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#this might be the one chance for me to make good on all my ‘ill draw them one day’ promises
bucksangel · 3 days
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okay you’re straight up ATTACKING ME!!!! It’s been two days and i’m still losing my mind (which is the natural response to seeing sebastian) this will be quick but it’s giving me soooo many ideas😫😫
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pairing: alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader
word count: 870
warnings: 18+ minors dni, mention of oral (f receiving), alpha!bucky being a complete menace, kinda dom/in charge!reader??, that’s it i think
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It’s hard, so fucking hard trying to ignore him. It helps that you’re standing with your back to him, but you can feel his gaze - glare more like. He’s been like this ever since you woke up this morning: pouting when you refuse to kiss him, whining when you wiggle out of his hold every time he manages to wrap his arms around you, he even shuffled to the couch and flopped onto it with a dramatic huff when you slapped his hand away when he tried holding yours.
Bucky Barnes is a baby, but you’re too stubborn to give in to his wishes.
“Come on, darling,” He whines from the couch, and the low rumble he lets out soon after makes you want to give up the act, makes you want to sink to your knees and crawl to him, forgiving him for the earlier incident. “I said I was sorry, don’t you wanna come let your Alpha apologize properly? I’ll get on my knees -”
You cut him off by throwing a nearby pillow towards him, glancing over your shoulder for a brief moment to see that he’s now sitting up, resting one hand on his thigh with his other arm thrown over the top of the couch. It takes all your might to force yourself to look away and focus back on making your tea, but you do it anyway.
It lasts not even five seconds, because then Bucky pulls out the big stops, lowering his voice as he says, “Omega… Come on.”
With a huff, you turn on your heels, placing your hands on your hips and glaring at the man you’ve called yours for over two years. His pout is gone, replaced with a smirk and a raised eyebrow as he waits for the inevitable.
“No,” You say harshly, but your heart’s not in it. You want to forgive him so badly, but he needs to learn his lesson. “You threw away all of my underwear! What am I supposed to wear when I go out now?”
“First of all, I didn’t throw all of them away. I left you a couple of thongs and those sets I love so much.” Bucky’s musky Alpha scent is slowly filling the room, the sheer dominance he radiates is clear to anyone who comes in contact with him but it’s more prevalent now with his leather jacket hugging his biceps. “Plus, we hardly leave the house anyway. And you know very well how I feel about you wearin’ panties around here.”
It’s true, you do know. In the beginning of you two living together, you quickly learned it’s best to not wear pants. You don’t like wearing them in the comfort of your own home anyway - something Bucky is extremely appreciative of. But especially panties, they merely get in the way of his desire to fill you up at any chance he gets. And it’s not like you’re complaining, oh god no. The day you’re not ready to take Bucky’s cock at any given moment will be the day you die.
It’s just… You liked the pairs you had, and they were expensive. So for Bucky to just throw them away - even if you know he didn’t mean any actual ill-will by it - kind of irks you.
Though not nearly as much as the infuriatingly smug grin on his face as you falter, he knows you’re going to cave, you always do. You’re weak for him, always have been, and always will be.
It’s just good that he’s the same way. He’d jump fifty feet in the air if you asked him to, he’d go out at one in the morning and get you food if you even suggested you were hungry, and he’s proved time and time again that he’s worthy of being your Alpha.
But right now, all you want to do is continue to gripe and make him buy you more. But then an even better idea pops up, and it’s your turn to smile deviously.
“You’re right,” You start, crossing your arms over your chest and slowly walking towards him. “You and I both know how you feel about my panties, and I guess you did leave me the good ones. But a verbal apology isn't going to be good enough.”
“Ome-“
“No.” Your harsh tone shuts him up, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “You’ve already ripped up quite a few because you’re too impatient to actually take them off. But throwing them away is too far.” Stopping about a foot in front of him, you have to will yourself not to laugh at the shock on his face.
“Your ‘apology’ will be me sitting on your face until you give me as many orgasms as the underwear you tossed out, okay?”
At that, Bucky straightens up one of his eyebrows raising as he leans forward with his forearms resting on his knees. “Omega, you have no idea how okay with that I am.” With that, Bucky shoots up, wrapping you in his arms and literally sweeping you off your feet as he carries you toward the bedroom.
It’s going to be a long day, and it’s a good thing you don’t have anything planned.
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askganon · 2 days
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Great King, I need encouragement. I have not had an easy life. Any form of abuse besides sexual my parents committed against me. Any time anything is left to chance the worst possible outcome is chosen by the gods, even should I do everything right. I have more mental illnesses, mental and physical disabilities than I can count. I cant do many jobs and can hardly hold most of the ones I CAN do down, on account of the disabilities. My family comes from the worst poverty possible and its grip on me is so strong I know I will never be comfortably free from it. Everyone I've ever known has abandoned me and those that came back keep me at a healthy distance as fair weather friends. Simply put, I'm a survivor, and I intend to survive as long as there is sand in my hourglass. When I am knocked down, nails bloodied and gone, nose broken, I spit my teeth and blood out of my mouth, wipe the dirt out of my eyes and get back up only to get punched back down to the ground just to get back up again. I take pride in this fact, should the whole world and even the gods/goddesses and even lady luck herself be my enemy I will. Not. Succumb. But I am tired... I tired of being strong, I tire of pain, of being offered relief or a mercy only to have it snatched away from me at the cruelest moment against all odds, of having every bit of happiness locked behind one paywall I can never hope to meet, of having everyone like me but never cherish me... I tire not of life but never having lived. I tire of only ever surviving. I dont know what to do, where I can find relief, when or how I get to rest even if just for a moment. I know I must continue on and I know that I will but I have no desire or motivation to do so. Any words of advice or encouragement from you would be a gift, I have admired you since I was young for you have lived a similar life.
There is little I can add as endearment, for all that I would say you have already stated in your resolve.
But you have come to Demon King Ganondorf seeking wisdom. So, it is Demon King Ganondorf's wisdom you shall have.
First, I will make a wound and force it to bleed. Then, I will put salt in that wound, and make you feel the sting of truth. It is only with calm and mature reflection can one see the purpose in the words beyond appeared insult.
First, the wound.
Life is not happiness.
Life is struggle, trial, failure and pain. It can be torment and relief, beautiful and ugly, but it is never happy. Any who speak otherwise are either fools or devils.
It has been said that life is the pursuit of happiness. This is a dream for the mad.
In truth, a "good" life, or one lived well, is one not driven by happiness, but by contentment.
To achieve this, a choice must be made. It is only one choice, but it is the same choice one must make eternally. That is to choose between compromise and suffrage.
In short, will you compromise to be content, or will you suffer for it?
To place this into an example, I could have compromised as King, living content with "It could be worse." Or I could have suffered for contentment with "It could be better."
Which do you think I chose?
Now for the salt.
I have listened to the retelling of your life, and have words regarding it.
I hold no sympathy for abusers of any kind. They cannot match the skills and abilities of their peers, so choose instead to face opponents they know they can conquer. There is no honor nor challenge in an assured victory, and I expect all of them to die knowing they were failures in life and will be forgotten in death.
But as to your abandonments, I hold a different opinion. While the abandonment of one might whisper you the victim, the abandonment of all screams the opposite.
Reflect on these relationships and seek out the common root between them. Do this, but do not rest on the easy answer and use your disabilities as a crutch.
It is said that hurt people hurt people. Perhaps the abuse you sustained in your youth evolved into traits within of which you are unaware.
Seek this out within yourself. If it is discovered, then you have a choice to make.
Will you compromise with this, and remain content in your solitude? Or will you suffer to change this aspect, granting you the chance at a healthy relationship and the possibility of happy moments in a content life?
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shiraishi-kanade · 1 day
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Interactions that I want to see in proseka: An Shiraishi edition
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Buckle up, folks. This is gonna be a long one.
New interactions
An & Kanade: this is actually more of a biased one (in a "I want to see two of my favourite characters interact" way), but I really hope to see more of them. An and Kanade are aware of each other's existence through Mizuki and the Twilight Festival event, but it's very surface level and I really want their potential to be explored more.
Despite appearing very different on the surface level and leading very different lifestyles, An and Kanade have been foils to each other basically since launch. They both grew up surrounded by music; they both have, and have shown since a very young age, a prominent talent in it (singing and composing respectively); they're both extremely passionate about what they do and are very hardworking, to the point of sacrificing their own well-being to it (a trait that, interestingly, more like early Kanade, but more recent An), and they also have a shared topic of grief.
Both An and Kanade suffered a loss of a loved one that impacted them deeply, and both of them choose to, at least to some extent, repress their own feelings regarding that. While I don't think their interaction/event should necessarily touch on that topic, I think it would be good for the both of them to have a friend who can relate to something that horrifying and personal.
(Additionally, while we didn't know what killed Kanade's mom, we know it was some kind of illness, and chances are it'll be same/similar to what killed Nagi. If Kanade shared how it was for her to witness her mom slowly fading away... I think that would make for an interesting conversation.)
Honestly, I'd take just about anything with those two, from grief and angst to composing and potentially even light-hearted event like Spojoy Park. I just really want them to meet properly.
An & Emu: Genki girls!! They are very dear to me personally despite not having met properly yet. They're also the reason I'm upset An has moved on from disciplinary committee: missed opportunity for her to catch Emu sneaking in! They would be fun to be around each other, I think, once An would get used to Emu's manner of speech (which she also somewhat shares, as shown in Nuanced Language sidestory. An being able to understand Emu-language from the get go would be a hilarious twist)
On the more serious note! Emu and An have a lot of shared themes, especially those of loneliness and abandonment issues, and also the way they chose to deal with those feelings. A lot of people say they're suppressing their emotions; I'm rather inclined to say they're avoiding them. If faced with each other who are, in a way, a reflection of their flaws, they might not be able to avoid it anymore - I think that would potentially be a very insightful interaction for them.
Moreover, they (along with a couple other characters, like Touya and Kanade, although for them it's much more minor) share the topic of legacy. Both of them lost a close one that has left behind a dream and both of them, voluntarily, stepped up to keep it alive. I think in that regard An and Emu would be able to understand each other in a very unique way. They have way more to their possible friendship than it seems on a surface level.
An & Mafuyu: one of An's most defining character traits is being a good friend and accepting of everyone - more than that, she earnestly believes she could accept all people if she tried hard enough. I think, for Mafuyu, having a friend, or even an acquaintance like that, someone who is put off by her behaviour and overall mannerisms but actively tries to understand her and be friends with her despite that, as well as someone who is so passionate about a dream she has she build her whole life around it, would be very useful.
(this is also the reason I hold a grudge with 2024 White Day event. It's beautiful and fun and all but An's not had a limited card for over a year and haven't had neither Valentine's nor White day, I thought FOR SURE this one. We could have had it all :( )
An & Saki: similar to An and Emu, both of them have a lot of both serious and comedic potential. They're lively, they're athletic, they're passionate about music - there is no feasible reason for them to not hit it off right away when they meet. I don't quite imagine the rest of their groups being able to keep up with their energy.
Still, underneath that energy, there is an underlying topic of loneliness that they both went through, and although An's is incomparable to Saki's, I think there would be this kind of understanding between them, too. While being extroverted and having a lot of friends, An has spend years searching for "her" person without success up until main story. I don't think she had any actual, deep bonds with peers going on in her life aside Haruka. Having a close-knit, big friend group might just be what both An and Saki have missed out on in middle school. That's an interesting observation, isn't it?
More of That, please (Already know each other but I want to see them More)
An & Haruka: in terms of Haruka and An, I really want to see more backstory for them. I know we've already seen it briefly, but there is so much more to it. How close were they? Did Haruka know Nagi in person or from description? What is Haruka's relationship with Vivid Street? Did she go to WEG to sort her thoughts out because An was there, or because it has a connection to her, too (The Non-Idol Me sidestory)? Did they grow more distant throughout Junior High? There is much to unpack here still!
And also, I just like their friendship overall and think we're really lacking their area interactions and accidental meetings, stuff like that. There should definitely be more.
An & Rui: the sillies. Now that An isn't a hall monitor I expect her to take absolute delight in Rui's antics.
They've performed together a total of three times (if we count the New Year show, even though it was more of a Tsukasa stage) and all of them went spectacularly. An is just the right amount of impulsive and reckless to be someone who's able to meet Rui's ideas halfway and match his energy, even though she's normally skeptical about it when she isn't a part of the performance. Hell, An even jokingly mentions becoming an actress!
I think they definitely should interact more and I want it to be utterly ridiculous. It's a shame it didn't happen a little earlier in Rui's story, but, for example, An (together with some other characters) doing acting gigs for Rui could be extremely fun.
An & Tsukasa: both the comedic and the serious angst potential is there; An's and Tsukasa's recent arcs do align quite nicely even though they're not exactly the same. They could probably have a nice conversation about it.
I think it's also fun to see An not realising that she comes off just as loud and pushy to other people as Tsukasa seems to her. But they definitely do have the same energy! I really liked Let's Study Hard and the New Year's Show for that; they're extremely passionate and Tsukasa admires An's passion and skill - I wish they elaborated on this more!
Also, An should definitely have something going on with Tsukasa with her passing the role of the hall monitor to him, especially with Rui around. No way they won't even mention it.
An & Shiho: they had an awesome time together during the In The Corner of Resonant Town and I'm BEGGING for them to get closer as friends. From fashion sense to music to their personal issues, they have a lot in common. I think they've had their share of deep talks and I'm not exactly looking for that anymore; something more relaxed like a jam session or just hanging out is another thing, thought.
An & Ichika: I'm biased in a way that I love them and I also think it would be very funny for Ichika to have a second vocal teacher. Ichika & Nene are very dear to my heart, but as things stand, An should canonically be more skilled in vocals (while Nene is definitely a superior actor) and her skillset probably fits Ichika's genre better. And An was teaching Kohane at the start, so we know she knows how to! There is no particular motive behind it other than I want to see them together more and I think that would be a perfect way for them to get closer.
Additionally, Shiho mentioned how An must be experienced in MCing and how there must be a lot they can learn from her. That. I want that to happen so badly.
An & Nene: no thought head empty just please more of them. Especially singing. I want them to sing together again, I loved hearing Nene's little monologue and I like the way Nene was able to give An tips on acting and singing while acting; they're extremely sweet, they're polar opposites while also being similar in a bizarre way, and I really want the writers to go all in with the classmates thing.
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ssreeder · 2 months
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how are we feeling about the new netflix adaptation of avatar??!!!!!!!!!!!! the zuko casting eats and swolzai is so cool to see actually translated well (although we will see how they treat the characters in this)
HEYYYYYYOOOOO!
The only thing I’m really looking forward to from the live action is being able to gossip about it with my mutuals. I don’t really have any other opinion, I mean… it looks cool! (Sokkas hair & zukos scar bother me but ehhhh what can I do?) But I’m an animation junky, I love my anime and my cartoons (bobs burgers beloved) so I don't particularly care for the “real people actors” taking over my cartoons but I’m totally chill about it honestly.
I will ABSOLUTELY be watching it and probably will form a more solid opinion after I actually watch the show.
#Omg I had to message a friend and ask who sowlozai was hahaha#I was like ummmm I don’t know this person#& they had to hold my hand and walk my old ass through it#But yeah! I guess I’m just not the kind of person who jumps to criticism#I mean don’t get me wrong I love a good gossip sesh#Don’t tempt me with a good time haha#I see a lot of effort being put into it so I want to give everyone who worked really hard to bring this show to life a chance#I can’t just tear apart all their hard work from a few photos and a couple trailers#I know it won’t be close to the original but it might be good#I heard the one piece live action was good#Idk I’m watching one piece currently so I haven’t seen the live action but ahhh luffy is so awesome haha#Again this show could be a dumpster fire but can it be worse than the first live action movie….? I think not#*points at friend who actually likes the live action movie* HAHAHA I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE#poor dads still waiting for book two hahaha#Sorry sorry I love you don’t be mad <3#Ok well COME SCREAM AT ME WHEN YOU WATCH IT AND ILL YELL BACK!!!!!!!#& yeah they had no business making ozai look that offical… damn it live action CUT IT OUT#& im sorry but iroh is the most iroh looking iroh i could have imagined and i giggle every time i see him#But i will take jabs that Netflix threw all that money at the show and still always sunny did a burn scar on cricket 10000x better than zuk#Left eye paint job (i know it’s mean but i doubt anyone would have stopped watching if they would had added a little more realism to that…)#(They didn’t have to shave his brow but put some of that effect glue shit on it and plaster that sucker down#ONE EYE BROW ZUKO!!!!!!!!!!!! )#& sokkas jet black hair with his front poof is just …. Damn it I think it’s actually stupidly canon for them to fuck up sokkas character#THIS MUCH - but again… maybe he’ll pull it off idk I JUST DONT KNOW#The girls are perfect & fuck it when azula picked up a bow#The first thing I thought was that fucking Annie song#“Anything you can do I can do better I can do anything better than you”#Zuko works tirelessly to master his weapon#Azula picks up a bow and laughs ‘silly zuzu weapons as child’s play’ *proceeds to hit a bullseye with no effort*#BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT
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opens-up-4-nobody · 1 year
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#ok. so the guy from school i visited emailed me today like: good news! we unanimously voted to extend u an offer here#so expect the formal offer in the next week. and im like uuuugh i wanna say yes so bad#bc in the us i would have more flexibility in the program than i would in the uk#and my options in the us r either to b a big fish in a small pond at this schoolor a little fish in a big pond at the other#bc this school is underfunded and a bit isolated out in the mountains but the staff r pretty great and big egos dont seem like a big issue#but if i go to the other school its like a big well funded school. the application was like 75 dollars. fuck u and really annoying#and i mean id have to live in new jersey. so in the city with city driving and prob a more high pressure school environment#and more of a chance of dealing with big egos. but like career wise im sure it would b good. assuming i don't mentally collapse#but i mean that doesnt seem as fun as spending 5 years out in the rocky mountains#like thry have fucking moose and bears! there were deer and turkeys in town!#and my dad just sent me a video of all the spring peepers singing back home and im like 😭 bc froggies and he was like i bet u could find#frogs out in [redacted city] and im like 😭 ur right. it just seems like the better choice for my poor overtaxed brain and the project is#so cool too. i want to get the cyano species as my computer background asap. and the guy is nice and apparently super supportive#and i could probably walk to hiking trails. god. i mean i have to say yes to that. i wanna say yes so bad. send me the formal offer bro#ill fucking take it before i even hear back from the other schools lol. ugh. i hate making choices#oof i am so excited to kno where im going and plan my departure. its gonna b such a pain moving tho i pray that my mum or dad can drive#with me bc otherwise the 20hr drive by myself might kill me. thats almost as bad as my initial move out here lol. the us is so big#ugh. again choices. is this the right choice? probably one of the biggest decisions of my life. the project feels so right. cyanobacteria#my algal group of choice. and hot springs. how tf do u say to no to that? i mean. id b doing that in new jersey too but with red algae#ugh. put me out of this misery lol. also as an aside. shout out to my fucking disaster brain for not being able to focus on a single thing#my boss in a meeting: so glad to have students and staff so excited to b working on this project!! me: lady i hate that im on this project#bc im just sitting in until they can get an actual student. i just do what im told but appreciate the enthusiasm lol#ay. im so tired. i wanna see the snow and mountains. and fix my head. and get outta the desert. and listen to frogs 🐸 😌#unrelated
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pepprs · 2 years
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covid is such an evil evil disease and an evil evil thing to live through lol
#purrs#this isn’t prompted by anything im just thinking about it. i hate that thisis what life looks and feels like now and it might always be thi#way. i hate that getting covid feels like an inevitability even though i wear n95s and don’t go anywhere but work and have basically 0#social life and have put my life plans on hold to wait for this thing to pass when it probably never will. i hate that lockdown was better#and easier than this in some ways because at least back then people were still scared and there still felt like hope and there was clear(is#) guidance and free testing and vax sites and whatever. i hate that free testing and public health dashboards showing covid rates and vax s#sites and all that shit have fucking disappeared even though the variants going around now are more contagious than ever. i hate the#mortifying ordeal of being the only person (or one of the only people) wearing an n95 and sometimes the only person wearing a mask at all.#hate that so many things have been lost and we are not taking time to grieve them or make sure that we are okay and will be okay. i hate#being scared every time i swallow. i hate how there is literally no way to tell if you will get long covid and no way to reduce your chance#of getting long covid or covid at all (aside from masks) just ways to make the symptoms less severe. i hate trying to bring people together#and stay away from people at the same time. i hate all the life that covid has taken out of me and the people i love even though thank god#know more people who haven’t gotten it than who have but actually that may not be true idk. and i HATE that because of covid and how#egregiously badly it has been handled everyone is just like.. perpetually tired and sad and we’ve accepted mass illness and death and#accepted that disabled people (esp those who are marginalized in other ways) are disposable when actually no fucking human being is#disposable and everyone should be able to live happy connected healthy lives and we could’ve ended this shit in EARLY 2020 without having t#deal with any of this absolute fucking NIGHTMARE. like god. i remember sobbing hysterically thinking we would be dealing with covid for 18#months and now we’re coming on 3 fucking years and lockdown is over but the danger is even worse than it was and like.. no one cares anymor#and it fucking sucks lmfao. i am so tired. i need to move out. and i miss my friends and i miss my life and i miss having fewer things to#constantly worry about and i can’t believe how good and simple life was before this stupid shit.#delete later#i wasn’t planning on going on a huge rant lol sorry it’s just what’s on my mind this morning
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#its valentines day (yesterday but i havent gone to bed yet so its the same day) so im gonna talk about my crush#i figured out its really a crush because if it was just hyperfixation it wouldve been done by now#but its been months and i still really like her so its real#anyway. we became friends during one of the shittiest weeks of my life#in a time when everything was difficult and i felt so out of my element and inadequate and altogether bad. she was kind to me#she approached me. made conversation. several times. was the friendliest any stranger has ever been#at the end of the week i asked for her number to keeo in touch. and she gave it to me. and texted#i figured the friendship might fizzle out. but she kept texting. we kept talking. she talked about her problems and her happiest moments#shes trans and like me got put into the 'only out trans person for queer kids to look up to' slot at our summer camp jobs#she once texted me at 4am about horror movies and we ended up texting until 8am#she has a guinea pig named Agnes. she dropped out of college. she joined camp staff to avoid helping her mom move#and i love all of that about her. and i wish i could say these things but i dont want to freak her out and lose one of the best friendships#but im playing the long game because. this summer she applied to the same summer camp as me. so we'll be around each other a lot more#and that kind of proximity fosters incredibly close relationships. most of the people ive dated have been from that camp because of that#so im gonna spend the summer trying to get closer. and then maybe by the end ill shoot my shot#worst case ive just gotten closer to a very good friend. im not going into the summer with the goal of dating her#just the goal of getting to know a wonderful person better. and im just very delighted to have her in my life#and have the chance to work with her this summer. its all just good and makes me happy#its one of the only things keeping me going rn#so happy valentines day everyone
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arolesbianism · 2 months
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I should rly play portal, but at the same time I find it kind of funny to have it continue to exist as that one game I'd fuck around with the physics in as a lil kid instead of actually doing the puzzles in my memories especially since I'm sure I'd have rly liked glados if I actually bothered to actually progress in the video game I was playing
#rat rambles#also Im just not in the market for a new interest rn but its still on the to play list#theres a lot of games I played as a kid that I never actually progressed in much due to me just fucking around instead#tbf I still kind of do that sometimes but thats mostly just when Im talking to ppl#12 year old me may have played video games very differently from current me#but I still spend too much time painting ever last spec of lobbies in splatoon#also Ive always been one to set arbitrary callanges for myself in video games I just would do it all post game as a kid#like Id breed new pokemon and go through each route with them in order#nowadays I just do the normal thing and start a new game to do challenges#tbf I didn't know how to restart pokemon games as a kid#if I did I would have actually played pokemon black instead of just sitting there with my hacked copy like ok guess Ill make my own fun#the first pokemon game I actually played fully was soul silver oddly enough#I also spent a lot of time fucking about in loz windwaker and twilight princess not actually progressing the plot#tbf I did actually try with those two I was just a kind of dumb kid who didnt know where to go to progress the story#although tbf part 2 I have always struggled with reading and focus and memory shit so I assume I just wasnt reading the dialogue well#even tho I liked reading books as a kid Id still skip and skim through most of the books a read since it was so hard to read for me#it still is to be clear but yknow#theres a chance I might be dyslexic but Im just gonna blame my adhd for now and call it good
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nerdvi · 4 months
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In the wake of the whole james somerton fiasco and inspired by this post, I wanted to share a few of my um, soft signs, like, orange flags to detect when someone is bullshitting you.
First of all, I am on the spectrum which means 1) I tend to take what people say at face value and 2) I have a strong sense of justice which makes me prone to biases, all of which combined means I am at perpetual risk of swallowing the bullshit.
So, what to do about it? You turn on the critical thinking and pay attention.
As one of my favorite youtubers, Hannah Alonzo, likes to say: "consider the source, remember the motive". Who is talking to you?? What do you know about them?? What biases might they have?? How do they interact with your own biases?? Where are they talking from?? Is it anger?? happinness? boredom?? Also, why are they talking to you? Are they trying to sell you something?? Are they trying to convince you and why?? How do they go about the finantial motivation, if present? If you have, in this case, a white cis gay man talking to you as it he has it the worst of the worst in the world, there's probably some exaggeration and you should start to wonder. There's a good chance he's bullshitting you.
How they talk about women and POC No, no, stay with me. There's a rule I had back when I was dating men: Always beware of how they treat their mother. With the exception of extremes like mama's boys and cases of abuse, how a man treats the woman with whom they have that familial bond is a good indicator of how they are going to treat you. Do they berate her? speak ill of her? are aggressive or controlling? do they dismiss her opinions? Same with creators, and by god I tell you, specially cis male creators, queer or otherwise, always always beware of how they speak of women, how they treat women, how they treat POC. Somerton had a weird vendetta against straight women. It went mostly unnoticed. Then, he was dismissive towards lesbians and other queer women and it was once again overlooked. Then he went ahead and made sinophobic content about genres and cultures he knows NOTHING about. Again, it went unchecked. What I am telling you is IT'S NOT NORMAL. Contempt about women and non white-western cultures is not normal and if someone has them as them as an enemy or a scapegoat, they're probably bullshitting you. Take what they say and fact check it, see for yourself.
If at any point in a video or an essay you find yourself thinking "wait, really??" then it's time to fact check. Is it a bit suspicious?? is your logic telling you that's not quite how this works?? Then take to google, my friend, they might be bullshitting you. At worst, you dodge a fake fact, at best, you learn way too much about a topic you were already interested in.
Beware of the lack of nuance. I can not stress this enough. We all love monochrome, but life and societal issues are never black and white. It's just impossible, there's too many factors to consider. If you are being presented situations or anecdotes as absolute truths, you're probably being bullshitted. If it's too good to be true, it is. If it sounds waaay too convenient, it probably is. A good researcher, a serious investigator, will always have some nuance because they have done the work and checked the sources. If someone provides you 1) no nuance and 2) no sources, THEY'RE BULLSHITTING YOU.
These are the ones I can come up with just of the top of my head, I'm sure there's more and please, add them. Remember that naivité isn't a crime, I'm fairly naive and that's made me distrustful, and these are some of the techniques I've found that help me navigate through a world of information without losing myself.
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ezrasbirdie · 1 month
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bright lights - part i [dieter bravo x neurodivergent!f!reader]
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summary: Dieter Bravo is a man so complicated that his personal assistant needs her own personal assistant just to keep up with his demands, and that’s where you come in. Part time, flexible hours, and a free place to live—you can’t imagine a more perfect gig. You don’t even mind the budding crush you have on Mr. Bravo; that is, until your boss falls ill right before awards season, leaving you to pick up the slack. Making Dieter’s appointments is one thing, but being in charge of him seems like an impossible task. Especially when you think he might have a crush on you, too. chapter rating/warnings: M [some slightly lusty thoughts from both parties, dual POV, sensory issues, Dieter is a menace but he is respectful, angst-ish, descriptions of insecurity and feeling misunderstood, relationship confusion, descriptions of food in kind of a sexy way, reader has some named favorite things, I think that's it for now] wc: ~ 7.1k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! all my love always tp @starlightmornings and @haylzcyon for reassuring me this isn't garbage and betaing. here it is! we're getting set up now, so there's quite a bit of exposition on their relationship and and how/why reader does some of the things she does. I wrote this for the neurospicy girls (gn) but I'm hoping people of all neurotypes gives this little story a chance. I've had so much fun getting to know them so far, and I hope you will, too<3
masterlist | series masterlist | dieter bravo masterlist | next
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The tag on the back of your shirt scrapes the top of your spine every time your head swivels. You hate this shirt for this exact reason, yet it lives in your closet just to taunt you on laundry day when every tagless piece of clothing you own is soaking wet because you have, once again, forgotten to put the clothes in the dryer.
Every couple of weeks you tell yourself you’ll wash it and donate it; give it to someone who doesn’t hate the feel of a jagged fingernail scratching the base of their neck, but somehow it sneaks its way back into the closet to offer itself as a last resort.
It’s possessed; you’re sure of it.
Were it ugly, you might be able to get rid of it more easily, but it’s not. It flatters you, sitting perfectly at your waist with a neckline just low enough to show a work-appropriate amount of cleavage. It’s perfect for a first day at a new job where you’re not sure what clothes you can get away with yet.
Especially a job like this.
Part-time personal assistant to the full-time personal assistant of Dieter Bravo is not a job you’d ever anticipated, but your cousin’s best friend, Christina, was desperate when she’d asked and you were desperate for steady income.
You aren’t close to Christina, but she’s one of the only people you know out here, so you’d crossed your fingers and hoped she wasn’t getting you involved with a pyramid scheme or some cult. The whole thing still seems too good to be true.
She wouldn’t tell you who you’d be working for until you’d signed about a dozen NDAs and a one-year contract. As you’d signed your looping signature over and over, you thought, maybe, some of this is a red flag, but what else do you have to do for the next year? Go back home?
You’d moved out here to make movies, but quickly figured out you’re not built for this industry. The very last thing you wanted was to go back home to a bunch of I-told-you-sos from your parents. At least this gig got you a free place to live in the form of a guesthouse that’s twice as big as the apartment you’d been renting month to month.
You’re even allowed to use the pool.
Not that you will ever be using Dieter Bravo’s pool.
You know very little about the man himself, other than him being a famous actor. He won an Oscar for a movie you found to be a little on the nose, he has an ex-wife he met on the set of some dinosaur movie that was never released, he’s been to rehab twice in the last three years, and he’s infamous for being difficult to work with. Most of this, of course, is according to gossip websites and supermarket tabloid headlines.
The difficult-to-work with part, however, seems true enough.
“He needs a lot of attention,” Christina’d told you when you asked what exactly you’d be doing. “And I need help getting very basic shit done around here. You try going to the bank for the man while he’s having yet another midlife crisis.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it?” You’d laughed.
“It can and it is.”
“Why stay?”
Christina hadn’t answered at first, and you’d worried you’d gone too far—you’d always had a bad habit of asking questions out of sheer curiosity that were, sometimes, wholly inappropriate.
She’d pursed her lips and taken a sip from the to-go cup in her hand. “He pays better than anyone else in this town, and gave a stipend for my own personal assistant when I threatened to leave. And he’s…not so bad. He’s very sweet, most of the time. Just, you know, a huge baby. Sometimes he needs a bit of a firm hand to keep him on track.”
Christina was never someone you’d have described as firm. Ambitious, hard-working, organized, sure, but she’s also squishy like a lightly toasted marshmallow. You’d said nothing—you learned in your teen years people absolutely did not want to be corrected about their perceptions of themselves. If she thinks she’s a firm hand, you won’t argue.
Just as you manage to get that accursed tag laying in a direction that bothers you least, Christina arrives at your front door.
“Good morning,” you chirp, determined to be in a pleasant mood on your first day. “Watch the boxes! I’m still getting unpacked.”
“Good morning,” she replies, taking in the front room of your new living space. “Settling in? How do you like it?”
“It’s great!” You say, and she raises her eyebrow like she doesn’t believe you. “Really. It’s way bigger than where I was living. And I don’t have a roommate.”
“You had a roommate in a place smaller than this?”
“The living room was technically my bedroom. And it’s really pretty roomy when there’s no one to share it with.” You don’t hold her skepticism against her, but the guesthouse is more than enough for your needs. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchenette, and a living room with a view of the magnificent pool is paradise in comparison to where you’d been. The kitchenette only has a sink and microwave, but you’d made do with less in college.  
You’ll put up with a lot for zero dollars a month rent.
And it’s nice, too. No leaky faucets, no shoddily installed locks, no insane charge for parking. And best of all, it’s all yours. You’re the luckiest girl in the whole world right now.
So you absolutely cannot be in a bad mood at all, even if it’s starting to feel like someone’s driving a pocket knife into your spine.
Satisfied (if a little unsettled) with your answers regarding your previous living situation, Christina leads you into the main house for a tour.
You’d moved most of your things into the guesthouse over the weekend and have yet to see even a peek of Dieter Bravo.
As you cross the courtyard to the main house, the pristine pool water sparkles in the sun, so bright you have to squint. “Is he here?” You ask as you trail behind Christina like a baby duck.
“No,” she says, checking her watch. “He should be back sometime this morning if his flight is on time, which it was the last time I looked. He was at a wellness retreat all weekend.”
“What kind of wellness retreat?” You ask.
“Tantra,” she says, unlocking the large sliding glass door that leads into the kitchen.
“I didn’t realize he was with someone,” you say, taking in the sheer size of the place.
“He’s not,” Christina says, and you decide you don’t need to ask anymore questions related to his whereabouts.
Christina flicks on the overhead lights, despite all the sunshine pouring in the floor to ceiling windows. It takes a moment to take in the open floor plan and fifteen foot ceilings. Everything is immaculately clean, almost antiseptic with its gleaming surfaces. It’s all black or white or both, and it doesn’t go at all with the man you’ve seen splashed across magazine covers.
Color. You’d expected more color.
Christina sets her things down on the large kitchen island and motions for you to do the same. “He’s never down here,” she explains, gesturing to the room at large, and it makes more sense now. Why customize a space you don’t spend any time in?
You’re suddenly a lot more curious about this man with his enormous industrial kitchen and dark marble floors and gray oversized sectional.
Christina leads you upstairs into a long hall with tall windows on one side and half a dozen doors on the other. “All the guest rooms are the same, so don’t worry about them. Heidi comes to clean a few times a week. There’s the gym and sauna, another bathroom, and then his room is all the way at the end here.”
She either doesn’t notice you peeking into the open door, or she doesn’t care.
That’s where all the color is. You catch a glimpse of deep purples and burnt oranges and midnight blues, discarded tubes of paint and an easel in front of a big window, and a black, velvety couch that your fingers itch to reach out and touch. You control yourself, though, as Christina shows you the upstairs living room.
“This is so much for one person,” you observe, and she nods in agreement.
“That’s just how it is,” she shrugs.
“I bet the electric bill is nuts.”
Christina grins over her shoulder as you follow her back downstairs. “Lucky for you, you get to keep track of those things.”
“What does that mean?” You ask.
“One of Dieter’s peculiarities is that he doesn’t trust the automatic payment systems, so you get to handle all that! That was part of one of the NDAs, remember?”
“No,” you admit. “I didn’t look that close at most of them. I’ve just decided I’m never telling anyone about any of this, ever.”
“Fine by me,” Christina says as she hands you a list. “Start with the phone calls and work your way down. When you’re done with the list, you’re free to go unless he needs something specific from you.”
The best part of this whole gig, though, is that it’s part time. You get your work done, you get to go. You’re both technically on-call, but she assures you that Dieter is surprisingly good about not abusing that privilege.
You just need to figure out what to do with those hours. And, possibly, with the rest of your life, but you’re trying not to focus on that right now.
That first morning is full of phone calls you hope no one answers, confirming appointments and interviews and reservations. Christina doesn’t tell you what she does, but she looks very busy and very serious, so you try not to bother her unless you absolutely must.
You’re scratching at the tag again when the front door opens and Dieter Bravo is there, talking loudly on his phone and followed by a man in a suit carrying some heavy-looking bags. Dieter seems agitated, but you can barely understand what he’s saying—you’re too busy taking him in.
It’s not that you’ve never met a famous person before. This is Los Angeles. It doesn’t make it any less interesting when it happens, though. If it’s all the retinoids or massages or your own internal biases, you have no idea, but they always seem to glow a little brighter than regular people.
Maybe it’s all that tantric wellness, in his case.
Christina stands up, holding her iPad as she waits for Dieter to finish his conversation.
“Tell them whatever you have to. I want that part,” he says, handing the man with the bags a wad of cash and waving him off. “Thanks, man.”
His eyes land on you as he hangs up and he raises his eyebrow as if he’s not expecting your presence at all. A nervous smile spreads across your face, and you hope it looks more natural than it feels. Meeting new people is such a harrowing experience—you always want to make a good first impression, but it’s an exhausting task.
Christina doesn’t introduce you right away.
In fact, Christina doesn’t introduce you at all, too busy going over a checklist of to-dos and reminders that she makes him repeat back to her even as his eyes flick back to you, this awkward presence invading his home.
Eventually he gives her all of his attention and shakes his head as he does exactly as she asks, as if he finds the whole thing ridiculous and only does it to keep her happy. You swallow all of the questions you have about this dynamic, no matter how interesting you might find it.
“I had a great time, Chris,” he says to her when she’s finished. “Thanks for asking about my trip.”
She quirks her mouth and lets out a barely-audible laugh. “Sorry, Dee,” she says. “How was it?”
Dee.
“I already said,” he says airily. “It was like two hundred degrees, and you don’t like it when I talk about my di—”
“No, I do not,” she says, and you desperately want to know what the end of that sentence is. He grins at her again, twisting the gold rings on his fingers and popping his knuckles. His low, raspy voice makes the hair on your arms stand up and sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.
“And who’s this?” Dieter asks, finally acknowledging your presence.
Christina introduces you and you hold out your hand, expecting a quick handshake, but he covers yours with both of his and cradles it between them. They’re soft and warm and big, and he’s so much friendlier than you’d expected.
Maybe you should look into tantric wellness.
Eventually he heads upstairs, muttering about needing to get the plane energy off of him.
“Did that go okay?” You ask Christina when he’s safely out of earshot.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be that nice to anyone new,” she says, bemused. “He must be in a really good mood.”
You nod in agreement and look back down at your list, contemplating the implications of this information. You decide he’s definitely just gotten laid a lot this weekend, and who wouldn’t be in a good mood after that?
“So you don’t like when he talks about his dick?” You ask Christina, who bursts into laughter. “What? Does he do it a lot?”
 “Oh my God,” she says. “I don’t know why that was so funny, I’m sorry. Okay, yeah, Dieter is very…open.”
“So I’ve heard,” you say.
“But he’s not creepy. Or he’s never been with me. But it’s more of a ‘Don’t talk about your penis in front of the new girl’ thing, you know?”
“I can understand that. You guys seem friendly,” you tell her, and she nods.
“Even when he’s a little insane he’s still a good dude. And he’s insane a lot, you know. But if something makes you uncomfortable—”
“I don’t get uncomfortable easily,” you shrug.
Unless it’s this fucking tag, but you don’t tell her that.
But maybe you shouldn’t have spoken so soon, because when Dieter comes back down a while later still damp from the shower in a pair of linen pajama pants and no shirt, you feel like you’re going to swallow your tongue. You put your head back down and focus on your last two tasks, until you notice movement in your peripheral.
You look up and smile, and he is very, very close to you. Okay, so personal space isn’t really his thing, you guess. Noted. But he smells very nice, like cinnamon and clove cigarettes.
“Are you okay?” Dieter asks, and you try to quell your unbidden panic. What could you have possibly done already?
“Um, yes sir. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’re scratching your neck a lot,” he says.
“Am I? I’m sorry, it’s just my…this shirt has this tag that bothers me,” you explain, mortified that he’s already caught you doing something weird.
He nods and walks off, and you try not to be alarmed at the abrupt end to the conversation and turn back to your work. You’re just about to call his groomer when he shuffles behind you, pulls the tag tight, and snips it off before you can say a word about it.
“There,” Dieter says, grinning and holding the offending tag up between his thick fingers. “Better?”
You have no idea how to react to this.
More importantly, you don’t know how you’ve gone this long without just cutting the damn thing off yourself. How has it never occurred to you that you can just cut off tags?
“I…thanks?” You squeak. He beams at you, turns around, and leaves.
Christina chuckles. “There he is,” she says.
“Does he destroy people’s belongings often?”
“Less so these days,” she sighs. “But he’s not usually trying to be helpful.”
After you get back to the guesthouse that evening, you glance at yourself in the mirror. Without the scratchy tag, you really do like this shirt.
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You’re the most interesting person Dieter’s met in years.
He’d prepared to be annoyed with your presence the second he walked through the door; he was already annoyed with himself for agreeing to this arrangement in the first place. But Christina keeps him on track and out of trouble, and it isn’t like he has a family to spend that money on instead.
He’d made sure of that.
It turns out that immediately marrying someone he met in a high-stress clusterfuck isn’t the best way to secure any kind of longevity, and honestly, he just hadn’t been ready.
And when Anika, just a few days after her twenty-ninth birthday, told him with tears in her eyes that she didn’t think this would work anymore, he didn’t fight it. Why would she want to stay with such a fuck-up? And why would he force his presence on her one second longer?
He knows he’s a lot—that’s why he hadn’t argued when Christina asked for some help. But it meant sharing his space with some stranger, some person he’d never met despite Christina’s suggestion.
“Just hire someone,” he’d grumbled. “I don’t care.”
But then you smiled.
It wasn’t an L.A. smile; one of those veneered things that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. It was imperfect, a little lopsided, skittish enough that his usual cool indifference toward new people melted away.
It could have been all the wellness from the retreat still buzzing in his veins, but he doesn’t think so. There’s something different about your aura that softens him.
And then there’s the fact that you are completely unfazed by him—unimpressed by him, for that matter. Even Christina was a little starstruck when they met, and she still caters to him more than is probably good or healthy for him.
What else can he do at this point? He’d made his own reputation over the last twenty years, for better or worse.
But you?
There is no reverence in the way you speak to him, no higher pitch in your voice to soothe him like he’s an angry toddler. Granted, you don’t speak to him much, only when he addresses you directly, but your short, clipped answers only intrigue him more.
Hopefully Christina doesn’t notice his sudden penchant for hanging out downstairs when he’s home. He just really likes to observe you.
He uses the word observe purposefully in his head; it’s much less creepy than “watch” or “obsess,” though if he’s honest with himself—which he is not—both could apply.
You don’t like it when there are a lot of people in the house, or when the overhead lights are on. You run your fingers over the marble countertop and chew your lip when you’re on the phone, especially if the call is taking longer than it should.
You shake your leg when you’re concentrating, or click a pen over and over and over. That one drives him a little nuts, that click-a-click-a-click, but he regrets asking you to stop the moment he does. It’s the first time your indifference to his existence vanishes, grimacing as you drop the offending pen.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, Mr. Bravo. I don’t know what I was thinking. It won’t happen again,” you say in a much higher pitch, your voice so shaky he wonders if he’d been gruff without realizing.
“It’s okay, really,” he protests. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
That doesn’t seem to help. “R-right,” you stammer, smiling awkwardly. “I’m being silly, it’s—you’re right, no big deal. Okay. I’ll…get back to work.”
But you gather all your things and retreat to the guesthouse, shaking your head as you walk away, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
The next day you don’t have a clicky pen, and you bite your nails instead.
He really hates that, but he says nothing.
It’s not till the end of the week that you approach him all on your own for the first time, just after he gets back from an interview with GQ and he’s stuck his head in the fridge searching for something to eat.
“Um, Mr. Bravo?”
 He turns, surprised to see you now right in front of him, the closest you’d been since your first day. You flash that nervous grin, and he can’t help it—he reaches out and squeezes your shoulder.
“You can call me Dieter, you know,” he says. “What’s up?”
Your eyes flicker to his hand, but you don’t pull out of his grasp. “I just wanted to say sorry for being, like, so weird about the pen thing. I was having a bad day, and it was so unprof—”
“Consider it forgotten,” he says, peering over the top of his sunglasses at you. “We’re just getting used to each other, yeah? We’re gonna annoy each other sometimes. Don’t worry so much about pleasing me, for God’s sake. Just be you.”
He squeezes your shoulder again and your nervous grin is replaced with a pleased smile he’s never seen before. “Okay,” you say brightly. “I’ll try.”
And finally, finally you relax.
You talk more, you laugh more, you join in on conversations. He even finds himself missing you when you’re not around.
This is going to very quickly become a fucking problem.
His favorite thing, he thinks, is your lack of patience for him. Sometimes, you’re almost mean.
And don’t ask him why it makes him hard. It just does.
“You always keep those in?” He asks as you help him pack, referring to the wireless earbuds you’ve worn every day since you started about a month a half ago.
“Yep. Why?” You ask, looking up from folding his clothes.“You have a nail appointment in like twenty minutes, by the way, so put some pants on.”
He looks down at the chenille robe that’s come undone and gives you a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he says.
You just shrug, having gotten more than used to his resistance of wearing real clothing in his own home. Or anywhere, really, but he’s been very careful not to accidentally flash you.
Dieter doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart over his bare torso, though.
Maybe you’re not that unimpressed with him.
“That bluetooth shit’s terrible for you,” he says. “It’ll scramble your fucking brain.” You stop what you’re doing and turn your entire body toward him, lip curled as you assess him.
“What makes you say that?” You ask, and he…doesn’t know, really. That’s just what he’s heard. It’s just what everyone’s told him—the EMF waves, or whatever.
“The, um, EMF waves?” He says, and your expression doesn’t change.
“The EMF waves.”
“Yeah, you know, the brain-scrambling waves. The radiation.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time,” you tell him after a pause, going back to folding.
This might be the meanest you’ve been to him, and he’s torn between amused and a little hurt. As he flounders, searching for a comeback, you stop folding again.
“Um, I’m sorry,” you say, setting his favorite t-shirt into his designer luggage. “That was harsh. Filter’s not working too well today.”
“But you do think I’m stupid?” He asks, needling at you just a little until he sees the way you’re twisting your fingers and shifting back and forth on both feet.
“No! No, I meant—well, okay, I meant what you said was not correct and I should have just shut up. So I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I am stupid sometimes.”
“No!” You look positively distressed. It’s the pen incident all over again. “It’s just—do you know what non-ionizing radiation is?”
“I mean…no.”
“You know how there’s, like, wi-fi and a microwave in the house and you use your cell phone all the time?”
“Yeah, but—”
“There are two types of radiation, right? So what you’re thinking of is ionizing radiation, which is produced by nuclear power and all that shit. Very bad for you, should be handled with extreme caution by professionals only. Non-ionizing radiation is in, like, everything. Electricity, bluetooth, wi-fi, UV rays, it’s in everything.”
“Uh huh,” he says.
“So there’s a difference, right?”
“What’s the exact difference?” He asks, finding himself genuinely curious. 
Maybe he should have checked.
“I don’t know, dude, I’m not a scientist. All I know is that if I keep my little bluetooth earbuds in, I don’t get nearly as overwhelmed about life, and it probably won’t give me cancer any faster than the microplastics we’re all swallowing on a daily basis. But I’m sorry I said it was stupid.”
He shakes his head. “No problem,” he says. “You’re smart.”
You shake your head, too, running your fingers over the velvet. “Not that smart.”
You’re close enough to him on the couch that if he wanted to, he could lean over and kiss you. Lucky for both of you, he’s past running off perfectly good assistants by thinking with his cock.  
“Put some pants on,” you say again. “Before Christina gets here and yells at you.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says.
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Forget anything about a budding crush. This crush is in full bloom.
All those pretty petals fell off during a panic attack of how absolutely fucked you are if you didn’t get it under control fast, too, and you’d walked yourself through it, assured yourself you’d get past it, there was no problem here, it would be okay, and by the next morning? Crush crushed.
And then that asshole had the audacity to smile and say good morning and all those petals of desire bloomed even larger.   
Where was the cool, aloof movie star you’d been promised?
It would’ve been one thing if he just ignored your existence—you could’ve just resented him like you would anyone else you worked for—but no. He’s hellbent on being adorable. And maybe even being your friend.  
He’s not quite as needy as Christina’d made him out to be, either. He just really, really needs that firm hand Christina doesn’t actually have.
You have it, though. And you have no problem using it.
Lately, Dieter’s been busy shooting some romcom twelve hours a day. You’d expected more afterparties, more poolside noise, more hedonism-prepared yourself for it, actually. He’s only thrown a few ragers here and there, most of which last into the next day, and you’ve offered to call a car for more than a few barely-dressed people trying to sneak their way out of Dieter’s bedroom.
You always refrain from asking if they had a good time, but you never refrain from asking Dieter the same question when he stumbles down the stairs in one of those robes you’re so envious of. He always gives you a cheeky smirk, and you roll your eyes, and it’s cute and flirty and you have to scream into a pillow when he goes back upstairs.
But now filming’s done and he’s had a few weeks off, and after he spent a week in New York visiting a friend, he’s home a lot.
Like, a lot.
Doing yoga in his very tiny boxer briefs, watching movies in his very tiny boxer briefs, even arguing with his agent or his manager or his PR rep in very. Tiny. Boxer briefs.
He’s been doing a lot of arguing lately. You try not to eavesdrop, but it’s not your fault his voice echoes in this cavernous first floor.
“Where’s all my food?” He demands after he stomps down the stairs to find a squeaky clean refrigerator.
“Christina threw it all out because it all went bad because you never eat here,” you tell him. “She’s getting groceries now.”
“But I’m hungry,” he whines, and you loathe how endearing you find it.
“So order something,” you say.
He’s in front of you so quickly you almost topple off your seat. “Can you do it?”
“What do you mean? You don’t know how to use DoorDash?”
“I’m bad at it,” he says, and you don’t bother to hide your incredulity.
“You can’t be bad at DoorDash,” you argue, rolling your eyes.
“Please?”
You sigh at his big brown eyes and his trembling bottom lip that you want to swipe your thumb across. “Fine. But I’m getting something,” you say.
“Of course, babe.”
“I don’t love that nickname, Mr. Bravo,” you say, and he scowls at your continued insistence on formality, but boundaries like that are the only thing keeping you sane right now.
“Sorry, sorry. Sweetheart?” He asks earnestly, and you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed.
“Sweetheart’s better than babe, I guess,” you sigh. “What do you want to eat?”
“Eggslut,” he says, and you burst into laughter.
“Do you really want that or did you just want to say the name?”
“Have you had Eggslut?” He asks as you shoot a text to Christina asking if she wants anything. She does not, thank you very much, but she will be back in about an hour. “Because if you had you would know it’s not a joke. I want the Fairfax sandwich, please.”
Why does the “please” make you shiver?
It takes a few minutes, but you find a sandwich that isn’t a textural nightmare and add it to the little cart right below Dieter’s monstrous pile of caramelized onions and scrambled eggs sandwiched in a buttery looking bun.
“It’ll be here in an hour,” you tell him.
“I’m gonna starve, sweetheart,” he exclaims with a dramatic fall to the shimmering black floor, flinging his arm over his face. His robe flops open, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You peer down at him, shamelessly taking the opportunity to run your eyes over his broad, bare torso.
“Might freeze to death, too,” you observe dryly and he chuckles, looking down at his hard nipples.
“Maybe. Ugh, there’s gotta be something to eat around here,” he whines as he gets to his feet. You turn back to your task, and he leaves you in peace to rifle through his cabinets.
Eventually, he finds a bag of Skittles and pours them into a bowl, which is very weird, but he’s a weird famous guy, so you just let him do his weird famous guy thing without comment.
“I don’t like the red ones,” he says, apparently to you. “Can you pick them out?”
He cannot be serious.
“No,” you say.
“Why not?” He demands.  
“Mr. Bravo, I want you to tell me that you, a forty-seven-year-old man, cannot pick out the red Skittles. That you not only need me to order your food, you also need me to pick the red Skittles out of your bowl.”
“Well—I mean, what are you even doing right now?” He asks, and he seems to realize it’s a mistake as your nostrils flare out and you spin in your chair to glare at him.
“I’m filling out your health insurance renewal forms. Do you like having health insurance?” You ask.
“Yes,” he says, still holding his little bowl in his ridiculously large hands.
“So you either pick out the Skittles yourself, or you finish the forms. Which one?”
“You’re mean sometimes,” he says, but there’s no real conviction behind it. You shrug—you are a little mean sometimes.
“And you’re a big baby sometimes,” you say, but he doesn’t pout. He grins at you instead, scooting close enough that you can smell yesterday’s cologne and the weed he smoked before he got out of bed.
“What’s the health insurance stuff?” He asks as he starts to pick out the red Skittles. You eat them one by one as you explain how HSAs work.
By the time the food arrives you realize you’re having fun. You move from the kitchen to the living room after he begs you to watch a movie with him, ignoring your sly suggestion of Hunger Strike.
“Well, what movie are we watching then if we can’t watch anything you’ve been in. Star Wars?”
“What’s your favorite movie?” He asks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”  
You don’t like answering these types of questions—you’re always worried that you’ll give the wrong answer. Which, okay, it’s not a test, it’s an opinion, but sometimes when something means too much to you and the other person hates it, it feels like a judgment on you. And you are so very aware that for the most part that’s simply not true, but you can’t help the way your brain works.
“I do!” He says.
You think about lying, but you don’t think he’s lied to you even once. And you really, really don’t want to lie to him.
“Okay, but you’re gonna make fun of me.”
“Am not.”
“It’s Moulin Rouge,” you say, and you wait for him to laugh or ask “really?”
But he does neither.
“Cool. You know, Ewan and I used to party a lot together,” he says, scratching his beard. “Mine’s Back to the Future III.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” he says, dumping hot sauce all over the scrambled eggs and sucking the excess off of his thumb.
“I’ve never seen any of them,” you tell him and he turns to you, squinting.
“What? We gotta watch them,” he says.
“I don’t think Christina—”
“I’ll handle Christina,” Dieter says confidently. “I need your assistance in watching these, okay, I don’t like watching movies alone.”
You sigh. “And if I say I don’t want to?”
He gives you the biggest, roundest eyes and sticks his lip out, pouting in a way that should be absolutely unbecoming for a man his age. And damn him, it works. “Please?”
He wins, eventually, because of course he does, wiggling with excitement. “Not now, though,” he says. “Gotta make a night of it.”
“A night of it?”
“I mean, yeah. I’m not watching all of them on a shitty little TV,” he says, gesturing to the eighty-five inch flatscreen hanging on the living room wall.
“We might have different definitions of shitty,” you say.
He shrugs and brings the sandwich to his mouth, and there is no reason for you to watch him do this, but he’s just so…interesting.
That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
Everything he does is a little sensual, somehow, like he really wants to enjoy every single experience as much as he can. Even biting into a sandwich, he closes his eyes and moans softly at the taste, and it probably shouldn’t be sexy. People moan at how good food tastes all the time.
You don’t—not in front of people, at least, because you have been far too aware of your every move for the last thirty years of your life, but some people do.
The tendons of his neck flex as he chews, eyes rolling back, his lips shiny with butter and grease, and you try not to think of him looking exactly like that between your legs.
Jesus Christ, when’s the last time you got laid?
You shake your head and busy yourself with your own sandwich and try to eat as normally as possible, only peeking a little to watch him suck all the grease off his fingers.
About halfway through your meal, Christina comes in with the groceries, and you leave your half-finished sandwich on the table to help put them up, happy for an excuse to stop ogling a man who’s just trying to eat.
“I got your green juice, Dee,” she calls, and he waves a hand in acknowledgment. “What’s he doing down here?”
“No idea. He’s been chatty this morning. Wanted me to take the red Skittles out for him.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you about that. He doesn’t like the red dye.”
“Figures. I mean, I didn’t do it. I told him he was a grown man and could figure it out.”
“What?” Christina asks, dropping a bag and giving you an incredulous glare as your smile falters. “Babe, I know you’re still getting used to everything, but if he tells you to do something, do it.”
“Oh, um, he seemed fine? I was filling out his health insurance forms and wanted to get them done. And I ordered his food. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you explain, your eyes flicking over to him as he finishes the last of his food.
“Okay, well, he’s probably just being polite because you’re new, but I’m telling you not to do that again, all right? Whatever he wants, you give him. That’s the deal.”
 She doesn’t sound angry, exactly, but you want to curl in on yourself and crawl into a hole until this mortification passes. Your cheeks go hot, your throat closing up with embarrassment at being scolded.
“Yes, absolutely. Sorry about that,” you say, clearing your throat. “Won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” Dieter asks, choosing that exact moment to set his trash on the counter. Rather than telling him to throw it away, you grab it, eager to give yourself something else to do.
“Nothing, Mr. Bravo, just some paperwork stuff,” you lie, humiliated at the thought of having misread the relationship.
He frowns as you bolt past him, to pick up your half-eaten sandwich and throw it in the trash. “Thanks for lunch—uh, breakfast, sir,” you stutter. “I’ll just go get the rest of this done.”
You’re acting so weird—you know it, they both know it, and you cringe when he asks to talk to Christina as you leave through the back door with the trash bag in hand. For the rest of the day you replay the whole thing in your head from start to finish, trying to figure out why you’d felt so comfortable talking to him like that.
Later that night, all you can do is go over every interaction you’ve had with him over the last few weeks.
He would’ve told you, right?
Like with the pen? When he didn’t like the pen, he told you. But then you’d been so weird about the pen, and maybe he didn’t want to upset you again.
Sometimes you wish you could just explain yourself.
“Sorry I’m such a freak, I thought we were friends because I’m bad at judging how close I actually am to people. I forgot this was a work thing and we’re not really friends, you’re just being nice. I forgot people are just nice sometimes to get through the day. Also, I think I’m a little in love with you. It’s bad, man.”
You chuckle to yourself as you imagine what face Dieter might make. Your contract would definitely be terminated, and you’d probably be one of those stories famous people tell when they go on talk shows.
So you’ll say nothing. You’ll fish out that proverbial mask and put it back on because the last thing you want is your actual personality ruining everything. You’ll do what Christina said, give him whatever he wants, and try not to fool yourself into thinking you’re anything other than a boredom-killer for him.
He’s not your friend.
He’s not.
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Dieter still doesn’t know what happened between you and Christina. He usually appreciates her assuring him that everything is fine and if it’s not fine, she’ll make it fine, but you haven’t really been the same since.
And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked.
“If it’s about the food, I didn’t mind getting her something to eat,” he’d said, but Christina just told him not to worry about it.
“She’s just a little odd,” Christina’d told him. “But she’s doing a good job otherwise, you know, she’s just bad with social situations sometimes.”
Dieter hadn’t understood what she meant—you hadn’t done anything wrong.
And you’re completely different now.
You don’t listen to music anymore or correct him when he’s wrong about something, and he’s checked. He’s been wrong on purpose at least four times now, and you just nod and say, “Oh, how interesting.” 
And maybe worst of all, you do everything he asks of you. Every single thing. To his shame, as little of it as he has, he takes advantage of this because it’s the only time you’ll get close to him. Lucky for him, you can tie a tie. He can also tie a tie, but you don’t need to know that.
He steps out from his room and calls your name. “Can you come help me?” He asks.
“Be right there,” you chirp.
“Can you tie my tie?” He asks, holding it in front of him with a doleful pout. He has a brand appearance tonight, some overpriced cologne deal that’ll pay Christina’s salary for the next few years, and a tie, for some reason, is required.
“Of course, Mr. Bravo,” you murmur, stepping softly into his bedroom. He can feel your nerves rolling off of you.
“Thanks for the help,” he says, standing in front of the mirror. “I never have been able to get the hang of it.”
“No problem. I went through this phase in middle school where I wore ties and tank tops and big baggy cargo shorts,” you say, and his breath hitches at your little confession.
“That’s fucking cute,” he says.
“Mmhmm,” you say, a smile playing on your lips. You seem calmer up here, away from Christina’s watchful eyes. “I was very cool.”
“Bet you listened to a lot of stuff on vinyl,” he teases.
“Who says I don’t still? I like the scratchy noise it makes,” you offer, looping the tie around his neck and standing so close he could wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your hair.
“Very, uh, what’s that movie—the one Zooey’s in,” he says.
“Five Hundred Days of Summer? God, I forget you know all these people I just watch on TV,” you giggle.
“Yeah,” he says. “That one.”
“I like that movie,” you say, a dreamy look on you face. “I like that it turns the whole manic pixie dream girl thing on its head.”
“You’re a little manic pixie, you know,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say quietly, finishing the knot. “I know.”
“That’s what I’ll call you,” he says. “You don’t like babe or sweetheart, right? I’ll call you Pix.”
You cock your head at him. “I don’t hate that,” you say. “But you could just call me my name.”
“Nah,” he says. “Then you’d just be like everyone else I know, Pix.”
Christina yells from downstairs that their ride is there, and he smiles regretfully.
“Thanks for the help,” he says. “You’re doing great, you know. With all this.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bravo,” you murmur.
“You can call me Dieter, you know,” he says.
“Sure,” you say. “You’re late. Go.”
And he does, just because you told him to.
next
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dividers and support banner by @saradika-graphics
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reeniecon · 10 days
Text
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-levels of possessiveness-
Include malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, rook hunt, kalim al asim and Jamil Viper
‼️⚠️ : gn!Reader,I haven't proof read it yet, mentions of chapter 7 npc's names on lilias part, might be come out as yandere tendencies than possessiveness...
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- kalim al asim -
• I know some of you gonna disagree with me, BUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY
• since he was a little kid he always get what he wanted right?
• why wouldn't get this one ?
• YOU GET THE IDEA RIGHT HEHEHEHE
• hm? Oh u want to go out by urself? No way hahahah, take jamil with you~ or u want me to accompany you?
• Ooooo waitt sweety dont do the chores :(( ur hand will get hurt by that, just let the maid do it for you okayy?? Oh you felt sorry for him?? For working alone? oh dont worry baba(father) will recuit the maids tmr hhe
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- jamil Viper -
• this one are not very surprising
• jamil didn't really get the chance to have something in life that really his on the first place
• so, when he finally did and someone are trying to take it away from him he get really possessive over it
• he can protect kalim all the time so... He faced by almost 0 problem trying to protect you
" Jamil.. What is that?? Can we get that? " You asked him
" I can make more healthier version of it at home, are you okay with that dear? " He speak " And uh...look, dear the cooking oil that there using, it's already black soo that mean they have been using it multiple time without changing it, I wouldn't want you to eat that not-very-healty oil I'm I?" He carefully explains to you
You can sigh to him " Okay... "
" Good, let's head back I'll make it for you" He smiled sweetly to you
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- lilia vanrouge -
• lmao do I need to explain??
• he is a fae
• and already lived a long life
• he knows the pain of losing people he loved dearly mallenoa.. Malleus mother and malleus father...
• so naturally he didn't want to get hurt by that feeling again of course.
• that's why he get very possessive of you
• if you're a long lived creature you might see him be not so possessive towards you because he knows he had a lot of time to spend with you.
• BUT, if you're a human... He *sigh* yeah you know the rest
" My dearie" Lilia calls for you
" Where have youve been?? " He added
" Oh, lilia I just got back from heartslabyul actually, just meet adeuce " You explain while giggling
" Hm, why lying my dear" He glares to you, while flying closer to you
" What.. No what do you mean Lilia! " You panic a little bit because what he just say to you
"Fufu.. My lovely dear... Don't lie to me okay? I know everything going on in your life " He say gently while He stroke your hair
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- malleus draconia -
• HE IS A DRAGON.
• dragon are KNOWN to be a possessive creature sooo what makes you think he is any different
• he probably lock u up somewhere if he want to lmao
• not only a normal dragon but he is a dragon with POWERS he is the crowns prince to the Briar valley soooo
• he basically can do whatever he wants lol
• good luck if you catches his eyes lmao he might never let you go until your funeral, keyword MIGHT
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- idia shroud -
• aaa this wired boy
• lacking basic human interaction and affection wwww
• in my eyes he would either be
• no please don't leave me boy or don't leave me or ill kms / destroy all of it
• WOULD STALK U, he probably hack into the campus CCTV just to check what are you doing currently
• asking ortho to follow you and assist you with everything you need
• would probably sends anonymous deaths threats to any guy who are flirting with you
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More of my fics
An : I'm kinda ashamed by this lol, but Ill post it anw, I'll add more in the future but this is it for now 😂😂😂
453 notes · View notes
brittle-doughie · 2 months
Note
ive said this like twice before but ill say it again ... THANK YOU ,,, im glad you think he's cool 🥺 have a little happi benign butter cookie as a thanks 🫶
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also i think i might have a problem . i recently got diagnosed with SMCD (Shadow Milk Cookie Disorder) and apprently it makes you think about him . 😢 he got me cooking up a whole sketch (i might refine it but im not sure if i have the time and patience to ^_^;;;;;;;;;;)
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silly evil jester has got me HEHEHEHHEHEHE and all, unfortunately 😞
Your art, even as a sketch is looking pretty nice too! Keep up the good work with your skills! I’m still flabbergasted whenever someone draws my writings, wowie.
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“A tough decision indeed! And only one chance to use the Guardian’s power right. What will it be? Let’s wait and see!”
You yelled at him to let them all go! Shadow Milk’s business was with you, not them!
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“What’s the matter, my dear Butter~? Do you hold these cookies dear? Are they speeeecial~?”
You told him to not call you that…Y/N Cookie was your nam-
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“WRONG! That’s the name these PESTS gave you! All that time with them…it makes me want to free their heads off their shoulders already!”
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“Don’t!”
“As for you! What makes YOU believe that what you have with my beloved Butter is even comparable to what I have for them! What my comrades have for them!”
“For as long as I can remember, I have been the one to make them smile and laugh! Not you….ME! We were practicing stuck together like GLUE!”
“Then those CURSED WITCHES decided to lock me and the others away, by BRAINWASHING my Benign Butter Cookie into doing their bidding!”
“I had to watch as that LIAR Pure Vanilla Cookie become the best of pals with them, getting chummy and close. It made me want to escape that tree faster and destroy him! But my rage wouldn’t be comparable to another comrade of mine…she was just DYING to get out.”
“But now that I’m here, I can FINALLY reunite with them. They won’t need YOU or those other half cookies anymore…they’ll only need us…”
You stepped up…you told him that he’s lost it, he’s insane if he thinks you’ll ever go back to him or the others….
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“Fine, I’ll confess…I may be a little obsessed and insane, but it’s all for you, my Butter wutter~ Don’t worry about your friend, she’ll be making her exit now~”
If he thought he’ll get away with this, then think again!
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“Y/N Cookie….”
“I’ll be right there with you…”
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“HANDS OFF MY BENIGN BUTTER COOKIE, PEST!”
431 notes · View notes
cybrsan · 3 months
Text
Miracle Of The Season — J.JK
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STORY SUMMARY: Cast out of Heaven after a painful betrayal, you find yourself having to navigate the intricacies of human life without any guidance from the Creator or the family you have always known. Things only get worse as the holiday season reaches its peak, with reminders of the life you left behind everywhere you look. When a familiar face pops up, you aren’t sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.
PAIRING: Angel Jungkook x Fallen Angel F!Reader
RATING/GENRE: M ; angst, fluff, smut ; second chance romance, angel AU, soulmate AU
WORD COUNT: 17.2k
WARNINGS: Heavy themes of religious trauma, an initially negative view of Christianity transforming into a more neutral/respectful view of individual faiths, initial dismissal of other religions, difficult self-growth journey, homelessness, very brief mentions of murder and rape
OTHER/NSFW WARNINGS: Sharing one-bed trope (kinda), mistletoe trope (teehee), first time, fingering, cunnilingus, hand job, unprotected sex
A/N: This is a lot. The story definitely got away from me, but I think that's because there was so much I wanted to say. I definitely could have made this longer, and if I had time/wasn't such a slow writer, I probably would have. It's a heavy topic, but it's one that is near and dear to my heart and one that I think a lot of people can relate to. If you do, I hope this story feels a bit healing.
A/N 2: This is based on the vibes of his song "Standing Next To You" and the m/v for it.
LINKS: Part of the Jingle All The Way! collab with my talented, wonderful friends. Cross-posted on AO3 and (eventually) Wattpad. Banner made by the lovely @kithtaehyung.
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"—let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"
You take a deep, calming breath as you pass the carolers. Their cheerful voices grate on your nerves, but you keep your head down and continue walking. Lashing out at them won't do any good, even if it might give you a moment of satisfaction. It's not like they're the source of your irritation anyway; the crowded streets are abuzz with the unrelenting chaos of the Christmas season, and you have been on edge all morning. 
Turning a corner, you enter a street closer to the shelter you have been calling home for the past year and a half. Immediately, some of your tension dissipates, and you feel like you can breathe a bit easier. There are fewer lights here and less noise, but a few decorations still attract your attention, like a moth to a flame. A nativity scene is proudly displayed in someone's window, and you stop dead in your tracks.
"Freedom of religion, my ass," you mutter bitterly as you tear your gaze away. Why does everyone and their mother seem to celebrate this stupid holiday? 
You know that for many, Christmas isn’t necessarily a holy season. Some humans just use the holiday as an excuse to wear obnoxious sweaters, play the same song on repeat, and spoil one another with gifts. Yet reminders of the celestial realm, of the life you have been cast out from, are everywhere. The nativity, for one. Then there are the carolers singing their songs, and the cartoonish cherub decals that can be found on shop windows, holding banners that proclaim, “Buy one, get one 20% off!” Even the name of the holiday is marked by one of His monikers. Christmas. 
It makes you sick. 
The weather doesn't help, either. Drawing your coat more tightly around yourself, you try to ignore the relentless chill that settles deep in your bones. You’re definitely not dressed warmly enough, ill-prepared considering the sensation of being cold is something you’re still getting used to. It is yet another item you have added to your ever-growing list of "whys.” The question of why God created snow joins the ranks of "why did He make spiders?" and "why is He the most selfish being in existence?" 
You sniff. Perhaps you let your emotions get the best of you at times.  
Emotions. Another thing that’s somewhat new. As an angel, you didn’t really have those. The only thing you ever thought about was following orders and how better you could praise His name. Ugh. It’s hard to believe now that you were ever so single-minded. Though, towards the end, you suppose that wasn’t the case. It all went awry when you started this “list” of yours—when you started questioning things. 
The moment that doubt had first crept into your mind seems like a lifetime ago. Reaching the status of archangel was something you had been working toward for millennia. It was a position that allowed you to work more closely with humanity; you were able to actually guide their paths and alter their destiny. 
At first, it was everything you had ever wanted. The miracles that occurred because of your intervention made you feel like you were doing something worthwhile. But you quickly learned that not all of your missions would be quite as fulfilling. 
You will never forget the first time you were put in charge of administering a holy test. The man had done nothing wrong, yet your higher-ups still insisted that he needed to be "tried by fire." The divine reasons were beyond comprehension, or so you were told. But watching the man suffer as everything he loved was taken from him, seeing the desperation and despair in his eyes… It felt wrong. That feeling stayed with you even as you watched the man's faith remain unbroken. Somehow, that made it worse. 
And then there were those who committed sinful acts and escaped punishment. You saw murderers and rapists living their lives in peace while innocent souls suffered unjustly at their hands. The scales of justice seemed unfairly balanced, and you began to feel crushed by the weight of your guilt.
Thus, the degradation process began. For the longest time, you thought it was a myth, a scary story told to keep angels in line. If you doubt, if you disobey, you begin withering away into nothingness. You'll start to feel things, to lose your sense of purpose. It will be painful and overwhelming and, eventually, you'll cease to exist entirely. You were told that if it were to happen, you must report it to a superior at once. But you were terrified. 
There was only one person you trusted enough to share the way you were feeling—your other half, your celestial counterpart. The one who knew you like no other did. Your Astrom, Jungkook. 
There is an old celestial folk tale that documents the first creation of an Astrom pair. It is said God took one star and split it into two. Neither half could live without the other, nor would they want to. It is difficult to describe the way you felt for him, as angels are devoid of personal desires or emotions as humans experience them. It was simply as if being with him was as natural as breathing. He was the only being other than the Creator that you felt beholden to, that you admired. 
When you first revealed your doubts to him, he simply listened, displaying a level of patience that you found comforting. He answered your questions about morality, about justice as best he could, trying to reassure you that everything happened for a reason. Yet no matter how persuasively he argued, your doubts wouldn't go away. 
Eventually, you began to start contemplating letting yourself fall from grace. The thought was terrifying, but at the same time, there was a certain allure to it. To Fall meant to renounce your celestial responsibilities, and that included no longer having to inflict pain on innocent souls. 
When you confessed this dangerous thought to him, Jungkook gave you a look that you couldn't decipher. All you remember is what he said next: "If you Fall, I shall Fall with you."
His words had been unexpected, and you didn’t know whether to take comfort in them or not. You didn’t want him to share your fate, to bear the burden of your guilt. Could you live with yourself if he Fell too? The answer was an obvious no. But the mere thought of being alone in your struggle was something you couldn’t stomach either. So, you attempted to keep your dissent to a minimum and perform your duties as required. But it wasn’t long before everything fell apart regardless.
Eventually, you were discovered and brought before the celestial court. You were accused of blasphemy since questioning Him was an unforgivable sin and sentenced to Fall, to be cast out from the life you have always known. Yet, the real blow came when you found out who had betrayed you. 
Jungkook.
Your Astrom. 
The one you had trusted implicitly, the other half of your celestial star, had betrayed you in the name of divine loyalty. The pain of the Fall, the feeling of your grace ripped from your body, the scorching burn of your wings as they turned to ash—none of this could compete with the raw, gut-wrenching anguish of his betrayal. 
Even now, months later, remembering makes you feel as if you can't breathe, as if you might die. Every memory of him is like a punch to the gut, and the city, so full of noise and life, does nothing to drown out the agony. Some days, the pain is so vivid and unbearable that it feels as though you are Falling all over again.
A rough shove against your shoulder makes you stumble, and the man who ran into you barely grunts out an apology before continuing past. At least the disruption is a timely one, allowing you to pull yourself out of your thoughts before you spiral. There’s no point focusing on the past when there’s nothing you to do to change it, especially not when you have a myriad of new human concerns to deal with.  
Your job hunt was, once again, unsuccessful. You keep telling yourself that it’s because it’s so close to the holidays and you’ll have a better chance once the new year comes. In reality, you’re sure it’s because you have no experience, no schooling, and no useful knowledge.
At least you’re familiar enough with the city now that zoning out didn’t prevent you from getting to your destination. 
Lost Star Shelter.
The place you’ve been calling home. It’s certainly not perfect, but little on Earth ever is. You feel awful stepping past the crowd of people waiting outside its doors, knowing that they, like you, have nowhere else to go. You've been fortunate enough to secure your spot due to your volunteering efforts and the fact that the manager, Naomi, seems to have taken a liking to you. But not everyone is so lucky. 
You step inside, greeted by the familiar smells of disinfectant and something cooking in the kitchen. The place is buzzing with activity as usual—mothers trying to soothe crying children, elderly folks chatting away in groups, and a few lone souls quietly scrawling job applications. 
"Long day?" Naomi catches your gaze from behind the front desk, her warm smile a stark contrast to the weariness etched in the lines of her face. 
"Isn't it always?" You head over and pick up the clipboard she slides toward you, scanning your list of tasks for the day. As expected, it's long hours of mindless labor, but you don't mind. Not only do you need to earn your place here, but volunteering gives you a sense of purpose similar to your previous heavenly duties. And you have the satisfaction of knowing you're actually helping, not harming.
"First on the list," Naomi points to an item at the top of your clipboard, "is the donations room. We just had a big drop-off and could use some extra hands sorting through it all. But grab some dinner before you start, okay?"
You nod, her straightforward nature getting a slight smile out of you. "Yes, ma'am."
You navigate your way towards the crowded dining area, where a line of people has formed, waiting for their turn to get served. The cooks, all volunteers like yourself, are bustling about, serving portions of the day's meal which looks to be a thick stew accompanied by fresh bread. The food is simple but hearty, more than enough to keep you working through the evening. You make a mental note to slip into the kitchen later and thank them for their hard work.
You find an empty seat at one of the long tables that occupy the space, making yourself at home amongst the people who are engrossing themselves in their meals or with idle chatter. You even join in on a conversation with some older women across the table, who are engaged in a spirited debate about soap operas. Your knowledge of pop culture is sparse at best, but they seem delighted to fill you in on the latest drama, their laughter infectious. 
After your meal, you make your way towards the donations room. The sight of piled-up clothes, toys, blankets, and other items is both overwhelming and heartwarming. Naomi wasn't kidding when she said they'd received a large drop-off. It's a daunting task, but you roll up your sleeves and get to work. You start by sorting through the clutter, meticulously separating everything into various categories—men's clothes, women's clothes, children's clothes, etc., and items that need repairs or cleaning. Hours pass by unnoticed, the rhythm of work almost meditative.
Your thoughts inevitably wander back to Jungkook. A pang of longing shoots through you. He was the one who would always be by your side when you had to perform menial tasks like this in the celestial realm. You wonder what he would think of your new life. Does he look down on you from up high with pity or disdain, or does he simply not think of you at all? You aren't sure if you even want to know the answer. 
As time wears on, the room gradually becomes less cluttered and more organized. You're just about to take a break when Naomi appears at the doorway, her aging features softened by the warm glow of the hallway light behind her. She takes in your progress with an approving nod. 
"You've done well," she says, stepping into the room. 
You can't help but feel a sense of pride at her words. "Thank you, Naomi." 
She strolls around the room, her observant gaze sweeping over the sorted piles, her hands touching a few items here and there.
"It's amazing," she finally says, "how much kindness there is out there, even when it seems like everything is falling apart. No matter how rough things get, we can choose to be generous, choose to help others. That's what makes us human."
Her words resonate with you. You’ve seen the worst and best of humanity firsthand; the same species that wages wars also unite in times of crisis, offering support and showing kindness to total strangers. How much is influenced by higher powers and how much is purely human nature, you wouldn't presume to know. Your very existence has blurred the lines between supernatural influence and mortal will. 
"True," you say, looking up at Naomi from where you're still seated on the floor surrounded by donations. "That’s a nice way to look at things."
Naomi's smile broadens at that, and she gives one last cursory glance around the room before saying, "Well, I'll let you get back to work. Don't stay up too late."
"Goodnight, Naomi," you call after her as she steps out into the hallway, half-waving at you as she goes.
A little over an hour later, you step back to admire your work. Each item has been categorized, ready to be cleaned and redistributed. You move on to your next set of responsibilities: cleaning up the common areas and helping close up for the night. 
The smell of cleaning supplies clings to your skin as you make your way back to your sleeping quarters—a small, shared room filled with single beds. Careful not to disturb anyone, you move towards your assigned bed, its familiar creaks and groans echoing softly under your weight as you settle into it. Exhaustion pulls at your muscles, but you need to wash up and change before you sleep. 
You grab your shower caddy, change of clothes, and quietly make your way to the women’s bathroom. The fluorescent white lights flicker to life as you enter, revealing a row of curtained shower cubicles. You choose one at the end and let the water heat up as you undress. The hot water cascades over your tired body, soothing your muscles and washing away the sweat and grime that has built up throughout the day. 
Shower done and teeth brushed, you pull on fresh clothes and make your way back to your bed. As you settle back down under the covers, you notice something strange on your bedsheet. A crisp scorch mark is visible against the fabric, and when you observe it more closely, you're shocked to realize that the shape almost looks like… fingers? Your heart hammers in your chest. 
"Impossible," you whisper to yourself. 
The sight of these burns is not unfamiliar to you; in fact, you have been the cause of such marks before. It is a common occurrence when celestial beings interact with the mortal world—remnants of their powerful energy left behind. But as you stare at them now, a sense of unease creeps over you. Could it be Jungkook? The thought flickers through your mind, but you quickly brush it aside. Why would he make himself known in this way and then vanish without even seeing you? You can't allow yourself to hope. 
Dismissing the thought, you force yourself to rationalize that it must have been an accident. Perhaps someone burned it while it was being ironed. It’s easy enough to convince yourself; after all, it’s only three and a half slender marks—it could be anything. But the unease remains as you lay down on the bed, your mind filled with questions. You eventually succumb to sleep from sheer exhaustion, your dreams filled with memories of Jungkook.
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The next day passes in a blur—the usual routine of job applications, food preparation, and cleaning duties. The burn mark on your bedsheet remains a mystery. You track down the volunteer who did the laundry, and she swears she wouldn't be so careless as to burn someone’s belongings. Despite her assurances, it's the only explanation you are willing to believe. You return to your bed to find that the sheet has been replaced with a fresh one, the burn mark gone as if it never existed.
You spot an older man sitting on a bed in the corner; his mouth moves silently, and the rosary beads dangling from his fingers lead you to believe he’s praying. A small, faux Christmas tree, no larger than a water bottle, stands on a box next to him. The sight stirs something with you, an uncomfortable feeling once again settling in your gut. You don’t understand his faith. How can someone continue to pray to a God that has obviously forsaken him?
You wait until the man finishes and safely tucks the rosary beads into his shirt pocket, right above his heart, before you approach.
“Excuse me?”
He looks up at you with a smile, eyes crinkling around the edges. "What can I help you with, dear?" 
"I noticed you praying," you begin tentatively. Despite your personal qualms with religion, you don’t want to seem as if you are disrespecting him or his beliefs. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but how do you keep your faith? Under these circumstances?"
He doesn't seem bothered at all by your blunt question. Instead, he chuckles softly and pats the bed beside him, inviting you to sit down. You hesitate a moment before complying.
"Faith isn't about having all the answers," he starts, his voice a mere whisper in the quiet room. "It isn't about being rewarded for good deeds or punished for bad ones. It's about hope. It's about believing that things will get better."
“Hope? Still? Despite… despite being here? I mean, aren’t you upset with God?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as well, a mixture of curiosity and frustration seeping into your words.
He remains silent for a while, his gaze wandering towards the small Christmas tree on the box beside him. 
"No, I'm not upset with God," he finally replies. "Man is given free will, and it is man who chooses what to do with it. Crisis, poverty… God didn't create these. They're the consequences of human choices." His words are sincere, spoken with a calmness that only comes from years of contemplation. "God doesn't promise us that life will always be easy or free from hardships. But He does promise that He will be there in those times of trouble. You see, faith isn't about expecting God to fix our problems, but about having the strength to face them."
“I envy your strength,” you admit with a hint of admiration in your voice.
“Strength is born from struggle, dear. You’ll find your way soon enough.” 
“I hope you’re right.”
The conversation lingers in your mind long after the man's words have faded into silence. You sit on your bunk, staring at the ceiling, pondering them. His unshakable faith is both alien and inspiring to you. Even when you were an archangel, before any doubts seeped into your mind, your faith was nothing like his. It was a duty, an obligation, a resolute certainty that was less about personal beliefs and more about the world you were born into. 
His mention of hope sticks out to you the most. You look around the room again, taking note of the different symbols of faith scattered across the room—crosses, menorahs, and even a small prayer mat in one corner. Each person in this room believes in something larger than themselves, something that gives them hope. And you? You're not certain what you believe in anymore. But maybe, just maybe, some of your anger has been misplaced. 
As the daylight fades, you find yourself wandering outside, the crisp evening air bringing a kind of comfort you couldn't find inside. You walk aimlessly, your feet following the now-familiar sidewalks. You end up in a park, and you make a seat for yourself on a deserted bench.
Looking up into the sky, now painted with hues of orange and pink, you let yourself miss Heaven for just a minute. To miss Jungkook. Even the Creator. You can never go back to worshipping Him, nor do you want to, but you can't deny the connection that once was. As much as you wish everything never happened, you are grateful for how much you've grown since. 
Suddenly, you’re disoriented by a bright flash of light and a shrill, piercing sound that makes your entire body jolt. You shut your eyes and cover your ears, but it does nothing to dull the pain. It's as if the noise is coming from inside your mind. You half-crawl, half-fall off the bench, curling in on yourself, unable to think anything, do anything, until it finally comes to a stop. 
The world pauses around you; the birds stop chirping, the wind stops blowing, and people are frozen where they walk. A familiar feeling washes over you, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. Even in this form, even as a human, his presence calls to your very soul. You hadn’t realized how incomplete you felt, how empty you were, without him by your side. He’s your other half, and he always will be. The realization makes you want to cry. You had hoped after the Fall, after you became human, that would cease to be true. You can’t stand the fact that you’re still irrevocably tied to him, even after all that he’s done. As always, fate is cruel.
“Y/N.”
He speaks your name with a quiet reverence as if he can hardly believe you’re there in front of him. The familiar, honeyed tone of his voice reignites your longing for him with full force, but you still stubbornly keep your eyes closed. You can’t look at him. You aren’t strong enough.
“I cannot believe you are alive.”
What?
His statement shocks you enough that your eyes fly open of their own accord, and for the first time in months, you're met with the sight of Jungkook. You're not sure if you perceive him differently now that you are mortal, but he's even more captivating than you remember. 
His dark hair curls softly atop his head and is tousled ever-so-perfectly. His skin is beautifully tanned, and the way his tall figure is silhouetted against the sun makes it seem like he's glowing. His wings are obsidian, gargantuan in size, seemingly consuming the entire park with their reach. He's magnificent, so beautiful it hurts.
But it is his eyes that have you frozen in your spot—those beautiful, brown doe eyes, filled with so much emotion that it takes your breath away. He's not supposed to be able to feel unless… unless he has begun the degradation process, as you had.   
“Y/N,” he repeats, his voice trembling. "I thought you were dead." 
“I don't understand,” you manage to choke out, trying to sound more composed than you feel. You pull yourself to your feet, grimacing at the pain radiating throughout your body. How much of it is physical and how much is emotional, you can't tell. 
He takes a step closer to you, his hands outstretched as if to ensure that you're real, but you recoil instinctively. He flinches at your reaction but still grabs your arms, grip unrelenting even as you attempt to pull away from him. 
“Protective markings have been burned onto your ribs.” Hurt flashes across his features. “Were you hiding from me?”
“What? No.” You manage to break free and back up a few steps, putting some distance between you. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, remembering how he always seemed to know what you were thinking even before you did. "I didn't even know I had them."
"I need you to explain everything," he demands. 
“You need me to explain?" You scoff and cross your arms over your chest defensively. "What about you?”
“Me?” He tilts his head slightly, his confusion obvious.
“Yes, you!" You take a step closer, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "After all, you’re how I ended up in this situation, right?” 
“What are you talking about?”
"You betrayed me!" you hiss. “I confided in you, and you told me you understood. That you were with me. And then you turned around and proclaimed me a blasphemer!” 
He doesn’t respond right away, and it’s as if you can see the cogs turning in his head as he pieces things together. “Y/N… I would never.” 
His admittance makes you pause. Angels aren’t supposed to lie, though you know not everyone abides by that law. However, Jungkook has always been one of the most dedicated to the commandments. 
“That’s not what Namsu told me.”
“Namsu? The Throne?” 
“Yes, the Throne. The one who exiled me on the orders of up high.”
His eyebrows furrow. “You… were exiled? You did not wither?”
"Wither?" you scoff. "That's a myth, Jungkook. A cover-up to hide the fact that when angels start to stand up for what they think is right, they get cast out. And it's thanks to you that I'm here now."
"I… no." The intensity behind the word takes you aback. "I just wanted to help you; I thought you were sick. I went to one of the Cherubim for guidance—I would have never turned you in for some kind of punishment." 
His words hang in the air, making your heart pound in your chest. He was trying to help you? The thought sends a flurry of conflicting emotions through you. 
"Help me?" You repeat his words, mocking him in your disbelief. "Your way of helping got me exiled! Cast down and made mortal."
"I did not—" He cuts himself off, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
"Yet it did!" you snap, crossing your arms tightly around yourself as if they could somehow shield you from the pain his presence brings. "And now I'm here, and nothing will ever be the same!"
"I am so sorry." His apology is whispered so softly that you almost don't catch it. But you do, and it hits you like a punch in the gut.
Your head feels as if it's about to implode. He didn't purposefully betray you—in fact, he was trying to save you. But even so, his actions have led to your downfall, and now you're stuck here on earth, far from the light of Heaven, vulnerable and mortal, while he remains immortal and untouchable. Perhaps that's the part that hurts the most. The fact that now you are separated not by betrayal but by the very nature of your beings. 
Your voice cracks as tears fill your eyes. "If all this is true, then why wouldn’t you have looked for me?”
“I looked everywhere at first, but I could not sense you anymore.” If it was possible, you think he would be crying too. “Namsu is the one who told me what happened. He said that you… that your doubt consumed you, and you did not survive.”
The information hits you like a ton of bricks. Your knees almost give out for a second time, but Jungkook reaches out and grabs you by the elbows, steadying you. 
"I… I had no idea." A bitter laugh escapes your lips as you look up at him. "You didn't know anything, and I presumed the worst of you." 
His fingers tighten around your arms in a reassuring squeeze. "We can always start over, Y/N." 
"Start over?" you echo, incredulous. "You make it sound so easy."
"And why would it not be? We were not the ones to blame for our separation. Come back with me."
"I'm human now. The only way I can come back is… is if I'm dead."
His grip loosens, his face paling at your words. "I did not mean to suggest… Of course, I do not want you to die," he hastily corrects himself, glancing down at the ground. His wings flutter uneasily behind him, betraying his discomfort. "There must be another way."
"If there was, would it even be safe? I mean, why would Namsu do this?" you ask, staring at him. You're not sure if you're asking him or simply musing aloud. Even so, the question hangs heavily in the silence between you.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Jungkook speaks again. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, "I wish I had the answers you seek, but I don't. All I know is that I will do everything in my power to rectify this situation." He turns away from you, scanning the horizon as if searching for something. "I need to return and confront Namsu. He must account for his actions."
"No, it's too dangerous. What if he forces you to Fall, too? You can't risk it, Jungkook." 
He looks back at you, his expression hardening. "I will not let him get away with this, Y/N," he says resolutely. "Deception is not a virtue of a Throne, especially not in such grave matters."
"And you won't let him, but you need to go about this carefully. Going to him directly won't work—he's too powerful."
Jungkook tilts his head, regarding you skeptically. "It almost sounds as if you are asking me to be deceitful." 
"Not deceitful, just… stealthy?" 
He doesn’t respond immediately, his brow furrowed as he mulls over your words. After a moment, he exhales slowly, pulling back from you to pace the grass in thought. "Stealthy," he repeats slowly, his voice distant. "That would require careful planning. Secret meetings. Misdirection."
"Yes," you agree, watching him closely. "All of that."
He stops suddenly, turning to look at you. "Very well. I will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this."
Your chest tightens, and you gnaw at your bottom lip. His resolve both comforts and worries you. You don't want him to risk himself for you, but part of you is happy that he is willing.
"However,” Jungkook breaks your train of thought. "It sounds like I may need to be a little bit more human to pull this off. After all, none of this comes easily to angels, but mortals lie all the time."
You raise an eyebrow. "And how are you going to achieve that?"
"You will have to teach me, of course." He says this as if doing so will be the easiest thing in the world. “The degradation process has already started for me, as I am sure you are aware. It should be easy.”
"You're serious?" 
Jungkook had always been so straight-laced, the epitome of angelic perfection. The idea of him playing at being human is almost laughable.
"Completely," he responds, his intense gaze never wavering. "I am willing to do whatever it takes to bring Namsu to justice and try to fix this. Fix us. If that requires adopting some mortal habits, then so be it."
"Alright," you finally concede, shaking your head in amusement. "Time for a crash course in 'how to be a human' 101."
He smiles faintly at that, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards just so. It's a small thing, barely noticeable amidst the tension still hanging heavily in the air between you two, but it's enough. Enough to remind you that the way you felt about him in Heaven, despite not being able to feel, was some kind of love. You don't know where that leaves you now or what you're going to do about it, but procrastination is another human skill you have come to love. Maybe you'll teach him that eventually.
"Lesson one," you start, pointing a finger at him in mock sternness. "Humans don't always speak so formally or in such grandiose phrases. ‘I am going to bring Namsu to justice' sounds archaic or like something a two-bit superhero would say."
His lips quirk upward into a more genuine smile this time. "I see," he replies, his voice deliberately casual. "So how would a human say it?"
"Well, for starters, you could use slang," you suggest. 
Jungkook’s brows furrow, an almost comical look of concentration on his face. “Slang,” he repeats, testing the word on his tongue.
“Yes, slang. Humans don’t always pronounce every single word, and they often come up with new, shorter words to replace certain phrases. You could say something like, 'Namsu’s gonna get what he deserves.'”
He nods, repeating your words slowly. “Namsu... is going to get what he deserves.”
You burst out laughing at his attempt. The prim, stoic angel fumbling his way through human speech? It is truly a sight to behold. 
"Laughing at my expense?" He feigns hurt, but there's a playful twinkle in his eyes that gives him away. "I guess that's lesson two then: humans are full of mirth and mockery."
"You're catching on quickly," you reply, still giggling slightly. “And yes, we like to laugh.”
He observes you a moment longer before finally allowing a soft chuckle to escape his lips. It's a deep, rich sound, but it feels tentative like he's not quite sure if he's doing it right.
“Laughing…" he murmurs, puzzling over the concept. “Such a peculiar expression of joy. But I like it." 
"As you should," you reply, a grin still playing across your face. "It's one of the best parts about being human."
Jungkook studies you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. "It suits you."
"Hm? What does?"
"Being human."
"I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” 
"There is a certain spontaneity in humans. A vibrancy that angels lack." Jungkook’s gaze intensifies, his voice lowering to almost a whisper as he steps closer. "It makes you shine more brightly. Like the sun."
He's so close to you now that you can make out the subtle flecks of gold in his eyes. Your heart pounds in your chest as his words wash over you, warming you from the inside out. 
"That—" You clear your throat, trying to steady your shaking voice. "That sounds like a compliment."
"It is," he confirms, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a brief second before rising back to meet your eyes. "But it is also an observation. A fact."
You want to kiss him. The thought shocks you—you've never kissed someone before, let alone wanted to. It must be a human impulse. You can't help but imagine what it might feel like, the warmth of his lips against yours, his skin beneath your fingertips. You want to feel his hand on your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. But the danger of your respective positions impedes that thought, and you push it down. He's an angel. You're not. Him being your Astrom, the connection you had before your Fall, none of it matters now.
"Okay," you manage to squeak out, trying to ignore the electricity that seems to be sparking between your too-close bodies. "Human lesson number three: we're big on personal space."
"Oh?" Jungkook raises an eyebrow but doesn't step away. "Is this too close?"
You swallow hard. "A bit."
You swear you see a hint of mischievousness cross his features before he complies, stepping back just enough to leave a sliver of space between you. "Better?" 
"Now you're just teasing me," you retort, though there's a soft smile playing on your lips.
"Is that frowned upon?" 
"No," you admit. "In fact, it's quite human of you. Now, it’s time for a real challenge." He looks at you quizzically. "We have to convince Naomi to let you stay at the shelter." 
"Ah," he nods, understanding dawning on him. "I see. Another part of being human—negotiation."
"Exactly."
"Then lead the way." With a snap of his fingers, time resumes for the two of you and his wings have disappeared, making him appear fully human, and you head back to Lost Star.
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"Naomi, please," you beg, giving your boss the best puppy eyes you can muster. "He needs a place to stay." 
Naomi crosses her arms over her chest and drags her gaze over Jungkook in a way that suggests she's scrutinizing every cell of his being, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. "There's no extra beds, hun. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do." 
"Then he can stay with me!"
"You and him, sharing that tiny little twin bed?" She scoffs. "I'd like to see you try."
"We'll make it work!"
"It's still against the rules. One body to one bed." 
"I know it's not ideal, but just for a few days until we figure out something else," you urge her. "I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't important." 
Jungkook steps forward, interjecting smoothly, "I will respect the rules, and if you feel my presence is harmful or disruptive in any way, I will leave immediately." 
Naomi looks between you and Jungkook, and then she sighs, throwing her hands up in defeat. 
"Fine, but only for a little while. And you can't sleep in the main room. Take my office—the couch is a pull-out."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You pull her into a hug that she returns with a loving exasperation. 
"If there's even a whiff of trouble, both of you are gone, understand?" 
"Yes, ma'am! I wouldn't expect anything less." 
You grab Jungkook’s hand, dragging him along behind you as you lead him through the shelter. You pass through some of the busier living areas, and it's as if everyone can’t help but stare at him. You can only assume that, despite his wings being hidden, he still emits some sort of otherworldly aura that draws people in. Plus, by human standards, you suppose he's quite attractive. 
Jungkook seems unbothered by the attention, too focused on his surroundings and curiously taking in every detail.
"All these people live here?" he asks, incredulous. "This place is quite small." 
"Shh! Lesson four: lower your voice when you're talking about other people. The last thing we need is for someone to overhear and think you're judging them." 
"Apologies," Jungkook replies, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But my previous comment was not meant to be judgmental. I’m just… surprised. I thought humans usually lived in family units, but everyone here doesn't seem to be related." 
I’m. Doesn’t. He’s already using contractions—you must either be a good teacher or he’s a quick learner.
"You're right," you agree, and as you glance around, your heart aches a little. "Not everyone is fortunate enough to have that. This place is for those who have lost their families or homes." 
"Lost their homes? Like in a fire?" 
"Sometimes. Or maybe they didn't have enough money to pay their taxes." 
"I don't understand. Are there not enough homes for everyone? Why do you need to pay for such a basic need?"
You pause, the innocence of his question hitting you surprisingly hard. Of course he wouldn't understand the complexities of human society, of money and social class, of poverty and wealth disparity. You didn't either; at least, not until you Fell and were forced to figure it out. 
"That is a complicated issue," you admit, running a hand through your hair. "And not all humans agree on how to solve it. Some people think everyone should have a home, regardless of whether or not they can pay for it. Others think that if you can't afford it, you don't deserve one."
He looks so confused that you would be tempted to laugh if the tone of the conversation wasn't so serious. "That doesn't seem fair. In heaven, everyone has a place."
"Yes, well, Earth isn't heaven." There's a bitterness to your words that you hadn't intended. "And why our Creator chooses to leave things like this is a mystery to me. I mean, why not use some of His power to help?"
"The ways of the Almighty are impossible for us to understand," Jungkook quietly replies. "And it's not for us to question."
You snort in response, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, aren't you a dutiful little angel?" 
Jungkook frowns, clearly not understanding your sarcasm. You sigh and shake your head.
"I'm sorry, Jungkook. It's just hard to wrap my head around sometimes. It's why my so-called degradation process started in the first place. Look at them—" You gesture to the people huddled together around the small television in the corner of the room, others sharing a meal or helping to care for the younger children. "They're good people. Why do they deserve to suffer?" 
Silence lingers between you for a moment. When he responds, he doesn’t answer your question. “Their heavenly rewards shall be plentiful as long as they keep to their faith.” 
“Does that make all of this okay?" You scoff. "Why are they being tested like this? In fact, why do they even need to believe at all to be given a home in the celestial realm? If a person is good-hearted, why isn’t that enough?”
Jungkook looks away from you. "I don't like these questions."
“You don’t like them? Or you don’t like how uncomfortable they make you feel?” 
Before he can even bother replying, you let go of his hand and open the door to Naomi's office, hurrying inside, eager to get some space. It's small and cramped, filled with stacks of paper, an old wooden desk strewn with an old computer and various office supplies, and a well-worn couch wedged against the wall.
"It's not much," you say. "But it's home for now, I guess."
"Home," Jungkook repeats softly, eyes scanning the room. He zeroes in the billboard behind Naomi's desk, filled with photos of smiling people, letters from those that she has helped. A smile tugs at his lips. "It's nice."
"You say that now. Just wait until you're trying to sleep and a couch spring is digging into your back." 
"I don't actually need to sleep," he reminds you. 
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Right, I forgot. At least we won't be fighting for the blanket."
"I can pretend to," Jungkook offers, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "The idea of laying next to you is not unwelcome." 
You blush, taken aback. "W-what… you…" You take a deep breath. "No, that won't be necessary. And lesson five: don't flirt with people unless you mean it." 
"What is 'flirt’?”
"Flirting," you explain, trying to keep your blush under control, "is when people say or do things that suggest they're attracted to each other."
"I see." He pauses for just a moment before asking, "And how do I know if I'm attracted to someone?"
You sigh exasperatedly. Who knew teaching an angel to be human could be so tiring? 
"It's… well, it's kind of hard to explain. Especially because, as an angel, you don't really feel, at least not until the degradation process is nearing its end. But basically, it's like you have an inexplicable urge to be around this person a lot. You think about them often, their happiness makes you happy, and you want to be closer to them, maybe even touch them or hold them. Some people also might feel their heart beat faster, or a fluttering in their stomach." 
As you speak, Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. They gleam with curiosity and understanding, drinking in every word you say. He seems to be processing the concept, and then he suddenly smiles. "So, like how I feel about you." 
Caught off-guard, you blink at him, speechless for a moment. And then the panic seeps in. 
"No, Jungkook, that's not correct," you insist, your words tumbling out in haste and denial. "You can't… we can't… you're an angel. I'm—" Fallen, you want to say. Human, you need to say. But you don't. 
"Why not?" he asks simply, his gaze steady. 
"Because!" You scramble for an explanation, desperate to avoid the truth of your own feelings stirring within you. "Because angels aren't supposed to feel that way."
"But I am no longer a pure angel," Jungkook counters. "The degradation process has begun. We discussed this already."
"But that doesn't matter! The whole reason we are doing this is so you can learn the skills you need to figure out a way to stop Namsu from forcing anyone else to Fall. Once you do, you'll be able to stay in Heaven because withering isn't real." Before he can say anything else, you open the door. "I'm gonna grab my stuff from my bed. I'll… I'll be back in a second." 
You slam the door behind you, leaving Jungkook alone in the room. It's a struggle to keep your composure as you head towards your bed. All you can think of is his words, the nonchalance with which he said them. You can feel your traitorous heart yearning for him, but you can't let it sway you. Whether it was an accident or not, his betrayal led to your Fall. Led to you being human. And he's an angel. No matter what you feel or what he thinks he feels, nothing can happen between you now. 
As you gather your meager belongings, the man you spoke with earlier approaches you with a sympathetic expression. "You alright, dear? You didn't get evicted, did you? I'll give Naomi a piece of mind if that's the case." 
"No, no," you quickly reassure him with a forced smile. "My… my friend needs a place to stay for awhile, and there's a one body to one bed policy. Naomi was kind enough to let us use the couch in her office for a few days until we figure something else out."
"Your friend, hm?" His eyes twinkle mischievously. "That fellow you walked in with? Can't say I blame you. He's quite a looker."
"It's not like that," you blush, hurriedly stuffing the rest of your belongings into your bag. "Anyway, don't worry. You'll still see me around." 
The man grins and gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. This place would be much drearier without you."
You bid him goodbye with a wave and make your way back to Naomi's office, feeling like you're walking towards the edge of a cliff. As you open the door, you find Jungkook staring out the window. The streetlight spills in through the gap in the curtains, bathing him in a soft glow. He turns as you enter. 
"Gathered your belongings?" he asks, his voice calm as if the previous conversation never happened. For a moment, you feel robbed—does he not understand the gravity of what he said? But you suppose it's better this way. Easier, at least. 
"Yes," you respond, a bit more brusquely than intended, setting your bag down on the floor. He's still staring at you, and you flush under his gaze. "I'm just going to set up the couch. And stop staring at me so intently. Humans get nervous about stuff like that."
"Another lesson," he remarks. "Understood." Jungkook watches you for a moment longer, then turns back to the window without a word. 
You get to work, unfolding the couch and covering it with your bedding. The silence between you is thick; you can feel the tension radiating off of Jungkook despite his apparent calm. Your heart pounds in your ears as you busy yourself with smoothing out some wrinkles in the sheets, a futile distraction. 
With a deep breath, you break the silence. "Alright, I'm done." 
Jungkook turns to look, and his eyes scan the makeshift bed you've prepared. "You've made it look inviting." 
"Should be okay for a few nights," you reply curtly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm, uh, gonna go ready for bed. I know you don't sleep, but feel free to sit at her desk or something. Make yourself comfortable." 
You exit the room and head down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving Jungkook alone with his thoughts. You can’t shake off his confession and your own rush to deny him. The truth of your feelings, or rather the depth of them, is something you aren't ready to face.
After getting ready for bed, you hesitantly return to Naomi's office. The door creaks upon opening, and Jungkook turns from where he's seated at Naomi's desk, looking up at you with his intense gaze.
"Goodnight," you say softly, trying not to let your voice betray how uneasy you feel.
Jungkook nods. "Goodnight," he replies, and his voice is gentle, concerned. You feel a pang of guilt at the distance you've created between the two of you but say nothing more, falling into a fitful sleep.
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Sometime during the night, Jungkook figured out how to work Naomi's dinosaur of a computer and discovered the wonderful thing that is the internet. When you wake, he flocks to your side like an excited child, eager to share everything he has learned about humans, their emotions, and their behavior.
"Slow down, Jungkook," you chuckle, holding up a hand to halt his barrage of words. "I can't absorb all of that at once."
"Oh," he says, blinking in surprise. "I forget that human minds process information more slowly. Should I take this as another lesson?"
You shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Sure, go for it."
Despite the tension last night and everything unsaid between the two of you, you find yourself falling into an easy rhythm with him. He's eager to learn and keen on understanding humanity—your humanity. Throughout the day, he continues his studies, glued to the computer screen as you complete your daily volunteering. He takes breaks every once in a while to come find you and ask questions.
"I've come across some terms that are perplexing," he says, leaning on the front desk as you catalog some information. "'Memes' and 'emojis' appear prominently in human interactions online, but I don’t really know what they are or how they’re used.”
You answer question after question until you realize you aren’t getting work done, so you have to come up with a plan B. Leading him back to Naomi’s office, you pull up Netflix on the computer. Jungkook watches the screen in fascination as you explain streaming and scroll through all the shows. 
"Let's try Friends," you say, clicking on the thumbnail. 
You leave him to watch as you finish up your tasks for the day, checking occasionally to see that he’s still engrossed in the show. Instead of constantly badgering you with questions, he writes them on a notepad you provided and waits until the end of the day to go over them with you. You answer each one as best you can, completely endeared by him. 
It's during one of the show's more depressing moments that he asks you about lying and betrayal, echoing the heavy undertones from the other day. His question takes you by surprise, his gaze focused intensely on your face as he waits for an answer.
"Lying is a tough one," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Sometimes it's out of fear or selfishness. Sometimes people lie because they're trying to protect themselves."
"And betrayal?" Jungkook asks, his voice unnaturally calm.
You sigh, looking down at your hands. "Betrayal… it's when someone breaks your trust. It hurts, Jungkook. It hurts a lot."
He watches you for several long moments before finally speaking again. "I see," he says softly. "And that's what you thought I did to you?"
You swallow hard, feeling the knot in your chest tighten. "Jungkook," you start, but falter, not knowing how to put your feelings into words. 
"I did not mean to betray you," Jungkook continues. "I realize that my actions may have led you to believe that I deceived you, but it was not my intention. I'm sorry."
"I know." You believe him completely, but the wound is still so fresh that you can’t bring yourself to fully trust him again. Not yet. "I know you didn't mean to, but an apology doesn't fix everything. Consider it another lesson—trust, once broken, isn't so easily mended." 
Jungkook plays with the skin around his nails, an anxious habit he seems to be developing the more human-like he becomes. After a moment, he says, "I understand. I will try harder."
"Try harder doing what?" 
"To understand you better. To understand all humans more, their emotions and their beliefs. Maybe understanding what trust really is will teach me how to earn it back and make up for my mistakes." He's so earnest, so genuine, it almost brings tears to your eyes. "I think I want this as much as I want Namsu to answer for his crimes, if not more. And maybe that makes little sense, but maybe… maybe that's quite human of me." 
"And maybe that's progress," you say softly, looking at Jungkook with newfound hope. 
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Your new normal is spending your days with your time split between performing your volunteering duties and teaching Jungkook all about human life. 
Christmas is only a week away now, and everyone around you seems to be buzzing with excitement. At this point, even the inside of the shelter has been decorated. The hallways are lined with lights and garlands, and the common areas even have a few trees set up with donated presents underneath. And, as much as you have dreaded the holiday, you can't deny that watching Jungkook experience it for the first time makes you hate it a little less.
Despite the initial stiffness that comes with being an angel unfamiliar with human life, he has quickly adapted to life at the shelter. He's kind and patient, and he’s always eager to help out where he can. The children, in particular, have taken a liking to him. He's become their favorite storyteller and always has the kids hanging onto his every word. 
One afternoon, you find him sitting with them, singing a song in an ancient celestial language. Everyone will assume it’s some gibberish language he’s made up for one of his stories, but it reminds you of home. His voice is beautiful, melodic and soothing, with a honeyed quality to it that would make anyone stop and listen. 
You stand in the doorway and watch, a smile tugging at your lips. He catches your eye and winks, the action so human and unexpected that it startles a laugh out of you. The children turn to see what's so funny, but you just shake your head, telling them to continue listening.
He comes to you when he finishes, smiling brightly. "Did you enjoy the song as well?" 
"I did," you reply truthfully, your heart fluttering at his attention. The feelings you have been trying to resist are becoming increasingly persistent the more time you spend with him. 
"That's good to hear.”
Suddenly, the kids clamor over to you both, giggling and pointing at something above you. You look up, and all the color drains from your face. Mistletoe. Who the hell put it here?
Jungkook looks between you and the mistletoe, obviously confused. “Why are you angry with that plant? It’s quite beautiful.”
“It’s a tradition, of sorts.” You say the word with disdain. “When a couple—not that we are one—walks under the mistletoe, they’re supposed to kiss.”
“Kiss?”
“We don’t have to, it’s stupid—” 
“No, let’s do it. It's a part of the human experience, right? Let's consider it another lesson."
Heat rushes to your face, and you stutter incoherently, looking around the room for a way to escape. But the children are watching expectantly, their eyes wide and eager. You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Alright… close your eyes," you tell him.
He listens obediently, his eyes fluttering closed. You had never noticed just how long and pretty his eyelashes were until now. Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath and lean in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. When you pull back, you're greeted with a perplexed expression as he opens his eyes.
"That was nice," he says after a brief pause. "But that’s really what a kiss is? In the show, they did it a bit more like—"
He leans in to demonstrate what he means, his lips brushing against yours. It's soft and a bit awkward at first, but he quickly gets the hang of it, pulling you closer. Against your better judgment, you let him, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. His lips are softer than you would have expected. His fingers lightly squeeze your waist, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, and it's not until you hear some of the children giggling that you are reminded you have an audience.
You quickly pull away, breathless and flushed with embarrassment. Jungkook, however, is grinning from ear to ear. "That," he says. "That is how they did it."  
"Again! Again!" one of the kids shouts, pulling at your arm. 
Jungkook chuckles at his enthusiasm. "I think we should get back to our story," he says, ruffling the boy’s hair lovingly. Then, turning back to you, he murmurs, "Thank you. For the lesson." 
You can barely speak coherently, but you manage to squeak out a small “you’re welcome” before rushing out of the room. How on Earth are you supposed to get your tasks done now? It's impossible to focus, your mind running in circles over his touch, the feel of his lips against yours.
When you return to Naomi’s office later that night, you’re relieved to see that Jungkook isn't there yet. You take a moment to sit on the edge of the bed and process your thoughts, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over your lips. A shiver passes through your body, a heat blooming in the pit of your stomach. You drop your hand, clenching it into a fist to stop the trembling.
"Nervous?" a voice asks, startling you out of your thoughts. Jungkook is standing in the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.
"I… no," you say. 
"Don't lie," he chides gently, sitting next to you on the bed. “I can tell when you do that now, you know.” He keeps to a respectful distance, but he turns his gaze to you. “I think I'm starting to really understand this human thing. Emotions and all that.”
"Is that so?" 
"Yes. They can be painful sometimes but also quite beautiful." 
You watch as he turns his gaze back towards the room, and silence stretches between you again. However, it’s different now from how it used to be; it's not awkward or unsettling, but comfortable. His vulnerability makes you want to be honest, to admit to the way you feel.  
Just as you’re about to say something, he continues, "But now it's time for me to learn about something else. I need to start strategizing for the coming confrontation."
"Right, Namsu," you say. You almost forgot about Jungkook’s original intentions. You clap your hands and get up, heading to the computer. "Alright. Let's research."
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With Jungkook sufficiently prepared, the time soon comes for him to return to the celestial realm. However, he insists on leaving at night, so he can spend the day with you. He referred to it as "a date," and you practically tripped over your own feet, much to his enjoyment. He has certainly developed a penchant for teasing you.
You decide to take him into the heart of the city, so he can observe people in their natural element. There seem to be even more decorations than you remember, and people are bustling about to finish their last-minute shopping. However, you find yourself handling the chaos a lot better with Jungkook by your side. 
He hasn't let go of your hand since you stepped out of the shelter, his thumb lightly rubbing circles over your knuckles. Every once in a while, he squeezes it lightly, a silent assurance that he’s there. Whether he notices your nerves and is doing it to comfort you or is doing it because he wants to, you're grateful for it.
His doe eyes dart this way and that, eagerly drinking in the scenery. You try to explain what everything is—the office buildings, luxury apartments, and tiny shops buried in alleyways—but he's more interested in the people. It isn't until you stop in front of a Hindu temple that his attention is finally captured by a building. He cocks his head to the side, eyes wide in wonder as he takes in the sight of it. The temple is a beautiful structure, with elaborate carvings and statues lining its walls. 
"What is this place?" he asks, his voice full of awe.
"It's a place of worship for those that practice Hinduism," you explain.
His eyes sparkle with interest as he takes a step closer to the building. "Can we go inside?"
You glance at him, surprised by his request. But something in his earnest gaze breaks down your hesitation. "Sure," you say softly, leading him inside.
The inside of the temple is even more impressive than the outside. There are vibrant murals depicting different gods and an intoxicating scent of incense that fills the air. You gesture to the bell at the entrance. “Would you like to ring it?”
“What’s it for?” he asks, picking it up gently. 
“It’s supposed to be a way to announce your arrival to the deities.” 
Jungkook shakes it, the twinkling of the bell echoing in the large room. “Pretty,” he remarks as he places it back where it belongs.
He then follows your lead as you move towards the main shrine, your heart pounding in your chest as you realize what you're about to do. An angel of the Christian God at the altar of a different one? You're almost afraid you'll be struck down where you stand. 
He takes in the offerings with a small smile. "It's all quite beautiful," he remarks. "It's a shame that their gods aren't real." 
You know Jungkook means no harm and that it is what he has been conditioned to think for thousands of years, but you still bristle at his easy dismissal of their beliefs. “We’re real. Our God is real. Who’s to say the gods of their religion are not?”
"There is one God. That is what we were taught."
"Yes, it is. But we were also led to believe the withering was real. Just because it is said does not mean that it is true.”
Jungkook is silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the offerings. Then he turns to you. "You truly believe that?" 
"I don't know," you confess, feeling a little exposed. “I don't know what I believe anymore. I'm just… questioning. It's complicated." 
"You have given me a lot to think about," he admits, his tone quiet. “For all I know, you might be right. I shouldn't have dismissed their beliefs so easily. I apologize.”
You stare at him in surprise; you hadn't expected him to back down so easily. "It's okay," you reassure him. "I'd say being open-minded is another lesson, but unfortunately, not all humans are."
You continue to walk around the city, introducing Jungkook to as many things as possible. Everything he does fills you with affection, whether it be him trying hot dogs from a street vendor and declaring them divine, or joining some kids who were playing soccer in a park. At one point, he kicks the ball so hard that it lands in a tree branch, and you can’t help but laugh as he clumsily climbs up to retrieve it.
When night falls, you end up at the pier, watching the shimmering water beneath the stars. Jungkook is oddly quiet, looking out at the horizon with a distant expression. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it does leave you feeling a little uneasy. You reach for his hand, and he startles slightly before turning to look at you. 
"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask.
He smiles slightly. “I’m guessing that’s some sort of human expression, and you’re not actually going to give me a penny.”
“You would be correct.”
“I’m thinking about a lot of things.” He exhales as if letting out a breath he has been holding. "You, for one. But I'm always thinking of you so that much isn't a surprise." You blush and swat at his arm. "But I’m also thinking about my beliefs."
"What about them?"
He takes a moment to get his thoughts in order, grabbing your hand more tightly as if you're his anchor in a stormy sea. He answers your question with another. "What if everything we have been taught is wrong? I mean, we have never spoken with the Almighty directly. Angels, apostles, they can all take His words and twist them for their own purposes. We've seen it in action with Namsu, and with how the Bible has been changed to promote hatred." 
You're taken aback by his frankness, the depth of his vulnerability. You have no answers for him, but you can relate to him and offer what little understanding you have come to have.
"So maybe it is wrong, and things have gotten taken out of context or changed as the years have gone on. Like you said, we cannot talk to Him, so we can’t ask for the truth. Or, maybe it is all part of a bigger plan, and unwavering faith is the answer.” You pause, steeling your resolve, before continuing, “But it isn’t for me. I can’t live that way. But how you decide to live is your choice. Who you are is your choice. I cannot decide that for you, and neither can He.” 
He frowns. "I don't know how to make that choice. Who even am I? What am I without my purpose? Without Him?"
"Perhaps we're not defined by a single purpose we've been given," you answer quietly. "Maybe we're more than that."
"More than our purpose?" 
"Yeah," you say, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe we don't need a purpose. Maybe it's okay to just exist." 
Jungkook’s gaze turns thoughtful, considering your words as if they are the most precious thing in the world. "Just exist," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. After a moment, he stands up, looking at you with a newfound fire blazing in his eyes. "I need to return. I will talk to some of my confidants, gather information, and then confront Namsu." 
You knew it was coming, but your stomach still drops. You're scared for him, for what will happen when he leaves. But you see the determination in his eyes, the steel in his gaze. You know better than to try and stop him now.
"You'll be careful, right?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.
"I will."
He pulls you up and envelops you in his arms. His embrace is comforting, protective, and for a brief moment, it makes you forget about all your worries.
"Promise me," you whisper into his chest. 
"I promise," he says, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. He pulls away after a moment, but not before brushing his lips against your temple. "I will return. For you."
His words weigh heavy in the air as he pulls away fully, breaking the physical contact between you two. His gaze lingers on you for another moment before he turns away and disappears into the night. You're left standing on the pier alone, the cold wind making you shiver. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you head back to Lost Star, where you have nothing to do but wait.
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It’s Christmas Eve before you know it. The holiday you have been dreading feels even worse with Jungkook’s absence, and frankly, you don’t know how to handle it. You plaster a smile on your face for the sake of the children, playing along with their excitement over what presents they are going to get and stories of Santa Claus. But every time someone brings Jungkook up, wondering where he is, you feel tempted to run to Naomi’s office and hide.
Speaking of Naomi, she has been keeping a close watch over you, mothering you as per usual. You know she can tell that something has happened. Once you step away from the festivities to do some of your work, she pulls you aside.
“Honey, what’s going on? These days you seem so out of it; you’re just flitting around room to room, acting like a ghost.” When you don’t answer, she frowns. “It’s because of that boy, isn’t it?”
"He… he needed to go home. He had some things he needed to figure out," you manage to say. It's not a lie, just an oversimplification of the truth.
She wraps an arm around you. "He's going to come back. I saw the way he looked at you, and you at him. And if he doesn't, well, screw him."
"Naomi!" 
"Sorry, sorry. He was sweet and all, but you're my girl. I'll always have your back." Naomi declares, patting you on the back. 
You accept her comfort, fighting back your tears. If only she knew your fear didn’t revolve around him coming back—of course, part of you is scared that something will happen to him, but the rational part of your brain, the part that knows his strength, has no doubts he'll be alright. In actuality, your biggest fear is that he won't be able to stay with you, and you’ll have to go through the pain of losing him all over again.
He's an angel. You're human. There's no future there. Your traitorous heart made you fall harder and harder for him without sparing that a moment's thought, and now you have to will yourself to accept that you'll always be in love with someone you cannot have.
The rest of the day passes in a blur, nothing but forced cheer and mindless chatter. Naomi sticks by your side as much as she can, making sure to redirect everyone who asks you questions about Jungkook. You're grateful for her presence, her constant support, and now more than ever, you realize how lucky you truly are to have her in your life.
As soon as everyone is in bed and your tasks for the day are done, you seek out the solitude of the pier once again. You've been coming here daily since he left. A sentimental thing, mostly, since it was the last place you saw him. But you also hope each night will be the night he returns.
The wind is strong tonight, the kind that chills you down to your bones, and the stars are hidden behind the clouds. You wrap your scarf more tightly around yourself, gazing aimlessly at the turbulent water. Suddenly, there's a bright light and a shrill noise. You aren't scared this time, and it's not nearly as overwhelming as it was. He must have tempered it somehow, made it less painful for you.
The light fades, leaving behind a figure that is unmistakably Jungkook. The sight of him fills you with such relief and happiness that you rush forward, throwing your arms around him. He envelops you in his arms, his wings folding around you, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips as he buries his face in your hair.
"I missed you very much," he says, breathing deeply.
"I missed you too," you whisper, tears prickling at your eyes. "I knew you'd come back."
"I said I would, didn't I?" he teases, pulling away just enough to look at you. "And I have news."
"What happened?" 
You stay locked in his embrace as he speaks, bringing one of your hands to his face to stroke his cheek, to follow the line of his jaw with your fingers. He lets you, as eager to feel your touch as you are to feel his.
"I confronted Namsu," he begins. "But I wasn't alone. There were other angels who had started the 'degradation' process, those who were too fearful of retribution to say anything. I told them everything, and we confronted the other Thrones about Namsu and everything he had done. They didn’t approve of his actions, and they punished him for it." 
"Really?" You ask, eyes wide with surprise. "Just like that? They believed you?"
A soft laugh bubbles up from him. "It wasn't quite that simple. There was plenty of arguing, plenty of disbelief. I’d never seen anything like it. But in the end, Namsu was banished from the celestial realm."
Relief washes over you at his words, the tension you hadn't even realized you were carrying leaving your body. "That's incredible.” 
Jungkook shrugs slightly, but there’s an unmistakable look of pride in his eyes. "I’m just glad he has gotten what he deserves. Now you have justice." He places a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"And what about the others? The ones who have started to degrade?" Your heart clenches at the thought of them being punished for something beyond their control.
"They're safe," Jungkook assures you quickly. "The Thrones have promised to take care of it all. They're going to convene with Him, to see if the Heavenly teachings can be altered. Things are changing up there; I think it's all going to be alright." 
You're overwhelmed with emotion, both relief and dread tugging at you simultaneously. It is good to know that things will be changing, but what is done to you has been done. And now, Jungkook has no reason to stay with you. You take a step back from him. 
"What about you?" you ask quietly, barely daring to meet his gaze.
"What about me?" 
"You have no reason to stay anymore. You can return to your normal duties. You did what was right, and everything is fixed."
"I did what was right, yes, and I'm sure things will be much better from now on," Jungkook agrees. But he steps forward, taking your hands in his and looking deep into your eyes. "But now, I need to do what's right for me." 
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, my star." Your heart stutters at the endearment. "I'm not going anywhere. I want to be with you."
"But… you can only do that if you're—"
"Human, yes," he interrupts. 
"Jungkook! You can't! You can't Fall for me," you half-shout, half-whisper. "You're a good angel, you—"
"Y/N." The force behind his voice stops you. "Even before you showed me the beauty of being human, before I knew how to feel, before I even knew what love was, I would have done anything for you.” His confession takes your breath away, and you wobble on your feet, moving a few steps back from him in your shock. “If you had simply asked it of me, I would have stood with you in the fires of hell for all eternity and still been grateful for each moment spent at your side." 
The tears you were holding back begin to fall. "You would have?" 
“I would. I can. I will.” He moves closer to you with each beat between words until he stands directly in front of you, only a hair's breadth away. Gently, hesitantly—as if for the first time—he takes your hand and presses it to his chest right above where a human heart would be. “Just say the words, and I will fall for you. I will forsake myself and turn my back on Heaven. The pain of losing my wings will be inconsequential compared to the pain of having to be without you.”
"W-what words?"
He smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. "You know what I want to hear. Be honest. Even better, be selfish, like a human. Tell me what you really want, and I will oblige."
You hesitate. You have been fighting your feelings this entire time, so sure of the fact that Jungkook would choose to continue his life as an angel. You never wanted him to Fall for you, to be torn away from the life he has always known the way you were. But he deserves to make the choice himself. If he wants your honesty, you will give it to him. 
"Speak, Y/N," Jungkook urges, his gaze never leaving yours.
"I want…" You begin slowly, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you. I want you to stay with me." He grins, relief clear in his eyes. "Then I will."
"But you shouldn't have to Fall!" 
"Fall or not, it won't change anything," he assures you. "I chose this path before even knowing there was a choice. I chose you from the second we were created.”
"Even if that means giving up everything?" you ask.
Jungkook’s expression softens. He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. "Does it seem like I’m giving up everything?" he muses aloud, his eyes never leaving yours. "Because from where I stand, it seems like I’m gaining everything.”
"Smooth-talker,” you laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek. He brushes it off with his thumb, his gaze softening even further.
For a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. It's quiet except for your breathing and the sound of waves crashing against the pier. You have been so afraid of asking him to make this choice, and yet he seems so certain about it, as if it was what he wanted all along.
"Are you sure about this?" you ask him one more time, seeking reassurance. "Once done, there's no going back."
His answer is immediate, "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
"This will change everything," you say again.
"I know," he replies simply. 
"Come find me when it's over," you whisper, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. "I'll be at the shelter." 
As you go to leave, you can't help but glance back over your shoulder at Jungkook, taking in the appearance of him and his wings one last time. He's still standing there, watching you go with love evident in his gaze. It quells some of your worries. And then you blink, and he’s gone.
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The hours that creep by feel like days. You busy yourself with meaningless tasks, cleaning the office, flipping through an old book left on the table, scrolling TikTok. None of it does anything to dull your anxiety, and you're weighing the pros and cons of tearing your hair out before you finally hear a knock on the door. You shoot up to your feet, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you open the door, and there he stands. "I'm here," he says simply. "As I promised."
You pull him into a hug once again, burying your head into his chest. You can hear the beat of his human heart and, unable to stop yourself, you burst into tears. You know the pain he just went through, can remember experiencing it yourself like it was yesterday, and you can hardly believe he went through something so awful to be with you. 
"I'm sorry," you whisper, tightening your hold on him. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," he coos, gently stroking your hair. "This was my choice."
You swallow hard and pull back from him so you can look into his eyes, searching for any sign of regret. You find none.
"Are you okay?" You ask anyway, your heart aching at the thought of what he has given up.
"I am," he assures, his voice full of conviction. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your lips, and when he pulls away, he's smiling. "I wondered if doing that would feel different now that I'm fully human." 
"And does it?" you ask, smiling back up at him.
"Yes," he admits, tracing an invisible line down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone. You shiver at his touch. "It feels more real. Stronger somehow. It's like you're the break of dawn after a long night." 
Your breath catches in your throat. "Being human certainly hasn't changed the fact that you have a way with words." 
"Only when it comes to you," he replies, his fingers never ceasing their journey across your skin. They make their way back to your waist, where he plays with the hem of your shirt. "There's one lesson we never covered, you know." 
"A-and what would that be?" you squeak as his fingers caress the smooth skin of your stomach.
His voice drops lower, and he tugs you closer by your belt loops. "Human intimacy."
You flush at his audacity but don't pull away. "And what would be the best way for me to teach you about that?" 
"Hm…" He leans down so that his lips hover over yours, and you can feel his warm breath with each word he speaks. "I think I would respond well to some hands-on practice."
Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his lips press against yours in a slow, searing kiss that turns your knees to jelly. He takes his time exploring your mouth, his lips moving delicately against yours. His hands are warm on your skin, trailing up and down your back as he pulls you closer. 
"Then I suppose we should get started," you manage to whisper when you finally break apart, breathless.
Jungkook moves into the room, closing the door behind him, and sits down on the edge of the pull-out bed. He stares up at you, his once-innocent doe eyes now dark and hooded with desire. You float towards him as if being pulled by a magnet, and he pulls you down so that you’re straddling his lap. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your touch. 
"I think I should warn you," he says, hands sliding down to rest right above the curve of your ass, "I might be a slow learner."
You roll your eyes, a short, playful chuckle escaping from your lips. "I think I can handle that."
The room fills with an easy silence as you continue to explore each other, experiencing sensations new for the both of you. His hands trace every curve and dip of your body, his touch curious yet surprisingly confident. Your fingers trace the lines of his face, his jaw, his chest, and then find their way under his shirt to the newly-formed scars on his back. They are rough against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the rest of his smooth skin. 
"You aren't in pain?” 
“No,” he assures you, his hands sliding to a similar position on your own back. "Were you for long after?"
"No, but I'm still worried," you smile sheepishly.
He laughs and kisses your nose. "Don't be. Don't feel like you have to be gentle with me. I won't break." 
You laugh in return, your eyes twinkling with delight and a touch of mischief. "Is that a challenge, Jungkook?" 
He hums in response, his gaze never leaving yours. "Maybe." 
His teasing reply only spurs you on. Rising to the bait, you lean in to kiss him, this time with a boldness that leaves him momentarily stunned. But he recovers quickly, matching your fervor and deepening the kiss. Your hands weave into his hair, pulling him closer, and his hips jut up against you almost involuntarily. You moan at the sensation, and he stills.
"What was that?" he asks.
"That," you breathe out, "is what human intimacy sounds like." 
"I want to hear it again." 
His lips find yours again and this time it's deep and demanding, all teeth and tongue and the promise of what’s to come. His hands grab your waist, forcing you to grind down against him as he once again lifts his hips up to meet your core. Another moan escapes your lips, the sound quickly swallowed by his hungry mouth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, his fingertips skimming against the skin of your lower back. Eagerly, you lift your arms, and he pulls it off over your head.
"Jungkook…" you whimper, clutching at his shoulders. He responds by nuzzling into your neck, his hot breath making you shiver with pleasure. 
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, his lips tracing the column of your throat, down to your chest. 
He places a gentle kiss above each breast before descending lower still, sucking one into his mouth. His lips and tongue move expertly, drawing gasps from you as your nerves ignite with pleasure. His hands are firm on your waist, holding you securely against him as he devotes himself entirely to exploring the new terrain, and you grind against him wantonly. You can feel that your panties are soaked with the proof of your desire. 
"Jungkook," you say again, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His name is a plea, a prayer. "I need more."
He pulls back, his lips swollen from his ministrations. "And so I'll give it to you." 
You eagerly crawl off of him, shimmying out of your jeans, before settling with your back against the pillows. You grab at the air, beckoning him closer. He does the same, now only in his boxers, and slots himself on top of you, his bare skin against yours intensifying the burning desire coursing through your veins. His hard length presses against your core, and you whine.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he admits in a low voice, his hot breath fanning against your face as his eyes search yours for assurance.
You reach up, caressing his cheek. "It's okay," you soothe him, your hands then trailing down his back to rest on his hips, encouraging him closer. "We'll figure it out together."
His lips find your neck as his hands explore every inch of you, his rough fingers exploring the softness of your flesh. He slides one down over your stomach and lower still, feather-light touches teasing you until you're gasping beneath him. His fingers trace the edge of your panties before sliding the fabric down. You lift your hips, aiding him in removing the last barrier between you. He tosses them aside before returning his attention to you, his fingers skimming along your trembling thighs. His fingers move gradually, inching steadily upward until he's touching you where you're most sensitive. You let out a soft gasp, gripping the sheets.
"Is this okay?" he asks. You nod eagerly, unable to get the words out, and he chuckles, placing a gentle kiss at the base of your throat. "Good."
Always the over-achiever, he slides down your body until his face is level with your core, focusing intently on his work. His fingers move with a slow, calculated rhythm that quickly has you dripping for him. Eventually, he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your breath hitches, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.
"Am I doing this right?" he asks, uncertainty creeping into his voice as he looks up at you from between your thighs. 
"You must be," you gasp out, encouraging him with a roll of your hips. "Don't stop."
Grinning, he adds a second finger, working you open until you're panting and squirming beneath him. Your back arches off the bed as his fingers work their magic, curling in just the right way that has you seeing stars. Praise tumbles from your lips, but you're sure that it just sounds like nonsense, your thoughts too muddled to form coherent words. 
"You're so wet," he murmurs in a low, gravelly voice that only adds fuel to your desire. 
Without warning, he lowers his mouth to your core, his lips and tongue joining his exploring fingers. The sensation is electric; your breath hitches, and an animalistic moan escapes you. He takes it as a sign of encouragement, doubling his efforts. Your fingers find their way to his hair, threading into the dark strands, seeking purchase. You can't help but pull, and he moans against you, the vibrations only furthering your pleasure. 
"Jungkook," you warn, "I'm—" 
A coil of white heat tightens within you before snapping. His name slips from your lips as you climax, sparks dancing behind your eyelids as he continues to pleasure you, eagerly lapping up your release. He doesn't stop, not until you physically pull him away from you, body shaking with overstimulation. He climbs back up your body, his lips finding yours in a gentle kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 
His pupils are blown out with desire, his hair slicked back with sweat, and he's so attractive that just the sight of him has you clenching your thighs together. 
You nod, cupping his face in your hands. "More than okay," you assure him. "That was amazing. Now," you slide your fingers down his chest, sliding over the waistband of his boxers. "Let's see what we can do about you."
You hook your thumbs around the fabric and pull them downwards, and he does the rest of the work, kicking them off. You reach down, your fingers tentatively wrapping around his cock. He gasps, his head falling forward against your chest as you begin to stroke him with a slow, measured rhythm. 
He nearly whines, his grip tightening on your hips. "That feels… I can't…" His words dissolve into soft, broken moans as you continue to work him over.
Suddenly overtaken with need, you stop, pulling him in for another searing kiss. "I need you inside of me, Jungkook," you gasp against his lips, "Please." 
Your hand guides him back to your core, and his breath hitches. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, you lift your hips to meet him. He pushes into you carefully, slowly, each inch an intense sensation for both of you. Your body clenches around him as if welcoming him home, a strangled moan escaping your lips. One of his hands clasps yours, bringing it to rest on the side of your head while he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths fanning your skin. He's shaking against you, and you feel just as overwhelmed. 
You squeeze the hand that's holding yours, urging him on. "You're okay," you whisper, "I'm okay. Move."
He nods, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back inside of you. Your body jolts at the sensation, gasping his name over and over. 
"You feel incredible," he breathes out, the statement more for himself than for you. “So perfect.” Your fingers thread through his hair once more, pulling him down to meet your lips.
His hips set a steady rhythm, filling the room with soft sounds of skin on skin and heavy panting. He lets out a low groan as he adjusts his angle, hitting a spot inside of you that has you crying out and grabbing at him wherever you can reach. You wrap your legs around his waist, throwing your head back against the pillows.
"That's it," you whine, "Right there. It feels so good—" 
Your words cut off into a choked moan as he thrusts into you at that exact spot again and again, his movements becoming more erratic. He's close—you can tell by the way his body tenses and how he gasps desperately into your mouth. 
"I'm… I'm—" he stammers out, breath hitching between each word.
"I know," you gasp out, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Me too." 
You pull him as close as possible, holding him to you as you both chase your release. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your nails dig into his skin as a wave of pleasure crashes over you, even more intense than the last. You moan his name as you come, shuddering beneath him. He moans into your neck as he follows you over the edge, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he buries himself deep inside you. 
He collapses on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his heavy breathing tickling your skin. He stays there, nestled inside of you, his heart pounding against your chest, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. You feel dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by him—his scent, his taste, the feel of him on top of you and within you. You caress his back, slowly tracing the contours of his scars with gentle strokes, the action soothing for both of you. 
Eventually, he shifts, carefully pulling himself out of you and collapsing onto his back next to you. His hand searches blindly for yours, lacing your fingers together once he finds it. He brings your joined hands up to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles.
"Is… are you…" He lifts his head to meet your eyes, unable to form words. 
"I'm more than okay," you assure him softly, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead.
"Good," he whispers, a contented sigh escaping him. 
His eyes roam over your face once more before closing, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. Together, you lay there under the sheets, and the silence goes on for so long that you almost think he fell asleep. 
Then suddenly, you hear him say, voice barely above a whisper, "I love you." You look over to see him staring up at you with adoration in his gaze and a soft smile on his lips. "I know I don't have to say it since surely there can be no doubt that everything I have done for you is out of love. But I want to say it anyway. I want to continue saying it for the rest of my life. I have loved you since before I even had the capacity to feel it, and I will continue to love you until time ceases to exist."
His confession leaves you breathless, and you can do little but turn on your side, grab his face, and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks.
"I love you too, Jungkook," you whisper against his lips, "So very, very much." 
He lets out an audible sigh of relief as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for your response. His free hand reaches out to caress your cheek, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. "I knew you would say so, but I'm happy to hear it all the same."
The two of you get ready for bed, and, for the first time since commandeering Naomi’s office, you fall asleep together in each other's arms.
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The day you have been dreading has arrived—Christmas. Despite your initial hatred, however, you find yourself actually participating in the festivities around the shelter. Just like as many others do, you aren't going to consider it a holy day. You're going to use it as an excuse to be happy and spend time with your loved ones. 
You join the group of children who sit by the pile of gifts, their excitement palpable as they eagerly wait for Naomi to declare it time to open them. Small hands tug at Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling him down to their level as they bombard him with questions about where he's been. He settles down amongst them, answering their questions as honestly as he can. His eyes meet yours over the sea of eager faces, and he stretches out a hand towards you, inviting you to join him. You sit right on his lap, making some of the kids giggle.
"Alright, everyone, it's time!" Naomi's voice echoes through the shelter, immediately quieting the children down. 
As each name is called out and the kids scramble to collect their gifts, you can't help but smile. The pure delight on their faces is infectious. Noticing your happiness, Jungkook pulls you back so that you’re leaning against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. 
He places a gentle kiss on your neck, murmuring, "You seem happy."
"I am," you say, placing your hands over his. "The holidays aren't so bad with you around."
"I'm glad." He turns your head so he can place a quick kiss on your lips, one that is light and soft and sweet, full of love. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Jungkook," you echo, smiling brightly. 
Later, Naomi corners the two of you, pulling you aside. "I've been thinking about what to give you," she says. "I—"
"Naomi, you don't have to give me anything!"
"Don't interrupt me," she scolds, but there's no bite behind it. "Like I was saying, I was thinking it over, and I realized that the best gift I could offer is not anything material. From tomorrow on, you will officially be a supervisor. A paid supervisor." 
Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at Jungkook, who is beaming at you with pride. You turn back to Naomi, stuttering out a response.
"B-but Naomi, I couldn't possibly—"
"Yes, you can," she interrupts, her tone firm. "From the day you arrived here, you have been working as hard as any of us. You deserve this." Before you can argue any further, she thrusts a small envelope into your hands. "Consider it an early Christmas gift and your first paycheck. And my office? It's yours."
"Thank you, Naomi," you manage, your voice choked with emotion. You pull her into a hug, hoping it can express everything you don't know how to say. 
She pats your back, chuckling. "If anything, it's an excuse for me to take some time off. I'm getting old and need to start sharing the burden. Don't expect it to be a walk in the park!"
You pull away, wiping a stray tear from your eye. "Of course not. I'm ready to be worked to the bone, ma'am." 
"That's what I like to hear," she comments, her voice carrying an undertone of pride. She turns to Jungkook, her gaze soft but words sharp. "Take care of her, will you?"
"Always," he replies without a moment's hesitation, which earns him a small nod from Naomi.
Eventually, the celebrations wind down and people start to retreat to their beds until only you and Jungkook remain. Instead of doing the same, you decide to return to the pier and watch the water for a bit, not ready for the day to end. The two of you walk in comfortable silence, hands linked tightly as if promising not to let go. 
Sitting at the edge of the pier, Jungkook wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. His body heat seeps into your skin, fighting away the cold, and you rest your head on his chest, letting his strong, steady heartbeat lull you into contentment. 
"Who would've thought we would end up here?" you reflect, staring out at the ocean. 
Jungkook laughs softly, his chest rumbling beneath your ear. "I don't think either of us could have predicted this."
"I never thought I would be happy that any of this happened, but I am. Are you?"
His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you. "More than I could possibly put into words," he admits. 
"Will you miss it, though? Heaven?"
"I thought I would," he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "But Earth has its own kind of heaven. You're here. Naomi is here. The children are here. I have so much more yet to discover, to experience." His gaze returns to you, eyes soft and full of love. "How could I miss anything when I have all of this?”
Your heart swells at his words, his declaration warming you like nothing else could. You reach up to cup his face, your fingers lightly brushing his lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment at your touch before opening again to hold your gaze.
"You're right," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. "This is our heaven. Here, with each other. And who knows, maybe we'll end up back there someday."
"You think?" Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow. "I must say, I'm a little surprised hearing that from you. I didn't think you had faith anymore or wanted it for that matter."
You shrug. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't have my original beliefs anymore, that's for sure, but I don't resent it all like I once did, either. I think I've just found a new kind of faith. A faith in myself, in people, in goodness, and in love. There are so many different kinds of religions out there, and at their core, they're all about trying to understand the world around us, trying to find ways to cope and move forward. I think that's what I'm doing now, in my own way."
"That's beautiful," Jungkook says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Somehow both simple and complex. Just like life itself, I suppose."
"And what about you, Jungkook?” you ask, pecking him on the lips. How will you move forward?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure, either. But I think I'm happy to find out, as long as it's with you." 
You hold each other close, each hoping your touch can express what no words could possibly convey. Love. Gratitude. Hope. The promise of a shared journey. What more could you possibly ask for?
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TAGLIST: @yessa-vie
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larluce · 2 months
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Arthur travels back in time to save Merlin (from becoming a tree) AU
LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART2 (You're here) , PART 3
The king of Camelot goes to visit his magic tree before his next battle. This isn't new. He always visits it. But it will be the last time he does it.
Arthur: (caressing the bark of the tree with a hand)It's finally time. I'm sorry it took so long. (sighs) And I'm sorry I have to do this.
He knows he's being selfish. Camelot is better than ever, his people is happy and yet he's going to war, risking this era of peace. A war he knows he won't come back from. But it's necessary.
Gwen: (arriving) Arthur...
Arthur: I won't change my mind, Guinivere
Gwen: I know. I just want to understand. Arthur, why? The price is too high and the chance it might work too slim. And even if it does work, you are risking that everything you know, everything you built will never happen.
Arthur: It's a risk I'm willing to take. I can prevent so many things from happening, not only Merlin's fate, but Gawain's, Elyan's, Lancelot's-
Gwen: Don't pretend you're not doing this just for him, Arthur, I'm not a fool.
Arthur: ...
Gwen: He wouldn't want you to do this. And you know it.
Arthur: Yeah, well, he didn't care about what I wanted when he made that stupid deal.
It's been ten years since Merlin saved his life and was cursed to be a tree forever as a payback. He was now a majestic beautiful tree in the royal garden and the most valuable national treasure in Camelot due to its magical properties: It could give fruits with the ability to cure all ills and the most serious wounds, but also could give ones with the most letal poison. Its wood was the finest. Once it let some branches fall for its king before an important battle and the weapons that were made with them are still as good as new to this day. Though Arthur did his part, he knows Camelot probably would not have obtained the title of the greatest, richest and most prosperous kingdom if it weren't for his Merlin.
However, not everything was sunshine and rainbows. Like every treasure it was also coveted by everyone who wanted to use it for their own selfish purposes. Kingdoms envious of his power sent spies to try to steal its fruits, its branches and even to try to cut it down to leave Camelot defenseless. Others even tried to invade Camelot just to posses the magic tree, but Camelot's army was the strongest in all Albion so they never could and soon they stopped trying.
There was a time they almost got too close though. Once Arthur found a man holding an ax stuck deep in Merlin's trunk. He has gone so mad with fury, he almost beat the man to death if it weren't because his knights stopped him before he made the final blow. He was still livid after that, but he let Gwen handle the man's trial, because he knew he wouldn't be reasonable in the state he was in. In the end the man was sentenced to beheading. It was what the law decreed since touching the King's tree was by law an act of treason. The king who sent the spy had to make a public apology and give monetary compensation to avoid a war. Arthur did make sure the spy's head was cut of with his own ax though. Later, when he was alone with his tree, Arthur cried because he almost lost Merlin again. The king apologised to him over and over again between sobs and cried until he fell asleep at the tree's roots.
It was then when it hit him. One day he would die and there won't be anyone to protect Merlin from greedy people who will only use his power for their own gains. Merlin would be at his new owner's mercy and the one after that, and the one after that, forever without being able to do anything about it. The mere thought made Arthur sick to his stomach.
No, he won't allow that to happen.
Gwen: (with teary eyes) Aren't we happy?
Arthur: Don't say that. You have always made me happy.
Gwen: (laughs weakely) But he made you happier, didn't he?
Arthur: ...
Gwen: You never told me. Which were Merlin's last words.
Arthur: I love you... he said I love you.
Gwen: Oh... (smiles) I get it now. Alright I'll help you. Just promise me something.
Arthur: Anything.
Gwen: Don't feel bad if you can't prevent other people from dying. In fact, you don't have to do it. Just save Merlin.
Arthur: But-
Gwen: No, you have done so much for this kingdom and sacrifice so much. (cradling his face) You owe us nothing and you owe me nothing, alright? Just be happy.
They hugged each other tightly and they share their last kiss and I love you before Arthur finally went to bloodiest battle he'll ever had in his life. And, after killing 100 hundred enemy soldiers with his blade, the king of Camelot died at the early age of forty.
Later Percival and Leon retrieve the king's corpse and bring it before their queen who doesn't share a tear despite being broken inside. She orders for his late husband to be buried next to his tree instead of burned in a pyre, proclaming that's what the king would have wanted. The real reason however is more complex than that.
The night after the funeral, she secretly brings the druids her husband consorted for years to the royal garden for the ritual to be made. Before the tree, as was planned, is the Ancient Round Table of the Ancient Kings.
Druid1: A sword with the blood of 300 hundred man.
Gwen: (gives excalibur to him)
Druid2: Three dragon scales.
Percival: (gives them to her)
Druid3: And the corpse of a king. We have everything.
Leon: Will this really work?
Druid1: This ritual had only worked once in the times of the ancient kings and only because it was done by three of the most powerful sorcerers of that time. We are not that powerful.
Druid2: However, we have a great magic source (she points the tree). So it might work.
It worked! That's Arthur's first thought when he opens his eyes again and finds himself in his room 20 years younger.
....
HIII!! First of all I want to thank you all for giving the first post so much love! I was truly shocked because I didn't think the AU was that good, so I'm really glad you liked it. I hope this kind of sequel/prequel? was of your liking too.
I don't think I'm going to make this a full fic yet, but I can make snippets like this about this AU until then.
What else would like to see happening in this AU? Let me know in the comments or reblogs ;)
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atinyniki · 3 months
Text
i ruined it...
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group: stray kids !
pairing: idol!lee felix x f!reader
genre: angst with a happy ending, fluff if you squint
warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, almost breakup, y/n doesnt think felix loves her, felix is referred to as lix, felix neglects y/n bc of his job, felix misses their two year anniversary dinner, felix has trouble breathing in the scene, felix cries a lot, proposals, promise rings, insecurities, felix has been broken up with a lot bc of this, y/ns fav flowers are peonies, fighting
authors note: i cried. i dont even know why this came to mind??? but it did !!! so enjoy the angst :P this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)
wc: 2232
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“i’m sorry”
“sorry isn’t going to cut it anymore, felix. you’ve said it so much i don’t think you mean it anymore.”, you bite back harshly.
you’re normally understanding of felix’s job. it regularly requires him to stay overtime and keeps him very busy, but he’s missed too many of your activities.
he missed ice skating, your birthday, at least ten dates, but now he’s missed your anniversary. two years that you’ve been together, yet it’s like you don’t even see the boy anymore.
“what…?”
“it’s always ‘sorry’. if you were really sorry, maybe you would’ve skipped dinner with the boys. you could’ve come home… to me…”, your voice falters at the last two words, cracking with raw emotion.
it’s not fair to you anymore, nor is it to him. he can’t leave group activities or basically anything work related, even when it’s an emergency. if no one’s in danger, then there’s no chance he can leave.
“don’t you ever want to see me…?”
his face contorts into an expression of disgust. not with you, but with himself. his tears finally drip over his lashline, eyes red and burning. the tears are continuous now, completely unable to stop.
“i do… i do want to see you… i miss you so much, y/n.”
you scoff, “don’t lie to me, felix.”
he opens his mouth to say something back, but only a squeak comes out. “do you still love me…?”
“i love you to the ends of the earth… i promise.”
“then why don’t you ever show it? i don’t even know if i believe you anymore.”
he clamps a hand over his mouth, not out of surprise, but to suppress his sobs. he continues hiccupping, but clutches his mouth harder, not wanting to make too much noise.
he tilts his head down slightly so you won’t be able to see the painful look on his face. he tries to pull through, knowing that your pain must be much worse than this.
the sight breaks your heart.
“take your hand off your mouth. you won’t be able to breathe”
he complies, quickly wiping his tears and taking long breaths. “please- please believe m-me. i really do love you. i’m so sorry.”
he says it again, and you look into his eyes. you can see the pain in there, causing your heart to crack even more. you know he’s dealing with a lot right now, but so are you.
and now you need space. time to think about yourself, and time to think about if this relationship is really worth it anymore.
“i swear, i mean it, y/n.”
“you’re the one ruining this. this isn’t fair at all, felix. i love you, but i don’t think you love me the same way i love you. you’re not making an effort in anything. i don’t know if this is going to work anymore if it stays like this.”
silence.
“i need space.”
“i can give you that.”
“i don’t think this relationship is good for either one of us right now. ill come back when im ready.”
he nods in understanding, but his eyes are blown wide. the second you leave the room, he starts sobbing again.
no, not sobbing. wailing.
there’s nothing else he can do. this truly might be the end of what he hoped would be forever. 
he hurt you. he hurt you and that hurts him. your pain is his pain, but he knows you have it worse. if anything, he deserves this pain. you’ve had to bear this pain for months.
it’s his fault, he knows it. everything’s falling apart because of him, like it always does. everything’s ruined. it will end like it always does. 
just felix, alone.
someone else will come along, and he’ll break them too. it’s happened time and time again, and he’s finally given up.
it’s you he wants to spend the rest of his life with. it has to be you. no one else has made him feel this way, not once.
what’s worse is that you’re truly considering breaking up. ending it all because of another stupid thing felix did.
and for this, he will never forgive himself.
he’s still crying, just as loud as before, but now snuggled up into the couch. it smells like you, he realizes. maybe that’s why he’s getting so emotional.
he plays with the promise ring on his finger, crying even more now. maybe he won’t need it anymore after this.
you start packing, taking a good amount of clothes and stuffing them in your suitcase. you’ll have enough space for everything, you’re sure.
you grab one of your favorite sweaters from the closet, it has an adorable baby chick embroidered onto it. you stare at it again, but then put it back. it reminds you too much of him. 
you make your way to the bathroom, placing your hand on the counter while you open the drawers to check for any jewelry, when you hear a clink.
you place your hand down on the marble again.
clink.
you look down at your ring finger, a singular tear leaving your eye. you remember when felix got down on one knee on your one year anniversary. it was too early for a proposal, so you freaked out, but he calmed you down and opened the box.
a promise ring. a simple band to symbolize eternity. an eternity you believed you’d spend with felix. you’re scared that eternity doesn’t exist anymore, as much as you want it to.
you don’t know if he cares. if he cares about what you have. if he cares about you. 
you remove the band from your finger, shaky hands placing it down onto the counter. you observe the thin tan line it’s made, has it truly been that long?
when did everything change…?
you look for the box that felix gave it to you in. you’ve never taken it off since you got it.
you check in your jewelry drawer, but it’s not there. so you check in his.
there it is. a navy blue box with gold accents on the edges. you smile sadly, crying a little more when you truly think about your circumstances.
you grab the ring from the countertop and flip open the box.
your heart stops.
it’s supposed to be empty.
why isn’t it empty?
there’s a gorgeous gold band on the inside, small peonies engraved into it. your favorite flower, you realize. additionally, there’s a perfect heart shaped diamond sitting on top, almost taunting you. 
the heart was meant to symbolize your love. the love you have for eachother. the love he has for you. but felix has never been able to show that properly, not while under his circumstances.
is this the surprise he mentioned the week before? is this why he told you to dress nicely to dinner? is this why he told you to do your nails all nice?
it had to be, right?
you close the box and hold it tightly in your hand, trying your best to suppress the tears that are trying desperately to escape.
but your heart controls you more than your mind.
its almost as if your heart actually has a mind of its own, bringing you to where you are now. standing in the living room, watching the sobs rack felix’s body, velvet box still in hand.
his body jerks with each hiccup, the noise completely muffled by his hand. it’s then you realize that it’s not muffled, he’s suffocating himself.
you place the box down onto the table, rushing over to felix. you grab his shoulder, pushing him over and sitting him upright. he jerks when you touch him, not expecting you to be anywhere near him.
once he truly processes the sight of you, he cries even more. you pry his hand off of his face again, you know it’s a bad habit.
“felix. you won’t be able to breathe when you do that.”
“im sorry. i didn’t w-want you to- to hear m-me”
“deep breaths.”
he inhales deeply, trying his best to follow your breathing patterns, but it fails every time, broken up into small hiccups. “i c-can’t.”
“calm down…”
you give him a small smile, almost to reassure him. he tries again, but it doesn’t work. he shuts his eyes, unable to take it all, and the tears just continue to spill.
“i- i can’t… i can’t breathe”
you rub circles onto his back, trying your best to do breathing exercises with him. you forget how truly sensitive he is. 
“i’m right here…”
“you’re r-right here.”
“mhm… i’m right here, felix.”
“you’re right here… w-why are you here?”
you tilt your head in confusion, wiping a single cascading tear away from his cheek. “i’m here to take care of you.”
“you- i… i don’t deserve it…”
“what?”
“i don’t deserve you. you can- you can leave. i’m not forcing you to stay…”
your heart is now barely holding on, and it feels like only a single thread is holding it together.
“i’m here because i want to help you, lix.”
“you don’t- no- you don’t need to help me… it’s my fault.”
you open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. 
“it’s my fault… i’m sorry.”
“felix…”
“you’ll leave…”
what’s going on with him?
“they all leave… n-not you too…”
“felix.”
“i don’t want you to leave… it’s all my fault.”
“felix, please, calm—“
“you’re going to leave…”
“i’m not going to leave.”
“i ruined it…”
it’s almost as if he’s stuck in the same state of mind, every part of the world being blocked out except for the terrible thoughts swirling around in there.
you cup his cheek with your hand, guiding his gaze towards you. one single look into your eyes, and he’s sobbing again. 
you place your left hand on his knee, you know how much he loves to feel you, but he only seems to cry more.
he tentatively brings a hand up to the one splayed out in his knee, and you watch him out of curiosity. he giggles, and you look back up.
he’s crying even more now, you don’t even know how that’s possible. he picks up your hand by your ring finger, staring at the tan line that your promise ring created. 
“i ruined it. how could i ever let you go…?”
he runs his thumb over it, and he quickly pulls your hand closer to his face. he places a soft kiss onto the line, just once, as to finally seal his fate.
it will never happen. he must accept it.
you don’t let go, instead intertwining your fingers. “i thought about it for a little. i really don’t want to leave you felix. i just… i didn’t know if you loved me anymore.”
“i do… i do love you.”
“i know that now.”
“you don’t know the full extent to which i do, y/n. i don’t just love you for what you have to offer. i love you for you. i love you for your smile, and i love you for waking up everyday. i love you for working hard, and i love you for your heart. i love you for things i can’t even see, and i love every part that makes you you. i love y/n. i love you. and i love you for being you.”
it feels as if the tears in your heart have finally been stitched up. every crack in your heart healed with his pure words. you know they came from the heart too. 
“i can’t guarantee i’ll be there for every event, and im sorry for that. ive tried to change that, but the rules are strict. even then, i wont give up. i’ll try my best to change them, i want to be the best boyfriend i can be. i dont want to rush dates because im running out of time, but instead because i cant wait to get home and finally cuddle with you without being in the public eye. i dont want to be late to any events just so that i can see that beautiful smile on your face when you see me there. i just want to make you happy, happier than you’ve been recently.”
“oh felix…”
he doesn’t say anything else, placing your hand back down on his knee and retracting his hand. that’s when his gaze flies to the table in front of him, the dark blue velvet box staring right at him.
he stands up, grabs it, and then kneels back down, on not one, but both knees. it looks almost as if he’s begging, but what you don’t realize, is that he truly is. he’s begging for your forgiveness, and he’s begging for another chance.
he has to make things right.
“y/n… i know i haven’t been the best boyfriend recently, not at all, but i want to make things right. you’ve brought so much light into my world, and i want to bring you that light too. i just need you to give me one last chance. one chance to make it right. i know it’s not the perfect proposal, but please, make me the happiest man in the world.”
he flicks open the box, displaying the band you last observed in the bathroom.
“i love you.”
“that’s not a yes or a no.”
“yes, i love you.”, you repeat.
you can’t control your heart anymore, and you take the chance to push felix down to kiss him. you know it’s not the ideal proposal, nor is it the ideal post-proposal kiss, but your answer would always be yes.
“it’s you, felix. it’s always been you.”
“y/n.”
“hm?”
“i promise, i’ll never let you go again.”
<3
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rinhaler · 6 months
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NOTSCAREDNOTSCAREDNOTSCARED!
✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ frat boy!oliver aiku x f!reader
Genre: college!au (mostly shameless smut tbh) Notes: first fic on my new blog and it's absolutely disgusting, enjoy. Warnings: 18+, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, virgin killer!oliver, implied virgin reader, tit sucking, pussy eating, biting, fingering, marking, love bites ♡, creampie, spit, alcohol consumption, lmk if I missed any!! Words: 5.3k
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What a naïve little thing you are.
That’s the first thing Oliver thinks when he sets his sights on you. A shy, sweet girl wearing the one and only cocktail dress you probably own. It’s so simple but makes a loud statement. You don’t look like the other girls here. You aren’t wearing designer clothes that fit you like a glove, no. The ill-fitting garment you’ve chosen to wear speaks volumes to your innocent nature and your lack of confidence. You don’t have friends, do you? You’re here, alone, in the sleaziest and most prolific fraternity on campus. Of course, it’s a party, and anyone is welcome to attend. But the fact that you decided to come here, alone, makes him think you might be a little stupid.
But that suits him just fine.
He doesn’t approach immediately, for fear of giving the game away too soon. He bides his time and observes your behaviours and mannerisms as you wade through the crowds. His eyes have followed your longing gaze a few times and noticed how you keep looking towards the kitchen. It’s the busiest room in the house right now, he assumes. That’s where the keg and all of the alcohol is.
But almost as soon as you look that way, you avert your eyes and look elsewhere in search of a place to belong. You’ve tried starting a few conversations with the girls, but Oliver knows how catty and mean they can be. Poor thing, fresh meat like you doesn’t stand a chance.
You’re lonely, aren’t you? You’ll feel better with a little company, yeah?
He carefully walks by you in a way that will cause you to spill the drink from your grasp. And with that, this sinful game can begin. The one in which he tells you how sorry he is for causing an accident and ruining your dress. He’s so apologetic that you just can’t help but forgive him right away. And his attractiveness doesn’t go amiss. The kindest person you’ve met thus far just so happens to be so deliciously handsome.
“Let me get you a refill, it’s only fair.” he winks. And you hate yourself because your stomach flits at the casual gesture. It’s probably a line that he uses on all of the girls he meets at parties like this. It’s plain to see that he’s confident. You’re sure there won’t be a shortage of girls throwing themselves at him after a gesture like that.
But you aren’t stupid enough to be the same.
He seems older, by at least two years. He seems comfortable enough here to get you a drink so maybe this is his party. He could have a girlfriend for all you know that is in another room and completely oblivious. You don’t want to make waves before you even experience your first day of class.
People seem friendlier towards you when they notice you with him. Is it genuine? Or could they be laughing at you? His hand resides in the small of your back as he guides you far into the kitchen; until you’re standing between an island counter and the fridge. Your body is warming, and, fuck, he can feel it. You’re so shy. He hasn’t seen a girl like you in a long time. The slightest bit of attention and touching and you’re putty in his hand. What a good girl you are, he’s going to have so much fun with you.
You watch him, carefully, as he rummages through the fridge and grabs a can of beer.
You’re a little deflated as he cracks it for himself and begins to chug.
“I didn’t catch your name.” he states as his unmistakable eyes watch you intently. He has eyes you’ve never seen before, and you’ll have a hard time forgetting. Mismatched purple and green. They’re dull, but not uninteresting by any means. They’re the eyes of a man who always gets what he wants. Those eyes beautiful eyes… they’re bored because they are a prestigious, all access key to gain whatever his heart desires. You hum, hesitating for a moment until you decide you’re too awkward and uncomfortable to hide your name from him. “Oh, that’s a real pretty name. I’m Oliver.” he introduces himself.
“Hey… Oliver.” you smile, unsure of how to respond. You’re so on edge. His peculiar eyes are examining each and every movement you make like you’re being graded. And your heart is pounding… you can’t help yourself. Nobody here has extended so much as a pitying smile. You want to pass his test, he’s the only person being remotely nice to you. But still, there’s a gnawing feeling eating away and corroding your insides and it makes you feel like a criminal, like you’re doing something wrong.
Like you absolutely should not be talking to him right now.
“You’re pretty too.” he smiles, brazenly. His voice is so deep and charming, a sonorous lull as he knows all he needs to do is utter these three simple words to get a girl like you to be completely and utterly captivated. It’s such a pathetic, insipid sentence and you can’t stand that it’s working on you.
You get a full view of his wide, toothy grin and you sense that he’s trying to extend a gesture of trust to you. And you’re encapsulated by it. Pristine pearls almost blinding you and short circuiting your brain as you arrive at the realisation that he might be perfect. His features nothing short of perfection and accentuate his beguiling persona that you can’t get enough of. You haven’t even noticed the way your chest is heaving as you devour a mind-altering cocktail with him as the main ingredient.
And he can’t help but chuckle when he notices how flustered you’ve become from his words, you adorable thing. Three little words are making you squeeze your thighs together and fold your arms over your chest. And don’t think he hasn’t noticed the quickened breaths you’re taking and the dampening forehead you’re suddenly trying to wipe away. He’s noticing everything about you and making mental notes in his mind he will use later.
Do you know how vulnerable you’re being?
You should know better than to be so visibly rattled by him. He may be handsome but he’s hardly screaming upstanding citizen at you. It’s the facial hair. It’s so grotesque and sleazy and wholly unpleasant. And still, the only thought swirling around your tiny, tipsy mind is how it would feel against your skin as you kiss. How would the scruff feel between your inner thighs as he devoured your petalled flesh. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, you aren’t sure what’s wrong with you.
You don’t know how to act, do you?
“Don’t be so nervous, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer. The smell of his cologne invading your senses. It’s familiar, it smells expensive and suits him just fine. The type of fragrance you’d save for a special occasion to make an impact and impress people you’re around. Your nostrils flare as you inhale more. More of it. More of him. You need more.
He angles his head as he monitors your response to his proximity. He grins when he notes that you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Moving them a few times before you decide to grip the overhang of the counter behind you until the skin covering your knuckles are taut, turning white. You want to feel his chest, don’t you? It’s so broad and muscular and peaking under his shirt, he doesn’t blame you. You probably haven’t had much experience with a guy like him.
He's more than happy to show you.
You’re starting to think your heart is packing up its belongings and preparing to flee from your own chest as you feel it beating rapidly against your ribs. He’s so intoxicating, you feel lightheaded and overwhelmed by the mere presence of him. His body is trapping yours against the counter. He’s so damn tall, taller than you could have possibly imagined now that he’s pressed against you like this. Your cheeks fill with heat, and you think you might actually faint against him if he doesn’t move away. “There are bad guys at places like this, y’know? Dangerous place to be so pretty.” he warns you, whispering gently in your ear. The tone rushing through your veins and forcing you to shiver. His eyes meet yours after he speaks, his stare willing you to understand what he’s saying.
“T-Thank you…” you mumble.
“Hey, don’t worry so much. I’m the house president, I’ll keep an eye on you.” he assures you, moving away ever so slightly while keeping a lingering hand on your shoulder. A commanding touch to make your body and your mind focus on him. His hand is cold to the touch and you realise it’s from holding the metal can, cold from the refrigerator. The cooling caress of his fingers is polar opposite to the warm smile he’s offering you. You aren’t sure what to do or say, but you need not worry about yourself anymore. He had intended on doing all of your thinking for you tonight, anyway. “Oh, shit, you wanted a drink, right? Let me get one for you.” he speaks, his body moving to act before you can even answer.
“U-Um…” you hesitate, seeing him grab a bottle of rum and a mixer. You hate spirits because they always get you embarrassingly wasted. There are four prominent occasions in the forefront of your mind as you reminisce on the states you’ve found yourself in after drinking spirits. The smell alone is enough to make you gag, but you do all you can to ignore it. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself, you don’t want to do something humiliating that will be talked about for years to come.
You aren’t a prude; you aren’t opposed to getting drunk. You just don’t think it’s a good way to introduce yourself.
He’s moving so fast, and his back is to you as he pours your drink, the red solo cup obscured from your vision as he fills it to the brim for you.
You dumb little thing.
Isn’t this something you’ve been warned about? Not letting your drinks out of your sight at any point, ever. Of course you have, it’s rule number one of going to parties or nightclubs or anywhere that your drink can be tampered with.
You just aren’t thinking straight.
And why would you?
You’re so out of place in this big, intimidating environment. You’re hardly going to suspect the first person to show you a bit of kindness is actually the shadiest guy at the party. But deep down, you know you should consider everyone a suspect after hearing what he had to say. If the guys here are so shady, why does he stick with them? If he’s the president, why doesn’t he tell them to do better?
These few fleeting thoughts have been nothing but. Passing ideas that you thought of and discarded as quickly as they arrived. You can’t live your life in fear or you’ll never make any friends here. And he’s going to all of this trouble for you. You’re nobody to him, and he’s still finding it in his heart to extend a benevolent demeanour to you and making sure you have a drink and a friendly face to keep you company for the night.
So you aren’t going to think twice that he’s slipped something in your drink, you can’t see what he’s doing, but for some reason, you trust him. Would you trust him, still, if he wasn’t so good looking? Would you trust him less if he hadn’t announced he is the fraternity president? He knows you’d never have trusted receiving a drink from him if he just offered it to you out of nowhere.
He’s happy he didn’t have to work too hard, you aren’t completely stupid, but you’re still dumb enough to accept a drink from him like this. You barely even think about it as he flashes you a beaming smile and hands it to you. Hell, it might even loosen you up. You knock half of it back in three seconds and you giggle after the fact.
He’s laughing too.
But it’s at your expense, you poor, sweet thing. You’re going to be seeing so many stars tonight, a sight reserved for Oliver’s favourite angels.
“You’re crazy, huh? You like to party a lot, baby?” he wonders, taking another swig of his drink as he rests against the fridge beside him.
“No, never! This is my first big party.” you confess, and he doesn’t miss the way you slightly cringe at yourself for saying something you must think is a little embarrassing. “I mean, I’ve been to parties… this one is just—”
“You’ll get used to it.” he tells you. “The first one is always memorable, though.”
“Really? How come?” you ask, curiously.
God you’re so cute, it’s killing him. Even he can’t hide the smirk forming on his face as he tries to conceal it with his beer. He decides to not answer. Instead, he admires the way you look disappointed at the prospect of him losing interest in you. He thinks he could bathe in the watery sheen glossing over your eyes as you worry that you’ve said something so stupid that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.
He's such a disgustingly vile man. All he can think to do is refuse to put you out of your misery. Instead, he revels in the way you knock back the rest of your drink. The way your eyes widen paints a perfect picture in telling him it was too strong for you. Stronger than anything you’ve ever drank in your life. And that’s without the added ingredient he decided to slip in.
“I— do you have a girlfriend?” your question is abrupt as you wipe the excess liquid from your plump lips. Your watery eyes watching him keenly as you do your best to decipher his intentions.
“No.”
You scoff and shake your head. “I don’t even know why I asked you that, as if you’d tell the truth.” you mumble to yourself, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. And just as you’re about to walk away, he responds.
“I don’t care if you know whether I have a girlfriend or not. I would only care if I was trying to fuck you.” the sentence rolls off his tongue with ease. Like he knew exactly what you were going to say before you even thought of it. And you feel a wave of humiliation crash throughout your body; you feel a current trying to drag you under and suffocate you under the foaming sea.
“Y-You aren’t?” you need to stop talking. You need to stop embarrassing yourself like this. For his benefit. For the other people in the kitchen with you. It feels like everyone is staring at you and laughing at your expense. Maybe you’re just drunk and being paranoid. You should go, you should sprint out of here with whatever small scraps of dignity you have left.
He shakes his head, his hand reaching out to yours to pull you closer to him. It trails, up your side and to your chin as your eyes fixate on his. His thumb smooths over your chin, encouraging you to open your mouth for him. He tilts his can of beer onto your lower lip. The golden, yeasty liquid spills from the metal container and onto your tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as all you can do is stand there and take it. Your little throat expanding with each glug of the disgustingly bitter drink.
Your body is once again pressed against the counter. He snickers when he feels your body jolt against his as you hear the sound of the beer can he was holding clattering against the tiled floor. And he takes great delight in the way your body melts against his touch as he places a hand on your hip. The other, smoothing the shell of your ear before he levels his mouth with it.
“I don’t need to try, I’m going to fuck you.” he whispers, he kisses against your ear a few times and the sound rushes straight to your clit. You squeeze your thighs together again hoping to alleviate the brewing tension. You pray you were discreet enough for him to not notice.
You weren’t.
And it’s worse as he kisses your neck so openly in front of everyone. He sucks and sucks and sucks until his name is signed in blue and purple blooms against your skin. You bite your lip, internally cursing him for forcing you to have to wear a scarf for the coming weeks until it fades away.
“S-Stop it.” your legs buckle and there is something wrong with your eyes. The room won’t stop spinning. You didn’t drink that much, did you?
“Woah!” Oliver exclaims as you fall into his hold. “You don’t know how to handle your drink, hm? I think you need to sleep it off.”
“T-Tax—”
“No, no. I’d be a terrible host if I made you get a taxi all by yourself. C’mon.” he lifts you with ease, your entire body limp in his arms. And he just can’t believe how lucky he is. How blessed he is to be born so genetically gifted. Because he knows there is no way in hell he’d be getting away with this if he wasn’t attractive. Girls looking at him like he’s some kind of hero coming to your rescue. Him, a hero. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.
There’s no way you’re forgetting your first frat party.
He’ll make sure of that.
As he passes a few of his brothers on the stairs, they all share a knowing look. Like this isn’t the first time Oliver has been in this predicament. And it surely won’t be the last. He winks at them as he walks by, and he puts you down as he reaches his door, your body dropping like a stone as he lets you fall with no care.
You can do nothing but groan as he drags you by your underarms and into his room. God you want to go home. Not to your student accommodation. Home. You want to be with your parents and under your own roof, sleeping in your own bed. It’s hard to even tell where you are. Are you still in the kitchen? No, there’s no way.
All you can think about is how tired you are.
Suddenly, you’re in the air, being flung onto a nearby bed. You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you. You’re no longer in control and you can’t move your limbs how you want to. You want to use your legs and walk right on out of here and into a taxi.
But you’re lucky, really.
Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It’s all his. His to do whatever he wants with. You can’t move, and yet Oliver is going to be kind enough to move you however he likes. Maybe you don’t feel so lucky about it. But you’re just confused right now. Oliver knows you wanted this. Wanted him. The pill in your drink was just a little insurance policy to make sure everyone got what they want.
He prefers girls like this anyway.
Nice ‘n pliant.
“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he smiles, lecherous hands feeling each and every inch of your body. A curious hand reaching up to touch the fat flesh of one of your tits as he massages it over your tiny little dress. “Think you can wear something like this and expect me not to fuck you?” he whispers.
“Mmmpf…” you hum, there’s still a little defiance in you. At this point, he wouldn’t mind if you were on the cusp of sleep. There’s something so special to him about extracting salacious moans from unconscious bodies.
“’m just getting you out of this little thing… gonna find a comfy t-shirt for you to wear to sleep.” he assures you. He wonders if you believe him. He almost believes himself. But as he pulls down the strapless bust of your dress and your supple flesh is revealed to him, the thought of covering it again dies an instant death in his mind. “Fuuuuuck, gorgeous fuckin’ tits.” he moans, his bulge straining against his jeans as envisions himself sucking them until they’re puckered and raw.
He climbs over you, your tiny frame beneath his domineering one. He’s sure you hadn’t neglected to notice how muscular he is before you passed out, even beneath his clothes. He must be some kind of athlete. He’s too beefy not to be. And boy, does he use his weight and size to his advantage when he’s dealing with delicate things like you.
His head practically falls from his shoulder as he decides to let his fantasy come to life. He licks and laves over your tits individually until he gets a little rougher. Softly nibbling the tender buds until they are aching and so sore. His teeth bruise your flesh as he marks them. An assortment of canines and molars as well as decorative love bites.
Any chance you had of forgetting this party are gone.
You’ll know what happened to you.
You might even remember who did it.
But there’s no way a sweet, timid freshman like you is going to have the courage to tell such an unbelievable tale. You might think there are steps in place to protect innocent things like you. You’re a victim, after all. You need protecting. But once again, that would just be so telling as to how naïve you truly are. Drugging pretty girls at college parties is never going to end. The staff, the students, even the police are never going to side with you.
And why would they? These false statements issued by the board, talks of ‘standing with victims’ and offering a listening ear are nothing but lip service. The institution you have found yourself in will say anything to seem like a worthwhile choice. The right and most beneficial choice to you and your future.
But the harrowing truth is that they don’t have time to protect girls like you when they are too busy covering up the messes of men like him.
He pushes your dress up to your midsection, exposing a pair of white lace panties.
“Awe, for me? You knew you were gonna get lucky tonight, didn’t you?” he asks. But of course, you’re unresponsive. His finger prods at the thin material, an involuntary laugh leaving his lungs as he is greeted with the feeling of your soaked underwear on the pad of his digit. “Too dumb t’speak right now… good job your cunt is telling me how much you want me.”
His thumb circles your clit over the material. And even he’s a little dumbfounded at the way your body betrays you. You squirm and your brows furrow as you try to stave off the pleasurable feeling. But for all he knows, you could be trying to fight him off.
He doesn’t care, though, your pussy already gave your true feelings away.
Even he can’t ignore the way his cock is leaking at the sight of your tight heat becoming exposed as he peels away your panties. A slick string connecting your sex to the material.
You must be a virgin, he thinks. Virgins get wet so easily. He suspected it from the moment he saw you. You’re so awkward and uncomfortable around people, but especially guys. You fumble over your words, and you can’t flirt to save your fucking life. But he didn’t care. The thought of your first time being with him was enough to make him want you. And even if you have fucked before. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know. The very thought is enough.
He pins your knees to your chest, and he begins to feast on your dripping cunt. You shudder as your body feels the tension building with each suckle and slurp against your clit. It’s unrelenting, he can’t get enough of you. He’s fucking addicted to the taste of your slick and he doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it. Your left leg ragdolls as he lets go, opting to slip a finger into your unprepared hole without stopping his assault on your swollen clit.
And without hesitation, he’s adding another. He takes his time scissoring you open, and by now he’s convinced you’re a virgin. You’re so fucking tight. There’s no way you’ve had a dick inside of you. Or if you have, it must have been small.
You won’t have to worry about that with him.
Even unconscious, he’s sure you’ll feel how he’s gonna stretch you.
Your lazy groans are like a cheer to him. Your body is telling him what a great job he’s doing. How close you are. How badly you want to cum in his mouth and douse his thick, calloused fingers in your syrupy sheen.
The tip of his tongue lashes over the throbbing button at the apex of your thighs. He doesn’t particularly care if you take him well or not. You’re going to take him regardless. But he isn’t so heartless he won’t try and make it a little less painful for you. He’s urging you to cum for him, his free hand pressing down on your abdomen in a bid to enhance your pleasure. With each whip of his tongue against your clit and every press of your spongy insides with his fingers, he’s trying to drag you over the edge.
Your lifeless body surprises him once more.
He pulls away and observes the way your pussy pulses and your walls tighten around his fingers as you begin to cum for him. Your spent little cunt drooling around his thick digits and coating them in your slick. You even moaned for him. Not loudly, of course. A few tell-tale grunts to let him know you were happy with his work.
His eyes ogle your tits once again, admiring the way your chest rises and falls as he sucks his fingers clean. You’re so fucking cute. You must be heaven sent, the way you stepped into the frat may as well have been a gift with a garish bow from Santa Claus himself.
He unbuckles his belt with one hand whilst squeezing and pinching your nipples once again. They’re so pretty, the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen. He’s rock hard in his jeans, leaking like crazy and desperate to be buried to the hilt in your sweet little snatch.
And his heavy cock springs free, the tip leaving evidence of just how desperate he is on his v-neck shirt. Pearly pre shimmering against the black material that is soon to dry and harden and meld with the cotton fibres. But he can’t find it in himself to care. He pulls it over his head and throws it into the corner of his room, he’ll deal with it another time. There’s something much more entertaining lying atop his sheets right now.
“Mmm… think this is gonna hurt sweetheart. But you’re gonna be good ‘n take it f’me, yeah?” he lines himself up with your entrance and gives your still body one final look before breaching your insides with his thick cockhead. “Fuckin’ hell you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight, might cum just from this.” he speaks.
He knows you can’t understand him, but he can’t stop himself from communicating with you anyway. He needs you to know how special you are. That out of all of the girls at the party, he chose you. Don’t you feel special? He’s sure you will when you’re stuffed full of his cum. It’ll all dawn on you tomorrow and you’ll feel so honoured that the one and only Oliver Aiku fucked you open and covered you in so many pretty patterns and was even kind enough to pump you full of his cum.
You have no idea how much restraint he’s showing by not instantly splitting you open on his thick, heavy cock. He can’t help but feel that slowly plunging into your virgin walls is a better display of claiming your body. It’s almost torture for him, easing in inch at a time at an agonising pace.
And when he’s fully sheathed inside your suffocating walls, the pleasure is almost too much, he could shed a tear at the feeling. But, of course, he won’t. He’s prioritising the task at hand.
He holds under your knee and pushes it further into your chest and begins to slowly roll his hips. It’s hypnotising, the way even out of consciousness your eyes can still roll back into your skull. He takes note of how he’s moving when your eyelids begin to flutter.
“Oh baby… right there? Like it when I fuck you there?” he wonders, experimenting with his movement and speeding up ever so slightly. His cockhead is nudging your g-spot so perfectly. It’s so deliciously soft, and those saccharine expressions you’re donning are about to drag him to an early demise.
His grip on your thigh is harsh. Another galaxy of purple bruises forming under his fingers on your doughy skin. He hasn’t noticed. It’s second nature to him to be a little rougher than intended. But it’s part of the fun, right? More little discoveries for you to find in days to come.
He’s entranced by the way his cock vanishes inside of your cute cunt. He’s being swallowed whole by your sticky lips. The sound reverberates throughout the room. The suctioning sounds of you pulling him inside and the tackiness of your pussy and his cock meeting again and again and again.
Your eyes squint as he yanks down your jaw until he sees your tongue. He’s so abhorrent and even at this point he knows this to be the truth himself. He just can’t fucking help it. He wants to do anything and everything to you. He wants to humiliate you because you’re just that special to him. With a cartoonish ‘ptuh’ sound, a glob of spit has landed on your tongue and is slowly sliding down your throat.
With a few more presses of his tip against your sweet spot, you’re spasming around him again. Maybe you liked it after all. You wouldn’t cum if you didn’t. Do you like being taken advantage of by reprehensible scum like Oliver Aiku? Do you like being unconscious while getting your insides pummelled? This might warp your tiny little mind. Maybe you’ll think this is love and this is what you’re meant for. It is, as far as Oliver is concerned. He doesn’t let up humping into your tiny hole. He spits in your mouth again, and it’s the final straw to pull him into his oncoming bliss right along with you.
“Little slut,” he pants, his hips faltering as he feels himself reaching the precipice. “Mine. My little slut. My fuckin’ cunt. H-Hear me? Mine.” he practically growls as he shoots load after load into your unprotected womb. “Ah— fuck. Fuuuuuck—” he finishes, fucking his viscous seed back into you.
He pulls out immediately after, admiring the way his sperm drips and squelches out of your spent cunt. You’re clenching around nothing, poor thing. You must miss him.
But you don’t have to worry. You won’t have to miss him for long. You’re not done, after all. He just needs some time to recharge. He wasn’t just going to fuck you once and be done with you. Not a perfect little pussy like that, no. Those drugs will be in your system for a few hours.
He’s far from done with you yet.
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