, and you don’t know why.

“Guys.” Gia says, interrupting your train of thought. “We’re here.”

#writeblrcafe #my writing #writers life #weirdcore #weirdcore/dreamcore #dreamcore #writblr #Writers on tumblr #Welcome to Nowhere #work in progress #writerscorner #writers community #writing community #writing

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ephxmerall · 2 years

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@medicus-mortem . . .

"Most mornings I struggle with suicidal thoughts but when I wake up next to you I don't have that problem," Law murmurs, the words so soft that perhaps he's hoping she doesn't hear him. [Just something I needed him to say to Nami. Hope it's not a problem.] : : unprompted

The nights Nami stayed with Law on his ship, time seemed to lose all meaning. Morning, afternoon and evening all blended together into an amalgamation of simply being. Perhaps the near constant darkness of the halls had something to do with it. Being unable to see the sunlight like she could on the Sunny definitely didn't help, either. She never complained about it though. Despite being the polar opposite of her home, it still felt welcoming, and somewhere she enjoyed. She'd been awake for a couple hours now, unable to fall back to sleep after a dream that she couldn't quite remember the details on regardless of how hard she tried. With Law still asleep, his deep, even breathing disturbing a couple strands of hair by her ear every now and again, she didn't bother to get up. Other than not wanting to disturb him when he was finally getting some decent rest, the arm curled around her bare waist made it impossible to move anyway. So instead, she pressed herself closer to his chest, relishing the warmth that radiated from him and dashed the chill of the room from her bones. Just as Nami was about to turn her head and bury her head into the pillows, she heard a noise come from Law's throat. She paused, making sure not to tense up her body, and listened as his breathing gained rhythm, alerting her that he was waking up. He shifted behind her, and a few more minutes passed before those words were whispered nearly right into her ear. It was quite obvious that he assumed she was still asleep. Law would never admit to something so vulnerable if he knew she was listening. But after hearing that confession she couldn't pretend like she hadn't heard. After the initial shock wore off, Nami moved one of her arms down from where it was tucked under her chin and curled her fingers around his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. With her non-verbal show that she actually had heard him, and hoping he wouldn't jerk away and close himself off, she tilted her head enough to press her lips against the line of his jaw, not needing any light to know exactly where he was in that moment. ❝ I'll be your silence whenever you need it, ❞ Nami murmured into his skin, fingers now tracing along the tattoo decorating his arm. ❝ You never have to fight your demons alone. ❞

#medicus-mortem #** n a m i [ ASK. ]#** n a m i [ IC. ]#** n a m i — mapping our hearts [ LAWNA. ]#suicide mention tw #|| not med throwing curveballs at me when i least expect them.......#but i love this ||

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1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

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

Oh, you loved this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.”

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

bakugou leaving reader for the unknown, for his dream, because where they were wasn’t good enough, it was a hindrance on his future. it wasn’t so much that he hated his hometown, the people, or even you — he loved you, after all — but he just could never keep himself tied down to the place he was trying to outgrow.

he leaves for university, in the big city, a campus that is known for making the best, creating trailblazers in every field imaginable, and when he leaves at the age of eighteen, he doesn’t come back. all he remembers is the shocked look on your face and the helpless tears streaming down your face when he broke up with you.

it’s been twelve years, and he’s thirty now. he changed his number when he got to the new city, only keeping touch with his parents out of obligation than anything else. it’s short phone calls, three minute conversations of mitsuki scolding him for not calling enough, for never visiting, masaru trying to gently express their concerns for their only son, and of course, bakugou saying he needs to leave.

his parents are strangers to him, practically, and whenever they try to speak of his past life, the one he exchanged away for the current CEO position he’s found himself in, he hangs up. he doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t want the bitter pit in his stomach when they even begin to speak your name.

but they haven’t mentioned you in years.

but the thing about katsuki is, unfortunately, his attitude.

thirty years old and a prominent CEO of a company no older than four years old and yet already a billionaire? practically unheard of. sure, people, normal people, praise him for it, but the board? men who used to people like katsuki don’t praise him.

they hate his harsh attitude, his ridiculous will power, and necessity to do everything, and somehow… katsuki gets put on a leave of absence for a minimum of a year.

at first, it’s fine. bakugou spends the newfound free time traveling, seeing the world, doing things he never was able to because he was building his empire. but three months of nothing leads him to grow restless, bored, and the worst feeling in the world crawls into the pit of his stomach and he realizes in month number five what it is.

for the first time in his life, bakugou katsuki is: homesick.

so he goes home, trading the concrete jungle and modern technology for dirt roads and rusting machines. it’s just for a moment, he says as he sees the life he left behind ages ago.

it’s much slower in his hometown, people much more open and conversing with one another instead of cellphones like he’s grown used to. he isn’t quite ready to knock on his mother’s front door so he goes to the general store and walks straight to where he just knows his past time favorite snacks are.

to his total surprise (notice the sarcasm?) it’s right where he remembered it was through the cobwebs of his memory. there’s one bag of spicy corn chips left and as he reached for it, another hand goes for it too.

he freezes for a bit, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the person who’s hand is connected to the bag of chips he wants.

but he stops breathing for just a moment.

it’s a young girl, most definitely no older than twelve, with your face. it’s exactly the same. but unlike you, the girl had ash blonde hair and deep red eyes.

the girl blinks eyes looking taken back and slightly lost, as does bakugou, and then as if finally caught up on the situation of things, she scowls.

“hands off the chips, old man! I got here first!”

the magic is gone and bakugou feels his eye twitch as he reels backward.

“what the hell did you just say to—?!”

“I said hands off! arent you too old to be eating chips anyways?! you’re practically a million years old, eat the lame corn nuts or something,” she scoffs rolling her eyes as she tucks the bag of chips under her arm.

“aren’t you some shitty little brat!” bakugou hisses, his hand twitching with irritation. “don’t you know to respect your fucking elders.”

“ain’t nothing to respect from what I can tell!”

“aiko, hurry up,” a voice bemoans from behind the aisle and bakugou feels his chest constrict in the weirdest, most heart aching way as you walk around the corner with an armful of party supplies. “we have to get to your grand—”

bakugou stares at you, and you at him. the tension and silence so thick and heavy on the both of your shoulders and tongues.

in the twelve years he’s been away, bakugou has had other relationships. most of them due mostly to friends insistence, and others mostly just because he wanted a warm body nearby. but no one could ever match what you meant to him, not that he could have realized that because he could never think back to you. you were his past, not his present, not his future.

and bakugou was suddenly feeling a lot of things, thinking a lot of things as he looked between you and well… aiko.

“y/n,” bakugou’s voice is hollow, almost unbelievable. “i-is she — are we—?”

“this is my daughter, y/l/n aiko,” you say, steely calm and dangerous. the warm smile you were wearing moments ago clean off your face and your eyes were like glass — shiny, unemotional. “she was born after you left, so you never got a chance to meet her, did you?”

“y/n—“

“y/l/n!” you snap, face still void of emotions. “you don’t have that right anymore.”

bakugou stiffens for a moment, but he knows that you’re right. “y/l/n,” he tries again, your last name a word he’s never had to use in his entire life to address you. “how old is she?”

“mama,” aiko whispers, eyes glaring at bakugou as she stand protectively in front of you, fingers digging into your blouse. “I wanna go now.”

your eyes drop from bakugou, and he watches as a strained but kind smile is expressed to aiko as you press a kiss to her forehead. “okay, go pay for these things for me, will ya? tell tayo-sama we’ll pay him back tomorrow. i’m going to finish this conversation with… with my old classmate.”

aiko looks between you and bakugou, eyebrows furrowed with unsaid questions but she nods, grabbing the things from your arms and going to the cash register. bakugou keeps his gaze on the young girl until your fingers dig into his bicep and your pulling him into a corner that he had definitely made out with you in ages, lifetimes ago.

“what are you doing here?!” you hiss in a near terrible whisper, face frazzled and overwhelmed. “you’ve never been back home! what’s different?!”

“is she mine?!”

“no!” you shriek, fist hitting his chest. “she’s not yours! she’s mine! she’s not some claimable object you get to collect years later!”

bakugou stiffens but also feels like he melts with guilt under those words… youre right. he has no claim to her. all he did was give her life but it was a life where he was probably nothing more than an empty space in. but he looks at you, millions of emotions swimming through your watery eyes, and the snarl on your lips as you stand before him as if you could do anything.

“i’m… i’m sorry, you’re right,” bakugou says, lips pressing into a thin line.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” you laugh miserably, fingers massaging your temples. your tone is weak, defeated, as if for the first time in your life you felt the bottom of the pit. “why did you come back home?”

“mama!!!! let’s go already!!!” aiko whines by the entrance and you tremble in front of him before shaking your head.

“coming!” you call back to her.

bakugou steals another look at what is his daughter. a girl he never knew existed.

“do me a favor, bakugou,” you say passing him with small but domineering steps. “don’t do anything to make her suspect youre her father.”

it took a few hours, probably more, maybe less, but bakugou finally finds himself at his childhood home. he’s heart feeling like it was being swallowed as the front door opened and he saw his older mother and father standing at the entrance. bakugou couldn’t understand what they were saying as they welcomed him in, he could only notice how their home looked exactly the same… well except that the walls that were decorated with photos of him and only him were also covered with pictures of aiko.

“did you know?” bakugou asks before he can even say hello.

mitsuki stopped mid rant, her face moving from irritated mother to exasperated but pitiful silence.

“since she found out.”

“why didn’t you… why didn’t I know?”

“she tried telling you, called you multiple times only to be blocked,” masaru gently explains. “you always shut us down when we so much as mentioned her.”

“she even flew out there at one point but caught you making out with some dumb model too.” mitsuki inserts with a huff. “we tried, brat. you just…”

bakugou is silent, his heartbeat roaring in his ears at the thought of his initial monstrous attempt of deleting his past life. mitsuki sighs, sad and sullen.

“there was no point in telling you when you won’t listen.”

or the story of a one sided bitter ex as bakugou and reader are challenged at creating some semblance of a relationship because aiko pieces it together the moment they looked at each other. including a lot of angst, a six month time limit to rekindle a once in a lifetime love story because choosing between family and work is damn hard.

#I watched that one movie with the singer & his high school lover and was like how do I make this a story #this is all I can think of #lyssa doesnt shut up #bakugou x reader

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eyrieofsynapses · 3 years

Text

Redemption Panel Highlights and Reactions

GATORS

i.e., Beth Riesgraf and Christian Kane (mostly Beth) talking about filming the scenes in (what I presume is) The Rollin’ on the River Job, where they’re pulling some stuff out of the water, and finding out the next day that there was an absolutely massive alligator pulled out of the same place just a little while after they filmed it

Beth’s impression of the wildlife folks warning them about the alligators

Beth scaring the hell out of Noah Wyle by yelling “GATOR” at him just after he finished his scene

seriously that was an absolutely WILD part of the panel

Everyone showering Aleyse Shannon with literally all the love!

Aldis Hodge in particular big-brothering her, and also the older actors calling her out for not giving herself enough credit, and Dean Devlin talking about how she blew him away at the auditions with her ability to turn on a dime

Seeing Kane with his glasses off wiping at his eyes, momentarily thinking “you okay dude?” and then realizing that he was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes

(same)

The The Bucket Job clip! I’ve been a bit meh on a lot of Redemption, just in how it didn’t feel quite right, but that is possibly the absolute closest I’ve seen it get to the original in the best way. Brilliant

Which comes as no surprise since BETH RIESGRAF directed the episode!!! And apparently put an insane amount of effort in!

Beth’s utter delight and joy at both directing the episode and having the crew behind her

THE CHAIR

So apparently she and Christian went to town on the fight scene and he winds up tied up in a chair somewhere along the line and there’s a whole wild scene, which I am really looking forward to

Beth knowing how insanely particular he’d be about things like zip ties vs rope and what kind of rope e.t.c. e.t.c.

Apparently this is also tied into a VERY DEEP scene with Eliot? It sounds like they’re going to go super hard on his backstory, which is terrifyingly exciting

Just. Beth and Christian going very hard on that episode together

Speaking of: the panel’s going amazingly, I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, things are relatively light, and then, of fucking course—

Kane hitting us over the head about Eliot being a mass murderer who can’t be redeemed, is trying to stay static so that he can maintain the place he’s in, and is thus LIVING VICARIOUSLY THROUGH HARRY

What the FUCK. This is of course incredibly insightful and perfectly on point (because it’s Kane) but also, EXCUSE ME, OUCH, why would you DO THAT to us?

Everyone talking about having their families on set and their kids!

Beth’s son growing up on the original Leverage set and now going into being a director himself!

Gina’s daughter also growing up on set!

Noah Wyle’s daughter is playing Harry’s daughter I REPEAT NOAH WYLE’S ACTUAL DAUGHTER IS PLAYING AS HARRY’S DAUGHTER

Gina Bellman remaining relatively stoic throughout much of the panel (seriously, this woman, how the heck does she do it) and then losing it when they’re asked about running/inside jokes

A lot of them are, of course, apparently not appropriate to be spoken on-panel

(A lot of the others are the little inside ones that are special enough not to be ones they want to share, which is sweet!)

Everyone collectively losing it over having LeVar Burton on for The Bucket Job

Devlin and everyone laughing about collecting the various Star Trek people on Leverage

Beth talking about Burton coming over while she’s getting ready and asking her if she’s living on coffee and water, her laughing because he was absolutely right, and then him gently reminding her to remember to eat, which is the sweetest thing in the world oh my gods

Kane apparently choreographing an intense scene with Burton and being scared out of his mind, because Burton really wanted to go for it, but to Kane it was like he’s a figurine that’s not to be messed with because he was so worried about hurting him

Kane choreographing a massive amount of the show, which I knew already, but seriously, this guy blows me away

Gina and the crew talking about how he’d be away for a day of shooting a fight and all of them would be missing him and thinking about him

Family Vibes

Everyone talking about how they’re very noisy and loud together on set and it’s a bit like walking into a group of people having Christmas dinner (or something to that effect) because they’re just Like That together

Aleyse being the most surprised by Beth when she met her because she was like a little angel of light during the auditions but turned out to be an absolute ball of wild energy on set

Gina going “wait you were a MODEL” at Beth

Aldis talking about how much he loved how Parker and Hardison’s relationship had developed and grown!

Also, Aldis apologizing when the New York (iirc) background noise got loud and everyone going “no no we get you”

His outfit is ON POINT today

Gina saying that Christian is the goofiest and wildest out of them in terms of humor

(she goes “some of you may not know this,” which, fair, but also, if you’ve seen more than ten minutes of this guy outside of character you know he’s an absolute ball of sunshine)

Gina, Beth, and Christian talking about how they’d challenge each other to stay off sweets back on the original set, because they knew they needed to stay in shape and also just because they’re competitive (apparently all of them are major sweet tooths) and hide brownies and things from each other, while Aldis is just. doing pushups. eating all the healthy stuff. and then wanders into the room with a literal cupful of chocolates

(and Aldis going “well yeah I have to work off the sweets SOMEHOW”)

Beth explaining that sometimes they’d order a “Kane burrito” from Christian and he’d alter it slightly

Like, you know, chopping up hot jalapenos super fine and mixing them in, and Beth practically not being able to talk after the first bite

Apparently Aldis still went back a lot even after that

(Christian just seems very pleased with himself over it)

(THESE PEOPLE)

Gina goes “hey we should have an episode where we all swap roles,” Devlin going “WAIT FOR SEASON ONE TO BE DONE,” and then somebody (maybe the moderator?? I don’t remember exactly) going “uh actually. We did that”

Cue immediate scramble of “WAIT WHICH JOB WAS THAT”

(paraphrasing) “Yeah you remember the bit where you put on Parker’s harness and went off a building?”

Turns out half the cast had actually forgotten that that existed and only remember when reminded

The original cast all think of the episodes as “jobs”!!!!

Everyone talking over each other, Devlin going “it was with Sterling when we blew up the offices,” deciding that it was the season one finale, and then trying to figure out what episode title it was (eventually they figure out it’s the David jobs)

Moderator and Devlin accurately commenting that the fans know the show much better than they do

Noah Wyle very correctly explaining how Electric Entertainment is like a family and Devlin just. Keeps people

Aleyse and Aldis talking about typing when they’re hacking and going “WHAT THE HECK DO WE TYPE”

Aldis goes “yeah I just type all the bad words that we’re not allowed to say”

Aleyse saying that she’s always a little worried they’re hiding a Word document behind the blue screen and they’re going to pull up what she’s typing at the end of the day and print it out and put it in her trailer going “what the HECK is this”

Noah talking about filming The Golf Job and just getting to direct Jason Marsters and Christian together

Apparently their dynamic in that episode accurately mirrors the one with their characters in Angel!

Which promptly goes straight to the comment that it was very hard to make Marsters look like a golfer (pfft)

(Also apparently Christian plays golf for fun with his friends? Not necessarily something I would’ve thought of!)

Aleyse happily talking about how she loved the dynamic on set and it was very different from what she was used to

Also Aleyse talking about doing stunts and everyone else praising her for going whole hog

Beth especially praising her for the bit where she’s hit with the paralysis injection (I don’t remember which ep it’s from) and her acting for it, because it was incredibly hard to drop off screen in the particular way she did

Aleyse promptly answers that she was terrified with some of those, especially one where she had to keep a clock from falling and breaking

Everyone discussing how they see a new aspect of Breanna’s character in The Train Job

Also, to get serious for a moment, Kate Rorick in particular talks about how Breanna’s part of Gen Z and how we didn’t get the “days of yore” where everything was chill. We’ve basically been living in a world of hostility the whole time. It’s something I deeply appreciate, as someone who’s part of that group, and I love how they emphasize that for us.

This panel was pure chaos and I loved every moment of it! My stomach was actually hurting from laughing so hard, I swear. They had me cackling well over half the time. I would happily take panels double or triple the length of this, this was amazing. I also adore how the second you drop these six people in a room together, they immediately take off and literally just run and give you everything you wanted and more. (It is also evidently very hard to get them to STOP talking.)

I’m also just going to stop and take a second to fawn over the effects for the 3D room. It’s gorgeous—I love how they replicated the headquarters, especially with the stained glass ceilings! Super impressive, especially with all the photos, and I just love the whole thing. Kudos to whoever put that together.

Anyway, I’m definitely missing some stuff too; seriously, there wasn’t a second wasted in this thing, they were cracking some kind of joke or dropping some really interesting piece of information practically every thirty seconds. (And I haven’t even gotten into the clips OR the bloopers. I miiiight do a separate reaction purely for those.) It’s still up right now if you missed it and you want to watch it! I’ll probably watch it again, honestly.

#leverage #leverage redemption #leverage redemption panel #synapse reacts

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Text

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like.

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not.

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs.

Dream leaves.

It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore.

None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature.

Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.”

Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?”

“If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?”

Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.”

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information.

Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns.

“From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.”

Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

“He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.”

“He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.”

Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern.

“Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?”

Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense.

“Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

---

Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream.

“Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff.

“Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.”

“O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod.

“There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.”

Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place.

“We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head.

“I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.”

“Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?”

Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.”

“Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?”

Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

“He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.”

Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?”

Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table.

“You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut.

“The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

“But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?”

“He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.”

“But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.”

Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh.

“I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.”

---

They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

(She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange.

“Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back.

“You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?”

Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh.

“You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head.

“Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him.

“...these are going to take so long to clean out.”

To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

“Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head.

“They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “

He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes.

“You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done.

“The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.”

Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.”

Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

“Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

“-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.”

“When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.”

“We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Alright, then. Here’s the plan.”

---

It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis.

“Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.”

“Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin.

“Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back.

“You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider.

“Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier.

“You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.”

Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?”

Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now.

Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass.

(Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later.

“I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened?

Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.”

“I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.”

“Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat.

“Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped.

“Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

“He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light.

“Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

“I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?”

“You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.”

They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava.

“Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him.

“Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident.

“You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs.

“Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.”

Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

“Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.”

As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor.

Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?”

She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava.

“There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

“You there, Dream?”

She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

“Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath.

“Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

“And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-”

“They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

“And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-”

“I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.”

“Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-”

“Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?”

Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.”

“You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.”

“Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye.

“Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

“Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Niki, give us some fire res please?”

She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.”

She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep.

“Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend.

But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw self harm #tw disordered eating #tw ed #tw sh #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw starvation #c!sam critical #c!quackity critical #my writing :D #> my writing

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