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#i rarely dream about fictional characters

limerental · 1 year

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oh I had a blorbo dream, I never have blorbo dreams. dreams where I either am or interact with varying characters in a way that feels like fanfiction/role-playing? usually I have dreams more like the second half where some possums were fighting over lit fireworks in the yard and I had to send out the dogs to go get em away from the barn before they burnt it down.

#an interesting glimpse into wtf is going on in my head #i can fixate on fictional characters all day yet rarely ever dream about them #this was basically a platonic x reader fic aneuejfkw #there was also a fruit tree theme. lots of oranges

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localgays2 · 1 year

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omg omg I had a dream I met shiv and was so shocked and upset that she was standoffish and not really interested in talking to me

#I rarely dream about fictional characters amd if I do I know they’re not real #but in this one it was like I was actually meeting her #succession #shiv roy #me things

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irn-bru · 2 years

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in my two hours of sleep last night i had the strangest and most stressful dream of my life. i was just at my regular job, doing the office work, except darth vader was my supervisor. and im aware of this in my dream, but he rarely comes into the office so it doesn't matter. except today he did decide to come into the office and just. watch me. just stand there, breathing heavily, and watch me work. it's all i could hear the entire time i am slowly and sluggishly making my way through my work, and im just kinda expecting him to launch me into the wall at any given moment but before that happens i woke up. i think i understand exactly what it was like to work under him

#i stayed up watching stanger things. it happens #i think this dream is the amalgamation of me recently talking about chad vader- day shift manager. and the fact that i HATE my job #its so weird. like i was actually scared of him it was so unsettling #my brain was like 'do you want a fun way to relate to your blorbos?' and gave me karyn and the chimaera bridge crews situation in alliances #i still love that ugly bin liner but omg this was just so much #beth.txt #also should point out my dreams rarely ever include fictional characters. it is mostly just a random assortment of my life #so this was really unexpected haagfacaahskl

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diejager · 9 months

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Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

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moonlightsapphic · 1 year

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Look, I just need you guys to understand how important queer coming-of-age forbidden romances on internationally accessible platforms like Netflix is, especially to youth in countries where homosexuality still hasn't been legally decriminalised or socially accepted.

That was a mouthful, so let me explain. You, a white American adult with a liberal family, may not relate to a fictional anxious teen Swedish prince grappling with strict familial and societal expectations versus his first love. You may not find anything special in a bunch of queer British teens discovering themselves and figuring out complex relationships that are honestly rather simplistic, in retrospect. It might be a little too trite for you. Like, just a little vanilla without any extra drama. Perhaps corny—cringe, even. Too wholesome.

But you know what that is to me, a desi queer young adult? It's representation, in an unlikely place. My country certainly isn't making movies or shows where I see my secret relationship between me and my girlfriend portrayed. I don't see that happening in the next couple of decades, either, sadly. But you know who’s telling our stories? Alice Oseman. Lisa Ambjörn, Lars Beckung and Camilla Holter. Through fictional storylines that might seem kind of boring to you, I am finally able watch my lived experiences play out on screen.

American media has done such a disservice to queer coming-of-age stories. I want to scream this from the rooftops. Y’all, I’m glad to see more out quirky queer side-characters—I can’t get enough of them—but why is it so rarely their story, in sharp focus, about how they found themselves? I want to know how they overcame internalised homophobia. When was the moment they knew? What is the cost they have to pay for being out? For not being out?

And no, I don’t want it to be dramatic. I don’t need to see violence or betrayals or victorious kisses in public, really. I’m happiest with the teenagers behaving like real teenagers. Innocent, vulnerable, nervous. I want it to be heartfelt, and excruciatingly slow, and authentic. I want to see the small wins and the subtle losses. The quiet mental toll of how much you have to give to a queer relationship—especially your first queer relationship—and how hard that can be to separate from your Identity itself.

Give me that "am I gay?" quiz and genuinely crying at 3:00 AM because you're in a rabbit hole about LGBTQ+ rights in a country where you actually don’t want to be gay and you don’t even know if you “count” anyway. Show me that moment where you're going back and forth from forbidding yourself from seeing the one person that sees and understands you and it's to protect your mental and physical well-being but it's driving you insane. Give me ALL THE YOUNG ADULT BI+ AWAKENINGS where one person strolls into your life and changes everything. No, it’s really not the same as most cis-heterosexual insta-love movies out there, even if it looks that way to you. It doesn’t even cut it close.

The happy ending, the acceptance is only what I can dream of, not what I can expect. The wholesomeness is actually radical to me.

No, we’re not past the need for basic star-crossed queer romances. For most countries in the world (including for many white American teenagers!), we need them as much as ever.

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vamph00n · 17 days

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idea, but idk if you take ideas

reader gets turned on by hoon’s vampire like features, and convinces him to rp as one while they’re fucking

mdni

tags: femreader, vampire kink, mentions of the twilight movies, hoon is jealous obv.

*not proofread will do later

wc: 1,2k

smut tags under the cut

i added my own lil spin on it annonie~ mainly cause i’ve been rewatching twilight rndjsoskdndknsla

smut tags: biting kink, implications of sex, dirty talk, chest groping, etc

he doesn’t know how many times you watched those stupid twilight movies. all he knew is that you fawned over some guy in those films with the most victorian name ever. he wasn’t your type and sunghoon was sure of it, why would he be your type when he; your boyfriend, was right there? nah, he didn’t like that you thought of any other men than him. even if he was fictional.

you had all the books too, along with whatever smutty literature he saw on that well dusted shelf in your house. you lived in those dirty fantasies when he was right there. the way you’d kick your feet and giggle while watching those movies. it really pissed him off, it was all imaginary, pretend. it was stupid for him to be so jealous, but god there was one thing he hated the most about your little hyper fixation…

well, the thing is sunghoon doesn’t want to come off as a pissy bitch. he’ll happily go along with whatever endeavors you put him through. it’s just when you make him watch the same few movies with you again, he felt his ego shrink every passing second spent staring at robert pattinson play a vampire. especially when your comments consisted of comparisons between him and edward whats-his-face’s character.

“look at him hoon, he’s like all sparkly in the sun, n’ he has like this mad gaze.” Your eyes pan over to your boyfriend, watching him stare at the tv blankly, in a boredom induced daze.

he’s tuning out what you’re saying, because well, it makes him feel somewhat inadequate. it’s so rare for him to feel this way. he’s so self assured, maybe even a little egotistical sometimes. how can he not be? you yourself loaded up his little brain with compliments and ideas. saying how he’s the man of your fucking dreams, or the way your body contorted in different ways, becoming helpless when he did so little as touching you. hell yeah, you made him feel so damn special.

with his brows furrowed at the screen, he sees your odd stare from the corner of his eye. why do anything to reassure you of what you were thinking in that moment? he knows you, he can practically read your mind. before diverting your attention back to the screen a scoff leaves your mouth. call him petty or whatever you want, he just wants to get through watching this god forsaken movie for the millionth time without his brain frying.

sunghoon is so ridged. his arms are crossed, and he’s like, all stiff. whatever, you can deal with it. although it’s frustrating that he’s so oblivious.

you find yourself scooting closer, leaning and commenting on the movie. with each sentence you say, you can feel his dreary attitude loom over. it’s given, you’ve forced him to death watch your silly little movies to the point where he himself can recite each word.

“he’s like, —i don’t know. like can you imagine? getting puncture wounds, and hickeys at the same—“

that’s where sunghoon draws the line.

“can you shut up?”

dang. he was livid. you have right to your own thoughts but to think like that? when he’s right there? when he can well rip off your panties and fuck you the way this guy can’t because it’s all speculative? all you had to do was let him, just ask and he’ll deliver. you know it.

but then again, you boyfriend is as dense as concrete and dumb as bricks sometimes. guess you’d have to give him a nudge, a hint too probably.

“i mean, can you imagine what’s it like to be a vampire?”

you’ve practically told him what you wanted, and he still has that red cloudy look of jealousy with somewhat of a frown on his face and his overgrown bangs shading his eyes. if he wasn’t upset, you’d tell him how cute he looks right now. how dumb he is, is also what you’d tell him. then again you weren’t exactly being straightforward.

with your question slipping in one ear and out the other, he just tunes you out. yeah it’s pathetic he feels so strongly about something so meaningless, could he help it though? he was insane about you.

your eyes darken as you grab the remote, and thank goodness you turned it off. sunghoon finds you sliding on of your legs over his thighs as you take a seat. you gaze into his eyes, he looks annoyed. he’s suppressing the urge to just fuck the stupid crush you had on that twilight vampire out of you. it makes you laugh at how blind he is. nevermind, you probably had to spell it out for him.

“you can do that. you can bite me here, and here-“

you drag your two fingers indicating where he could, and his breath hitches. it’s like all his senses are tingly, and piercing. his ears are ringing, with the rush of adrenaline and the newfound excitement he had. just hearing you describe what you wanted him to do.

you saw his jaw hang slack, as you merely told him what you wanted. tracing your fingers down your abdomen and to your thighs, you tap on the fleshy inner part.

“you can bite here too.”

his hands grab your hips, he gets it now. he slides a hand up your shirt holding your chest. your mind drives him crazy. his touch sends shivers down your spine.

“here too?” he asks asks, so politely.

it makes you heat up, and become more wet than your imagination allowed. when you thought of him like the cold blooded undead he resembled so much, it made you infatuated with the idea of it. the idea of him. how could he not see it? when you drew comparisons that surely pointed towards his own features that you loved so much.

his pretty skin glows in the dim light of your living room unlike of that portrayed in the movie. he’s real, and right here.

“didn’t you ever think, perhaps..” you say it so sweetly as you feel his hand roam around your body.

before you can finish your sentence, your breath is cut short. your back is now against the cushions of the couch, and his arms trap you beneath him. sunghoon wonders how he got so lucky, to have someone like you to show him all the ways he can make you wet. your so sick and twisted, not for your little fantasy you wanted him to indulge in, but the fact you didn’t just tell him straight up. he ought to punish you.

he’ll let it slide though. partially because he feels his cock twitch restrained by his pants, and because he’s so willing to do what you ask of him. he knows this is the just the beginning, and honestly he’ll have fun woh it. so with his lips ghosting your neck, and his hot breath up against your ear he asks you a question.

“tell me what else you want me to do as your vampire. sweetheart”

#enhypen #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #boost #enha #sunghoon #sunghoon hard thoughts #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon vampire #roleplay #vampire k!nk #biting k!nk #redacted

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sapphixxx · 4 months

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Part of why I dragged my feet on ever checking out JJK was the reputation I heard was that it's a BRUTAL grimdark story where ANYONE can DIE in a snap and the author says FUCK you. And after finally catching up with the anime that just... Isn't the tone at all?? Like, Game of Thrones, Gantz, Attack on Titan, etc other cornerstone grimdark reference points, I think one of their defining hallmarks is not just that characters die suddenly and violently, but that human life is nasty, brutish, and meaningless, and it's your own fault for being stupid enough to get attached.

Jujutsu Kaisen on the other hand, I don't know how you can look at one of the most recent casualties circa S2Ep20 of the anime where that character gets a full entire episode reminiscing about their childhood, and the moments and people that meant most to them, and come away thinking the author's intent was to treat life as meaningless. The amount of screen time devoted to the following character who gets badly maimed, the audience gets enthusiastically shoved neck deep into their insane kaleidoscopic passion that is never once undercut or subverted. Both of these characters, far from being callously snuffed out and dumped in the trash, were shown immense love. What we got was not a statement of their life being disposable, but a celebration of life, a reminder of who they are, what they cared about, what made them special, who they loved and who loved them and will remember them in turn.

This is a story about curses born of misery, hatred, and malice. It is also a story deeply concerned with dualism, especially when it comes to attachment and desire. Misery stems from worldly attachments, but it is not weak or foolish to become attached to things in this world. To love something is to set yourself up for the pain or anger of losing it, or sadness of having it denied. But that love is what makes life worth living anyway, and what makes it worth it to keep fighting. We as the audience are sad because we are attached to these characters who have met terrible fates. We see enough of them to be able to clearly picture the whole rich life they could have lived surrounded by friends and feel the sting of that path cut short. It is a story about how it was worthwhile knowing them well enough to be attached anyway, even if it meant unavoidable heartbreak.

This is true of both the human protagonists as well as the curses! Volcano Man and Mahito are ruthless killers who cruelly take lives without a thought. They also have hopes and dreams that they earnestly try to protect and follow through on, and face heartbreaking despair upon defeat. They feel pain just like we do, but must nevertheless be killed. Humans face pain through the very act of living, but nevertheless must live.

In true grimdark fiction there is rarely anything good in life for characters to return to once the battle is over. In Jujutsu Kaisen, on the contrary, there is enough good in life that we see it even amidst the battle. I can see that no other way than an expression of genuine affection. Truly bleak fiction leaves me wondering why everyone involved doesn't just put a gun in their mouth and be done with it. JJK provides an answer--because you'll get to laugh about ruining an expensive shirt, because you'll meet an acquaintance's hot mom, because the next human earthworm movie is coming out, because your favorite idol is doing a meet and greet this weekend, because maybe someday you'll finally go to Malaysia. There are many answers, and none of them are stupid.

#Chainsaw Man is also like this #op #jjk

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kwanisms · 1 year

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Kinkuary 15 Vernon — cockwarming // morning sex

➥ idol boyfriend!Vernon × reader

summary: It’s not every morning Vernon gets to sleep in so when he wakes up after dreaming about his girlfriend, he decides to wake her up and put his dream to reality.

wc: 1.5k

warnings: afab reader, adult dialogue, established relationship, sexual content (minors dni!): fingering, cockwarming, unprotected sex (pls use protection!!), morning sex, dirty talk, use of pet names (babe, baby, etc), mention of wet dreams, Vernon is hella pussywhipped in this, mention of some shower sex afterwards, and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: for once, I'm not writing Vernon as the best friend or roommate. Full on boyfriend mode activated. I hope you enjoy this piece of Kinkuary and please look forward to the next part! Thank you for reading as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

Permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @candidupped @dejavernon

Kinkuary full taglist: @baldi-2 @wonderfulshinee @lacie220900 @sup-dallyboy @kosmoreads @yourfavoritefreakyhan

Seventeen taglist: @aikisbbq @95cheols @niktwazny303 @indigo35 @moonlightsora @witherednotes @cixrosie @hoeforcheol

Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED AND BLOCKED.

Join the taglist!

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“Stop moving,” Vernon hissed, his hand on your waist tightening as you shifted.

“I can’t help it!” You whined in response. “It just feels so good.”

It was rare for Vernon to have a day off and even more rare for him to get to sleep in so when woke up from a pretty realistic dream, involving you, he knew he wasn't going to get to sleep in after all.

He'd rolled over to find you fast asleep and sighed. He knew he shouldn't disturb you. It wasn't fair to you that you were still asleep while he was awake but nevertheless, he pulled you into him, smiling into your hair when you murmured sleepily.

It started innocent enough, well… as innocent as he could be with his dream in the forefront of his mind. Light touches, his fingers caressing your back as you slowly woke up, soft kisses to your forehead and cheek. The goal was to wake you up, but gently.

Fleeting touches turned into his hands wandering, sneaking down to pull your thigh onto his hip, his free hand tangling in your hair as his lips moved across your cheek to find your lips.

A few moments later, he was whispering in your ear all the dirty things he'd dreamt about while his hands got rid of your pajama bottoms and underwear.

You weren't a stranger to morning sex with your boyfriend. It had just been a while since you'd had the chance to wake up together with his busy schedule lately.

Once your bottoms were gone and nothing to stop him. A soft sigh escaped you as his fingers trailed down to tease your entrance, finding your clit with his thumb and starting to rub slow circles.

Everything he did was relaxed, almost lazy but there was a reason for it. He liked the build up. He preferred to see you squirm and turn into a mess as he built up the tension in your body as slow as possible. He knew that when the time for quick movements came, he'd had the stamina to see it through.

You whined as you felt his lips kiss down your body over your shirt, his free hand pushing the material up to expose your chest to him. Wordlessly, his tongue swirled around one of your nipples before drawing the bud into his mouth.

You let out a content hum, hand moving to the back of his neck as he continued to tease both your chest and your now soaked center.

Your legs spread further as you felt one of his fingers push into you slowly. "Vernon," you breathed as he added a second finger, curling them into you and making your back arch.

"Does it feel good?" he asked softly, Watchung your face as he continued to glide his fingers effortlessly against your walls, taking in the sight of your parted lips and pert nipples.

"You like it when I touch you like this?"

You nodded vigorously, licking your lips before gasping out a yes.

"You like it when I wake you up to fuck you?" he asked, enjoying the rapid rise and fall of your chest as his fingers pumped in and out of your wet cunt, the lewd sounds filling the room.

"Yes," you whimpered. "God, please just fuck me already."

Vernon smirked as he pulled his fingers out of you, pressing a couple kisses to your neck and cheek before drawing level with your ear as he freed himself from his sweats, giving his cock a few languid strokes before lining himself up with your entrance.

"My name's Vernon but if you wanna call me God, I guess that's fine," he said in an amused tone, not giving you a chance to respond as he sank his hard cock into your warm cunt but made no effort to move, simply basking in the feeling of you.

You loved the way his cock stretched and filled you every time. It was such a pleasant feeling and it was never painful with him as he always made sure you were well prepared to take him.

Of course, it wasn't long until you wanted more and started shifting, trying to get some much needed friction.

It wasn't like you hated cockwarming. On the contrary, you enjoyed the feeling of having Vernon inside you. But you also really liked it when he fucked you.

"Babe, I'm trying to sleep." 'Liar.'

You pulled your head back to look up at him, scoffing when he pretended to be sleeping. "You woke me up for this," you whined. "You're the one who was all handsy and needy and wanted to, what was it?" you said, thinking back to the dirty thoughts he shared.

"Sink yourself into my tight little hole? Isn't that what you said?"

Vernon groaned, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you recalled the words his desperate and horny brain had thought up.

"You weren't supposed to remember that!" he mumbled. "Well, too bad," you retorted. "Now are you gonna fuck me like the good girl I am or am I gonna have to do all the work?"

Vernon clicked his tongue in feigned annoyance, rolling you onto your back as he settled between your thighs, buried deep inside your pussy. "I hate how right you are sometimes," he murmured, slowly starting to move his hips.

"And I hate not being able to sleep in on my day off, but here we are," you fired back, noticing the way your boyfriend smirked as he set a slow but steady pace, focusing on getting the right angle.

He knew he could get you off much faster if he angled his thrusts just right. He didn't need speed, knowing you preferred it slow, deep. "We'll, I suppose I should make quick work of this so you can get back to sleep," he teased, his hips moving slightly faster.

You scoffed, moving to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"Honey, I don't think you know what the word fast means."

You suddenly regretted your words as you felt each hard thrust your boyfriend gave you. He made sure to keep time between them, pulling out slowly only to slam back into you. The force had you crying out with each stroke as your orgasm built up slowly.

It was like he was trying to tease you but also couldn't hold back from wanting to feel something himself. "You're so mean," you whimpered when he stopped, keeping himself buried balls deep.

Another moan sounded from you as he slowly rolled his hips, moving them in a circle and dragging against the deepest parts of your walls. "You know that's not true," Vernon replied, kissing your cheek before pressing his lips against yours. "I'm not mean."

You opened your mouth to respond, to explain how he was being mean by teasing you but could only let out a small yelp as he resumed his deep, hard thrusts. "See? I'm not mean," he teased.

You couldn't find it in you to respond, your mind clouded with pleasure and rendering you incapable of speech.

"Aww, poor baby can't talk?" he asked breathlessly. "Does my cock feel that good?" A moan slipped past your lips, the smirk on Vernon's face spreading. "Feels too good, huh? I know. You feel so good, too."

You let out a choked groan, your cunt clenching around your boyfriend's cock. "Are you gonna cum?" he asked. "Cum on my cock like the dirty little slut you are for me?"

That did it. His words paired with the way his hips moved drove you over the edge, toppling down it like the side of a cliff as you came with a moan of Vernon's name. He fucked you through your orgasm, only letting go once you'd come down a little.

His head dropped into your neck as his hips still, his release coating your walls as he groaned into your skin. Neither of you wanted to move yet you knew you needed to. Your skin was sticky with sweat, your inner thighs and his hips covered in your slick, and his cum slowly spilling out of your used hole.

"Fuck," Vernon cursed, finally breaking the silence as he lifted his head. "You good, babe?" He asked breathlessly, merely chuckling when you nodded. "Yeah. 'M good," you muttered sleepily.

"Hey, no falling asleep," he said, lightly tapping your cheek. "We need to shower. We're gross," he added, pulling out of you and getting up. You groaned tiredly, rolling onto your side. "Speak for yourself," you mumbled. "You literally have my cum rolling down your thighs and ass, babe. You're just as gross as me right now."

You hissed as he turned on the overhead light and pulled back the tangled sheets. "Shower," he ordered. "Now."

You glanced up at him. "How do you have this much energy after that?" you asked, in awe of his ability to bounce back so quickly.

Vernon rolled his eyes before grabbing your ankle and tugging gently. "If you get into the shower with me, we can continue where we left off and get clean at the same time," he reminded you.

You sat up, throwing yourself out of bed.

"You had me at shower sex."

#svthub #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #vernon scenarios #vernon imagines #vernon smut #vernon x reader #kwanisms kinkuary #kinkuary 2023

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trippingontheescalator · 5 months

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Snape Headcanons

He's bad at geography. Sure, he knows this super rare, obscure potion ingredient can only be found in this one area in Laos, but ask him to find Laos on a map he won't have a clue. There was a time he dreamed about seeing world, but he quickly realized he would never get the opportunity and so doesn't see any purpose in learning geography.

A lot of the Marauders' claims about him, like knowing curses as a first year, are exaggerated, but the one thing they're right about is Snape was very nosy. Part of it was because it was useful; knowledge is power, after all. He could trade gossip with his fellow Slytherins, or use it to keep one step ahead of the Marauders (or taunt them with it). But most of it is just his natural curiosity. He's a people watcher. He doesn't often understand people, is bad at human interaction, so he watches from a distance.

Severus knows half the first years think he's some sort of vampire and he revels in it. He knows exactly the kind of image he creates, dressing up in those long black, swishing robes, the spooky dungeons with the jars full of animal body parts. His taste is 33% Mad-Scientist-Run-Amuck, 33% Sad-Victorian-Boy-Dying-of-Tuberculosis, 33% Tacky-Post-Halloween-Discounted-Decor, and 1% Lucius's-Increasing-Despair-to-Make-Severus-Into-a-Functional-Human-Being.

In addition to potions and reading, Severus also does a lot of writing. He's been working on-and-off on a novel since he was fifteen. At this point, it's almost 500,000 words long. One of the few ways he's able to express his thoughts and feelings is through fiction. The main character was heavily based on Lily, especially in the early stages when they were still friends, but as he grew older he put more of himself into the character and now she's become the version of himself he wishes he could be. The night before he kills Dumbledore he burns the entire thing.

Severus knows the DADA position is cursed. Everyone knows it's cursed. He still asks to teach it every year because he also knows that it's the only way he can escape Hogwarts, and he's willing to risk death to do it.

His feelings for Lily have gone through the entire spectrum. At times, she was a sister to him, especially the years before Hogwarts. He used to be incredibly jealous of Petunia, wished he could be Lily's sibling and live in their house and have their parents. It became romantic as a young teenager, especially since she was the only person he felt safe enough with for his pubescent mind to fixate on and explore his budding sexuality. Later, as he became friends with the other Slytherins in his year, it was strictly platonic but nonetheless a very deep friendship. They were both trying to control the other, and Severus was especially worried that Lily would end up like Eileen if she gave into Potter's charms. After his failed apology, he grew angry and resentful and he tried very much to hate her (but he couldn't, not even after she married Potter). And then, after her death, it circled back around to brotherly. He liked to remember those early years best of all, and his devotion to a better cause after her death parallels that of Dumbledore's after Ariana died.

Look I know there's a lot of confusion about godparents, and HP didn't help by being coy about religion, but a godparent isn't a legally appointed guardian. Like, they definitely can be if the parents want that (as it appears to be the case with Sirius Black), but that's not the default. A godparent sponsors a child's baptism and is in charge of their spiritual upbringing, making sure they know their catechism, etc (hence the god part of godparent, its a Catholic/Anglican thing). And the most widespread religion in HP does seem to be Christianity with Christmas being celebrated and whatnot (though I do headcanon the purebloods have their own Druidic/Christian hybrid religion going on). With that being said-- Severus Snape is Draco's godfather. He's also Merula Snyde's godfather. And Pansy Parkinson's godfather. And, like, the godfather of 10 other kids of former Death Eaters. Severus Snape climbed the Death Eater ladder; he was one of Voldemort's favourites during the First War and these other Death Eaters were like, "Damn. I got to get on his good side. Please sponsor my child's baptism."

#severus snape #pro snape #pro severus snape #snapedom

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 11 days

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Related to the previous ask, it kind of makes me think of my semi-headcanon. In the source material of the Disney movies, some of the villains aren't really evil (Hades is the most decent Greek god, the sorcerer and the advisor from Aladdin are two different people, etc). What if in TWST, the stories are similar to that?

[Referencing this post!]

TWST has certainly teased or suggested the idea of real happenings being manipulated or changed depending on who tells it + the passage of time. It also happens in the real world, both with historical events, anecdotes, and pieces of fiction (fairy tales, fables, etc.). This probably is what results in the juxtaposition between Yuu's understanding of the Great Seven in their dreams versus how the Great Seven are depicted and revered in Twisted Wonderland.

Right now, it's still unclear as to whether Yuu's perspective or the perspectives of those in their new world is the "true" version. One could be right, both could be right, or neither could be right. I like all of these possibilities!!

It's entirely possible that multiple people and their achievements were merged over time into a single entity credited with all of their achievements. It's also possible that the Great Seven of Twisted Wonderland are actually nothing like the classically evil villains we know of in the original Disney films. The films themselves aren't even "accurate" themselves, as they often pull from fairy tales with many different variations, some of which are quite dark. Disney made their own interpretation, and then TWST made its own interpretation of that interpretation.

That doesn't mean the Great Seven are necessarily infallible heroes (much as the characters and their textbooks often extol them and their accomplishments). I feel like a more realistic real-world parallel would be historical figures that are often painted in a good light due to all the stories circulated about them. Think of like how your own textbooks and how prominent people get praised and credited for various discoveries and inventions!! But as people who have actually existed in their world, surely there must also be instances of the G7’s flaws, failures, or even personal lives beyond their achievements, and it's odd that we so rarely hear about these (particularly the negatives).

There's still a great number of mysteries we have to unravel about the nature of all the Disney lore in our world versus the twisted world!! Lots of wiggle room ripe for speculation ✨

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #Yuu

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hopecomesbacktolife · 2 months

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recently read the time magazine special edition “Star Trek: inside the most influential science fiction series ever” a good portion of it is stuff a lot of fans probably already know, but there was some info in there that was still new to me, and lots of gorgeous photos that were amazing to see in print, too, so still definitely an enjoyable read! (apart from a couple instances of weirdly superiority, bro-esque writing, but that only occurred in one of the articles, thankfully)

one thing I really enjoyed about the visual aspect of the magazine though was some of the costuming visuals! For example, these crisp shots show not only the tailoring and seams but literally the construction and stitching on the TMP era uniforms 😍😍 (check out the stitching on the sleeve ranks in particular!!!)

next up, some extremely cool science things I didn’t know about and love that they exist:

this shot is excellent both for De fans (me) and also for seamstresses and costumers (also me!) because of that excellent, and rare, shot of the back of a TOS women’s uniform with seams and construction visible… positively a seamstress dream!! such a good garment structuring reference 👏🏻

also, an up close on one of Quark’s outfits that shows definitively that this outerwear jacket is, in fact, rainbowy tweed!!, a fashion statement I vote we bring back:

(it reminds me of this couch and blanket from my childhood, it was extremely 1970s and I loved it)

this little Kirk & Spock character comparison panel appeared next to an excerpt of Shatner’s writing, and to me it would fit in perfectly with those “who’s dating who” activity panels etc in magazines like seventeen, which, excellent execution, that’s such a good vibe to have considering The Premise 👏🏻

speaking of— I wish they’d mentioned slash fic, The Premise, early fanfic mail chains etc waaay more than they did (and for that matter, highlight way more just how important and vital the women Trekkies were!) but hey, at least they mentioned Spirk shippers, along with other parts of the magazine mentioning queer and nonbinary+trans rep in trek. could’ve/should’ve been more, but—

anyways! It’s still a fun magazine to read through and has lots of fun images even if you’re already familiar with the stories. (did you know there used to be an Enterprise shaped landline phone you could buy? I didn’t, and now I very much want one lol) it also highly benefits from having article writers of multiple genders, so there’s that, too. 🖖🏻

#star trek #time magazine #cool things!#book quotes #sorta #special time edition #honorary tag of #spirk #as well #for the gossip column vibes of that one part that I absolutely love hehe #deck that one out in glitter and sequin hearts and it would make an excellent bookmark for reading killing time 1st edition with hehe ♡#art #<< tag for cosplay reference

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kingofbodyrolls · 17 days

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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | twelve

🐴Chapter summary: Life with Jimin is perfect— he is the man of your dreams and you feel like you’re living the perfect life. Until someone from the past shows up, scatters your world and leaves you utterly heartbroken.

🐴Chapter title: Broken Dreams

🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc

🐴Characters: female reader (she’s more like an OC, but isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jiimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.

🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst

🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

🐴Chapter warnings: angst, unprotected sex, spanking, nipple play, fingering, oral (female), scratching at back, hair pulling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, a lot of crying and heartbreak I am so sorry 😭 there is also a mention of pregnancy (not reader!!!) and a lot of jealousy— I’M SO SORRY 😭

🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!)

🐴Word count: 14.4k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Broken Dreams” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?]

🐴Author’s note: I’m just gonna come out and say it: you’re gonna hate me again (and OC too), lol. This chapter is bittersweet and I’m really really sorry for the ending! 😭 It was very tough to write with all the angst and heartache.. But please know that the sun will shine on them again ☀️ And all the angst is almost over!!! 🥹

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“It’s so fragile Easy broken It’s so fragile, and it goes so slow” - ‘Broken Dreams’ by Rebecca Lavelle

As the months whirl by in a blur of blissful moments, you find yourself lost in the sweet rhythm of love with Jimin. Each passing day is a testament to the depth of your affection, from the shared laughter in your work endeavors to the cozy nights spent intertwined in each other's embrace. Tonight is no different, with Jimin nestled beside you, his presence a comforting reassurance of your bond.

You find yourself roused from sleep earlier than usual, a rare moment where you get to simply observe him in his slumber – typically, it’s him stirring you awake. Yet today, the tables have turned, affording you the chance to marvel at his serene form. His face appears angelic, though you’ve also witnessed the mischievous glint that occasionally dances across his features. As he rests, a tranquil air envelops him, his face a study in tranquility; closed eyes, a delicately proportioned nose with a hint of mischief in its slight bump and ample nostrils. It’s an endearing combination, rendering him undeniably charming – a concoction of cuteness, handsomeness, and raw allure that leaves you spellbound.

Your gaze lingers on his flawless lips, plush and inviting, reminiscent of those on a Bratz doll – soft, pouty, and undeniably cute. It’s a marvel how lips can exude such innocence and allure simultaneously. The urge to kiss him swells within you, a magnetic pull drawing you closer with each passing moment.

His bangs cascade delicately across his forehead, a tousled masterpiece that you contributed to last night, a testament to the passion shared between you. Even in disarray, his hair frames his face perfectly, accentuating his captivating features. Every glance at him only deepens your admiration; he's a vision of beauty that leaves you utterly spellbound.

As he breathes, delicate moans escape his lips like whispers of contentment, each one painting a serene smile across your lips. Gently, you reach out and brush aside a stray strand of hair, revealing more of his peaceful face. In slumber, he appears almost otherworldly, his features softened by the tranquility of rest. Cupping his cheek, you feel the weight of his sigh resonate within you, a symphony that sets your heart aflutter with adoration.

A gentle stir ripples through his sleeping form, and you find yourself pondering whether he’ll awaken soon. With a day brimming ahead, perhaps it’s time to rouse him from his slumber?

You tenderly cradle his cheek once more, and in a soft, breathless murmur, your name escapes his lips as he nuzzles deeper into the warmth of your hand.

His eyes remain closed, yet he stirs with a newfound awareness, his voice filled with the warmth of morning sunlight. “It’s always a treasure waking up next to you,” he murmurs, his words like gentle caresses against the dawn.

Your smile blooms like a secret garden, unseen but felt in the air, as his words weave a tapestry of affection around you. Each syllable resonates deep within, echoing the sentiments you hold close. The days without him stretch like barren deserts, devoid of color and life, longing for the oasis of his presence.

“Kiss me,” his voice, a gentle whisper, carries a subtle plea as he utters those two simple words, a request laced with anticipation and tenderness. Though his eyes remain veiled behind the curtain of sleep, the soft curve of his lips tells a story of affection, inviting you into a moment of shared intimacy.

With a soft chuckle dancing on your lips, you lean in to meet his lips, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours in a delicate exchange. Each kiss is a symphony of tenderness and desire, a silent promise of unwavering devotion. Straddling his hips, you lose yourself in the sweetness of his lips, savoring every moment of the intoxicating lust between you.

His touch is a gentle caress, his palms radiating warmth as they cradle your cheeks. It’s as if his hands are a sanctuary, offering solace and reassurance in their tender embrace.

You draw back, gazing at his flushed face, captivated by the softness of his lips, irresistible in their plump allure. Unable to resist, you lean in once more, your lips meeting his in a fervent dance. Beneath you, his laughter ripples like a melody, adding a playful rhythm to your intimate symphony.

Finally, he unveils his eyes, locking onto your mesmerizing gaze. In that moment, you are a breathtaking masterpiece, his heart’s sole desire reflected in your every feature. You are his everything, his world encapsulated in your presence.

“Good morning,” he rasps, his voice a delicious blend of morning huskiness and raw desire, sending a shiver down your spine. With a tender touch, he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear, his fingers lingering as if savoring the sensation of your skin.

“Good morning, babe,” you chirp, your voice filled with morning cheer and affection, eliciting a chuckle from him that rumbles beneath you, unveiling those endearing crooked teeth of his, adding to his irresistible charm.

You press your hips against his, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his dick, and a needy moan escapes your lips. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, a testament to your insatiable desire for him, leaving you yearning for more of his intoxicating presence.

His hands eagerly grasp your hips, his gaze locking with yours in a fiery intensity and so much love. The depth of emotion swirling in those captivating brown eyes renders you breathless, and it should be illegal.

“Babe,” his voice, teasing and laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as you continue to grind against him, a mischievous smirk dancing across your lips.

“Hm?” You respond with a low, seductive hum, your teeth sinking gently into your plump lower lip, your eyes smoldering with desire as you lock gazes with him. Your expression, a tantalizing blend of need and longing, silently conveys your hunger for him.

“Weren’t yesterday enough?” In his chuckle, there’s a playful tease, yet his hands, now firmly gripping your hips and gently sliding to caress your ass, speak volumes of his unspoken desire.

“No. I can never get enough of you Jimin,” you declare with a breathy whisper, your voice laden with longing and desire, as you lean in to capture his lips once more. With every kiss, the hunger between you intensifies, driving you to press your clothed core against his now fully hard cock, seeking the electrifying friction that ignites fireworks between your bodies.

He releases a primal moan, his desire echoing through the room as he draws you closer, his arms enveloping you in a fiery embrace that ignites every nerve ending in your body.

“I see. I can’t get enough of you either,” he murmurs, lifting you gently, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that makes your heart race. You’re a fucking goddess, hair tousled in a captivating disarray, cheeks flushed with desire, and eyes ablaze with a hunger that mirrors his own.

He delivers a firm slap to your ass, eliciting a gratifying moan from you. “Take your clothes off for me,” he commands, his voice laced with a potent mix of desire and authority.

You gaze down at your form, clad in the silky, provocative pajamas consisting of a camisole and shorts. With a deliberate motion, you seize the edge of the camisole and peel it off your body, allowing your breasts to spill out in a tantalizing display that elicits a deep groan from Jimin. His hands eagerly encircle your breasts, reveling in their softness and warmth.

“Fuck, I love your breasts. So beautiful like the rest of you,” his words send shivers down your spine as he admires your breasts with an intensity that ignites desire within you. You can feel his dick against you as you grind yourself further into his cock from outside the thin duvet.

His gentle tugs on your erect nipples send electric currents of desire surging through your veins, igniting a primal heat within you. The rush of lust floods your senses, pooling between your thighs and making you ache with need. You moan again, as you keep grinding yourself down on him.

“Now take your shorts and panties off.” His command is firm yet enticing, echoing in the air with a promise of untamed desire. You comply eagerly, shedding your shorts and panties with a sense of urgency, revealing yourself to him in all your naked splendor. As you hover above him, vulnerable yet empowered, the raw intensity between you crackles with anticipation, igniting a primal hunger that begs to be sated.

You sway your body tantalizingly above him, a seductive dance in the dim morning light. His laughter rumbles beneath you like a low, smoldering fire, igniting the already charged atmosphere. With a playful yet possessive touch, he spanks your ass gently, sending a thrill coursing through your veins.

“Now it’s your turn,” you murmur in a husky tone, a symphony of desire dripping from your lips as you seize the edge of the duvet, unveiling his chiseled form beneath. He’s just sleeping in his boxers and god, his physique, handsome and strong, so sculpted with his dedication to all the hard work around the ranch.

You’re practically salivating as your fingers dance over his skin like eager flames, tracing the lines of his physique with a hunger that betrays your longing. From the inviting curve of his collarbones to the sculpted landscape of his abdomen, your touch ignites a trail of sensations that leave you breathless. Finally, your fingertips linger over the tantalizing bulge straining in his boxers.

With a teasing smile playing on your lips, you press yourself against him once more, the wetness from your pussy seeping through the fabric of his boxers, igniting a symphony of shared moans between you.

You shift into a seated position, your eyes glinting mischievously as you playfully tug at the waistband of his boxers, “These are in the way.”

You gracefully slide to his side, giving him room to remove his boxers. As he swiftly tosses them aside, he playfully pins you down onto the mattress, eliciting a joyful giggle from you. In that moment, amidst laughter and desire, your heart brims with a potent mix of love and lust.

He descends to kiss you with a fervor that ignites every fiber of your being, his lips meeting yours in a tantalizing dance of desire. As the intensity of his kiss deepens, you feel his cock pressing against your lower stomach.

“Babe, you’re so pretty,” he breathes out, his voice laden with desire as he reluctantly withdraws from your lips. With a deliberate slowness, he embarks on a journey down your body, pausing at your neck where he showers you with a cascade of tender kisses, each one igniting a new wave of sensation within you.

You giggle and squirm in his embrace, his fingertips dancing along your skin, sending delightful shivers down your spine as his touch tickles you relentlessly.

“Jimin, stop teasing me,” you giggle, though the playful plea in your voice betrays just how much you relish these moments of playful torment.

He trails down your neck, leaving a tantalizing path of kisses and nibbles, his warmth spreading like wildfire. Lower, his touch becomes more urgent, igniting every nerve as he caresses your breasts, his lips a tender contrast against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he takes a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking gently yet with an intensity that leaves you gasping for more.

Your breath hitches at his touch, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips as your body instinctively rises to meet his, every nerve alive with anticipation. Fingers dig into his sturdy back, craving the closeness, anchoring yourself to the intensity of the moment as he sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

His lips and tongue dance with fervor on your sensitive nipple, coaxing out gasps and moans that echo through the room, your body writhing in ecstatic response beneath his touch. Each flick of his tongue sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you, your senses ablaze with the overwhelming sensation of his intimate caress.

You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each tantalizing brush of his dick against your slickened folds, igniting an insatiable hunger for him deep within your core. Your pussy throbs with an urgent need, aching to be filled by his cock as you yearn for the exquisite union of your bodies, desperate for the intoxicating bliss only he can provide.

With his deft touch, he lavishes equal care and devotion on your neglected nipple, ensuring that both peaks are stimulated. Each tender caress sends electrifying sensations coursing through your body, heightening your arousal to dizzying heights as you surrender to the intoxicating pleasure of his ministrations.

“Jimin—,” you moan out his name, your voice a symphony of pleasure. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle nip of his teeth, sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins. God, you love his mouth so fucking much.

He releases your nipple from his mouth, transferring his attention to its twin with a hunger that sets your senses ablaze. His lips and tongue work in tandem, igniting fireworks of pleasure that dance across your skin. Each delicate nibble sends a surge of arousal pulsing through you, your body responding eagerly to his every touch, every caress.

You writhe beneath him, your back arching instinctively as desire courses through every fiber of your being. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving faint imprints of your longing etched upon him. The hunger within you grows insatiable, a primal need driving you to crave more of him, more of his touch, his passion, his everything.

Understanding your unspoken desires, he trails kisses down your abdomen, his lips igniting a trail of fire along your skin. Arriving at your pussy, he pauses, taking in the sight of you with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. Then, with a flick of his tongue, he indulges in the exquisite taste of your arousal, sending waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

You feel so sensitive down there, but fuck, his tongue is nice. Every nerve ending tingles with sensitivity and when he moves further into your pussy, his face fully buried between your thighs, he explores every inch of your cunt, teasing, sucking and slowly lapping up your juices.

He’s loud— god, the noises he’s making as he eats you out are sending shivers down your spine. The noises are obscene, and you can’t help but want more.

As he devotes himself to your pleasure, the world around you blurs into a haze of ecstasy. The intensity of his ministrations on your clitoris sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being, rendering you powerless against the overwhelming waves of sensation. With each exquisite movement of his tongue, your senses heighten, your body thrumming with an electric current of desire. You grasp onto his hair, unable to contain the primal urge to draw him closer, to merge further into the abyss of passion he’s guiding you into.

“Fuck, Jimin. I’m gonna come already!” Your words spill out in a desperate plea, the raw intensity of your impending climax building like a tidal wave ready to crash over you. Every nerve ending ignites with a fiery ecstasy as your body quivers in anticipation. With a primal cry, your orgasm surges forth, a torrent of pleasure engulfing you in its embrace. Jimin’s skilled tongue works tirelessly to capture every essence of your release, his devotion evident in every fervent lick and tender kiss, amplifying the euphoria of the moment.

You gasp for precious air, your chest heaving with the aftershocks of ecstasy, as your senses reel in the aftermath. For a fleeting moment, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, lost amidst the haze of pleasure that envelopes your being.

As Jimin withdraws from your pulsating core, a single digit replaces his tongue, teasingly probing your slick folds. With effortless ease, it slides into your depths, igniting a symphony of sensations that echo through your body, eliciting a soft, involuntary moan from your parted lips.

Jimin’s soft chuckle fills the room, a symphony of delight as you clutch the sheets, your expression contorted in euphoric pleasure. Every furrow of your brow, every twist of your lips only adds to your beauty, a captivating portrait of ecstasy that leaves him utterly mesmerized.

He delves deeper, skillfully working his finger within you, each movement calculated to send ripples of pleasure through your core. As he adds another finger, your breath catches in your throat, a euphoric mixture of surprise and anticipation flooding your senses. With a soft gasp, you part your thighs more, offering yourself fully to his expert touch.

Still riding the waves of your first orgasm, every touch from Jimin feels like an extension of that euphoria, amplifying the sensations coursing through your body.

As Jimin adds a third finger, a delicious stretch accompanies each movement, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each thrust, he delves deeper, igniting a symphony of moans and gasps that fill the room.

Jimin skillfully explores the depths of your pleasure, his fingers questing for that elusive sweet spot, and you’re transported to another realm of sensation. When he finally strikes gold, a kaleidoscope of stars bursts behind your closed eyelids. “Jimin!” you cry out, surrendering to the rhythmic dance of his fingers as you eagerly match their movements, every stroke pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

His voice, dark with desire, sends shivers down your spine, matching the intensity in his eyes. “Are you going to come again, baby?” he murmurs, his words dripping with anticipation, his gaze locked onto yours, igniting a primal fire within you.

You bite your lip, a silent affirmation as your head nods in agreement, unable to form words amidst the throes of pleasure that consume you.

With his other hand, he returns to your clit, expertly rubbing it in tandem with the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers. The dual stimulation sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, rendering you utterly powerless to its intoxicating effects. It’s as if every nerve ending is ablaze, your mind and body consumed by the overwhelming sensations, unraveling at the seams and short-circuiting under his masterful touch.

“Come on my fingers, babe,” he urges, his eyes ablaze with primal desire, and you surrender completely. As the tension inside you reaches its breaking point, you convulse beneath his touch, releasing another wave of liquid ecstasy onto his fingers, your body trembling with the intensity of your release.

You pant desperately, consumed by the heat of the moment, yet hungering for even greater heights of pleasure. Your body thrums with an insatiable desire, craving more.

“Fuck. You alway look so beautiful when you come,” his words ignite a fire within you, sending waves of validation and arousal crashing over your senses. As your body responds eagerly to his touch, you can’t help but yearn for more, your inner walls clenching around his fingers in a silent plea for something more substantial, and oh god you wish it was his cock instead.

He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of you as he lets you ride out your orgasm. Just when it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of sensory overload, he withdraws his fingers, allowing you to catch your breath. With a tender touch, he descends to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his own desire evident in the intensity of his embrace.

Your breathless plea hangs in the air, laden with desire and longing, as you lock eyes with him, your fervent need laid bare. “Jimin,” you implore, your voice a whisper laced with urgency, “please, I need you inside me. I want you to fuck me. I want your cock so bad.”

His chuckle dances in the charged air, a mix of amusement and arousal, as he watches your desperate expression. With a tender touch, he guides his dick to your pussy, aligning it with your entrance.

“My baby is so needy,” his laughter, a symphony of desire, echoes in the room as he teases you with the tip of his cock, each gentle touch igniting a fervent ache within you. Your moan, a melody of longing, fills the space, a plea for him to quench the fire he’s stoked.

“Don’t tease,” your plea, laden with urgency and desire, hangs in the air, a desperate cry for him to fill the void he’s created. With a soft chuckle dancing on his lips, he obliges, parting your trembling thighs further as he eases himself into your dripping pussy. The sensation, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and bliss, envelops you like a warm embrace from the heavens.

Gasping for breath, you surrender to the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through you. “Ah, Jimin, fuck! Your dick feels incredible,” you pant, fingers curling around your legs as you draw them closer, a desperate attempt to deepen the electrifying feeling between your bodies.

His nose scrunches with intense pleasure as he thrusts into the depths of your walls, his hands bracing on either side of your body. A sharp intake of breath escapes his lips as he buries himself completely within you. Your inner muscles clench around him, eliciting a soft hiss of satisfaction from his lips.

His chuckle is breathless, a telltale sign of his struggle to maintain composure amidst the overwhelming sensation. “Who’s teasing now?” He manages, his voice laced with desire, a playful retort to your earlier plea.

He delves deeper into you, every inch of him enveloped by your warmth, the closeness of your bodies igniting an intense intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. This position, so raw and intimate, resonates deeply within you, a sensation you cherish with every fiber of your being.

With each withdrawal and thrust, he sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, eliciting a passionate cry of his name to escape your lips.

Your senses are ablaze with the overwhelming sensation of him, each powerful thrust sending ripples of ecstasy coursing through your body. With a fervent grip on the sheets, you surrender to the rhythm of his movements, the way that he fills and stretches you out, every thrust a symphony of pleasure that resonates deep within your core.

His hands firmly anchored on either side of your body, the intensity of each thrust ignites a kaleidoscope of sensations, sending you spiraling into the cosmos. With your legs entwined around his hips, you invite him to delve deeper, to explore every inch of your being as he plunges into you with an insatiable hunger. As he descends to capture your lips in a fiery kiss, you’re consumed by the raw passion coursing between you, lost in the euphoria of your love.

Fuck, you love this. The sensation of him filling you up, the fusion of love and desire coursing through every fiber of your being, it’s intoxicating. With each movement, each thrust, you’re consumed by a rapturous ecstasy, savoring every moment of him being deep inside you. As your lips meet his in a fervent kiss, you pour all your passion into it, matching his tenderness with an equal fervor, lost in the symphony of pleasure that only he can orchestrate.

You abandon the sheets and grasp onto his back, your nails grazing his skin with each powerful thrust, lost in a whirlwind of sensation. “Fuck. Jimin,” you gasp, the name slipping from your lips like a fervent prayer amidst pleasure surging between you.

He chuckles softly, his warm breath caressing your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, teasingly nibbling at the sensitive flesh. Each gentle bite sends a shiver of delight coursing through your body, igniting every nerve ending with delicious anticipation.

Breathlessly, he murmurs against your neck, his voice laced with desire, “You’re so tight, so pretty.” He pulls out only to push himself back in again, seeking out that elusive sweet spot that sends waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

Every inch of him inside you feels like a perfect fit, igniting an exquisite symphony of sensations that leaves you gasping for air. As you feel him twitch within you, a surge of pleasure courses through your veins, prompting an instinctive clenching of your walls around him, drawing him deeper into your embrace.

The room is filled with the rhythmic symphony of your bodies colliding, the wet, intoxicating sound of skin meeting skin in a passionate dance. This must be one of your favorite sounds.

As he molds his body against yours, his weight pressing deliciously into you, almost laying flat against your stomach, you’re enveloped in his warmth and passion. His lips dance across your neck, alternating between tender kisses and playful nips, igniting a fire within you. With each stroke of your nails down his back, he responds with a symphony of pleasure, his breathy hisses a testament to the fire between you.

You feel him deep inside your pussy, and you sense the impending rush of another climax, building with an intensity that threatens to consume you entirely. This time, it surges through you with a force that defies containment, coursing through your veins like a wild river breaking free from its banks.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come again,” you pant as he drives into you with unrelenting force. With a wicked smirk, he rises, seizing your right leg and pulling it flush against his shoulder. As he presses down, stretching your body to its limits, each thrust plunges deeper, igniting sensations that border on divine.

His fingers find your throbbing clit once more, sending electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body. You’re so sensitive, teetering on the brink, knowing that it only takes a whisper to send you cascading over the edge and come again.

His touch on your pulsating clit is electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through every fiber of your being. With each circular motion and gentle tug, you’re propelled into a whirlwind of ecstasy. Your senses overload as your vision blurs into a kaleidoscope of white, gasping for air as waves of euphoria crash over you. Your body convulses in rhythmic spasms, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. It’s a symphony of sensation, leaving you utterly consumed by the intensity of pleasure, lost in a euphoric trance as your body dances to its own primal rhythm.

“Fucking hell, babe,” Jimin groans, his voice strained with the intensity of his impending release. You feel him still inside you, his body tensing with each pulsating wave of pleasure. Then, with an adorable scrunch of his nose, he reaches his climax. His grip on your leg tightens as he thrusts into you, his warm seed spilling within you. In that moment, you’re both lost in a haze of ecstasy, drenched in sweat, and gasping for air as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your bodies.

He pulls out of you and collapses beside you on the bed, his chest heaving with each labored breath, the aftermath of passion evident in his flushed cheeks and glistening skin. With a soft chuckle, his hand finds its way to his stomach, just resting there.

“What’s so funny?” You turn your head toward him, your lips curving into a smile as you catch the playful glint in his eyes.

“You squirted, and we made such a mess,” he laughs, pulling himself closer to you again, his warmth enveloping you. “It was... hot,” he adds with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, his playful tone laced with affection and desire.

As you kiss him, you can’t ignore the sticky sensation between your legs, and it starts to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“I’ll clean you up babe, don’t worry,” he reassures, noticing the faint furrow on your brow, his voice tender and comforting.

He gets up from the bed, slips into his boxers and steps out of the bedroom. After a few moments, he returns, carrying a warm washcloth, a blush on his face and his eyes flickering with a mix of bashfulness and affection as he meets your gaze.

“Why’d it take you so long?” You groan, parting your legs to offer him easier access for cleaning.

He chuckles, his face flushing even more, “I met your sister, she said to keep it down next time.”

You sit up, a stern look etched on your face as you scoff, “Who is she to talk? She and your brother keep me up all night with their loud noises!”

He chuckles softly, drawing nearer to you on the bed, his fingertips dancing along the curves of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

“Then we should just be louder, no?” He suggests playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes, though his cheeks remain flushed. His fingers hover tantalizingly close to your folds, teasing but not touching. Instead, he delicately applies the warm washcloth to your slick pussy, the comforting heat soothing against your sensitive skin. With careful motions, he begins to cleanse away the remnants of your shared passion, his touch gentle yet purposeful.

“Jimin, it’s not a competition. But we should totally do that next time,” you chuckle, enjoying the tender care he showers upon you in the aftermath. The gentle touch of the washcloth against your skin is soothing, and you bask in the intimacy of the moment. Despite the tasks waiting for your attention, Jimin’s unhurried ministrations make you want to linger a little longer in this tranquility.

As he completes his task, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your thighs, you rise from the bed, feeling a sense of contentment envelop you. Scanning the room for your belongings, you locate a pair of panties and slip them on, then reach for Jimin’s abandoned button-down shirt, relishing in the comforting warmth it offers as you slide it over your shoulders.

When you pivot to face him, adorned solely in the delicate lace of your panties and his oversized shirt, a low, guttural groan escapes Jimin’s lips, his gaze trailing over your silhouette. With a languid movement, he reclines on the bed, his expression a mix of desire and admiration.

In a playful tone, you announce, “I’ll just paint a bit and then we can head down and get breakfast. You lay back and enjoy the view.” With a sly grin, you tug the curtains open just enough, anticipating how the morning sunlight will caress your skin as you immerse yourself in your artistic pursuit.

Allowing the brush to dance freely on the canvas, you let your mind flow with the strokes, creating another abstract masterpiece adorned with vibrant red hues. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch sight of Jimin reclining, wholly entranced by your artistic process, his gaze brimming with an unmistakable blend of affection and admiration.

Pausing mid-brushstroke, you shoot Jimin a playful smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Like what you see?” You tease, the hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Jimin’s groan reverberates in the room, his voice laced with desire. “Yes. You look so fucking hot in my shirt and with the bottom of your ass peeking out, and your tits out like that… are you sure we have to work today?”

You can’t help but burst into laughter, the sound bubbling with warmth and affection. Oh, how tempting it is to lose yourself in the allure of Jimin. Yet, duty calls, and as much as you crave his touch, completing this painting beckons with its own urgency and the rest of your work later.

With a playful sway of your hips, you tease Jimin further, the brush in your hand an extension of your artistic vision. Each stroke brings you closer to completion, the canvas soon to be adorned with your creativity and passion.

“It’s not fair,” he chuckles, rolling out of bed to retrieve his pants, “I’d like my shirt back, though I must admit, it looks ten times better on you.” His playful banter carries a hint of sincerity, his eyes lingering on your form as if the shirt were an afterthought compared to the allure it lends you.

You chuckle mischievously, relishing in the moment as you turn around and let the garment cascade off your body in a slow, tantalizing motion. Jimin’s eyes widen in awe, captivated by your confident display. With a sly grin, you saunter over to your dresser, effortlessly commanding attention. Retrieving a bra and shirt, you dress yourself with effortless grace, leaving Jimin momentarily spellbound. As he picks up his shirt from the floor and dons it, the air crackles with the lingering electricity of your playful teasing.

“Let’s get breakfast and then head to work,” you suggest, crossing the room to Jimin, where you plant a tender kiss on his plush lips, lingering for just a moment to savor the touch of him.

Side by side, you descend the stairs, the anticipation of breakfast fueling your steps. Rushing through the meal, you devour your food with a sense of urgency, knowing that the day's responsibilities are already waiting impatiently for your attention.

With the morning sun casting a golden glow, you embark on your daily routine, starting with the tender care of the garden. Jimin joins you, his hands deftly plucking out weeds, his laughter mingling with the chirping of birds. Together, you gather the bounty of carrots, spinach, cabbage, and peas, the vibrant colors a testament to nature’s generosity. As the day progresses, you transition to the stables, the scent of hay and earth enveloping you. With practiced hands, you feed the cattle and horses, their eager whinnies and low rumbles a symphony of farm life. Loading up the pickup truck, you set off to tend to the animals in the paddocks, the rhythmic rumble of the engine accompanying your journey across the sprawling landscape.

“How does this thing work again?” You inquire, gripping the drill with determination. Both hands are occupied, grappling with the weight of the tool and the precision needed to secure the bolts just right. You’re on a mission to ensure every detail aligns perfectly, a blend of determination and mechanical finesse guiding your every move.

Jimin’s chuckle dances in the air beside you, his hand enveloping yours on the drill. “Let me show you,” he says, guiding your fingers to the trigger, igniting the powerful hum of the machine. “And if you don’t screw it in at a level, you can push this to make it reverse,” he continues, demonstrating the reverse function. His touch, warm and reassuring, sends a gentle thrill down your spine, mingling with the anticipation of mastering the task at hand.

He shifts his focus back to holding the wooden plank steady for you, ensuring a smooth process. With determined precision, you position the bolt and wield the drill, its power humming to life as you secure the bolt in place. Success! The satisfying click of the bolt settling in sends a surge of accomplishment through you both.

Grinning, you glance at him, exhilarated by the teamwork, “This is actually fun.” With newfound enthusiasm, you reach for another screw, eager to continue the satisfying rhythm of progress.

Jimin’s eyes light up with genuine delight, his smile spreading warmth, “My babe with power tools. Absolutely love it.”

Together, you and Jimin finally tackle the long-awaited project of assembling the shed you'd spent months gathering wood for. Despite his initial plans to complete it sooner, life seemed to intervene, leaving the project on hold. But now, as you both hammer and drill, laughter fills the air, mingling with the satisfaction of progress. Working side by side, you relish the closeness and love, finding joy in shared achievements and the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

For months now, life has been a whirlwind of joy and contentment, leaving you with a constant flutter of butterflies in your stomach and a perpetual grin adorning your face. Even your sister, with her keen eye, has teased you about looking like a lovesick fool. But can you blame her? You’ve finally found everything you’ve ever yearned for: the warmth of family, a place to call home, and the embrace of the one you love more than words can express.

Startled by Yoongi’s sudden presence behind you, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a gentle breeze, you turn to find him standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Can you lend me a hand down in the pen?” he asks, his tone carrying a hint of urgency that you can’t ignore.

When you fully face Yoongi, you notice the subtle glow on his face, a telltale sign that things with Hoseok must be going swimmingly. It warms your heart to see him so content, and in turn, fills you with joy. “Sure thing, just give me a moment,” you reply with a smile, ready to assist him with whatever task he needs help with in the pen.

Jimin’s affirmative nod accompanies a gentle smile, his eyes reflecting understanding and support. “I can handle the rest, love. Go lend Yoon a hand,” he says, his tone brimming with reassurance and affection.

You pass the drill to Jimin with a quick exchange, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of warmth through you. Following Yoongi’s urgent call, you head down to the pen, where the sight of a spirited horse galloping about greets you, its untamed energy palpable in the air.

“What do you need help with?” You inquire, arching an eyebrow in curiosity, ready to assist Yoongi with whatever challenge he's facing in the pen.

Yoongi’s voice carries a hint of desperation as he explains the mare's skittish behavior. You notice the weariness etched on his face, his energy drained from his futile attempts to coax the horse. “Could you give it a shot? See if she responds to you?” he pleads, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion, revealing just how long he's been grappling with the elusive mare.

“Yeah I’ll give it a shot,” with a confident smile, you accept the challenge. Carefully climbing over the fence, you land softly on the sand, your boots sinking slightly into the ground. As you approach the mare, her wild movements seem to echo the chaos in her mind. Standing in the center of the pen, you observe her graceful gallop, realizing she's in a world all her own. Patience becomes your ally as you wait, understanding that time is your greatest asset in this endeavor.

Lost in the mesmerizing rhythm of the mare’s movements, time becomes elusive, and a sense of dizziness begins to swirl within you. As you watch her graceful strides, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the passage of moments slipping away unnoticed.

As the mare continues her captivating dance, your attention wanders to Yoongi, realizing you’ve been standing idle for what feels like an eternity. “How are the other horses doing?” You inquire, your voice carrying a hint of fatigue from the prolonged stillness.

A soft chuckle escapes Yoongi’s lips before he responds, “They’re doing fine. We actually got another one picked up yesterday.”

You flash a warm smile, your voice laced with genuine regret. “That’s great news. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Your heart swells with pride at the thriving success of your shared venture. “But I’m thrilled about how smoothly things are going. We’ve moved so many wild horses into new roles as stock horses.”

A sudden force jolts against your back, sending you stumbling forward, your heart racing as you struggle to regain your balance.

A radiant smile illuminates Yoongi’s face, brimming with pride and joy. “You did it!” he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine excitement and admiration.

As you pivot, your eyes meet the gentle gaze of the wild mare, standing before you with humility in her stance, her head lowered in submission. A soft whine escapes her lips, a sign of acknowledgment. Tenderly, you extend your hand, brushing it gently against her head. “Good girl,” you murmur, feeling a surge of connection and triumph in the air.

“You’re amazing. Thank you so much. I’ve been struggling with her for hours, making no progress,” he expresses, weariness evident in his tone as he perches atop the fence. “I’ll take her to the stables. She’s been out for too long; she deserves some rest. And you, you should rest too. Thank you once again.” With a grateful smile, he leaps down into the pen, effortlessly guiding the mare back to the stables without the aid of halter or rope.

“No problem,” you reply, stepping out of the pen and heading towards the main house. The day is winding down, and you’re hopeful that Jimin has prepared dinner that you can enjoy together.

As you open the door, the tantalizing aroma of home-cooked goodness envelops you, instantly awakening your senses. The savory scent beckons you forward, drawing you into the warm embrace of familiarity and comfort. With eager anticipation, you make your way into the living room, where Jimin lounges on the couch, adding to the cozy atmosphere with his relaxed presence.

“Did you finish work?” He inquires, tearing his gaze away from the mindless chatter on the TV, his eyes lighting up as they meet yours.

“Yeah, and I’m starving. Did you whip something up?” you inquire eagerly, closing the distance between you and him with each step.

“Yeah, it’s in the oven,” he responds, his fingers intertwining with yours as soon as you’re within his reach, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Didn’t you already eat?” you ask, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, your eyebrows arching slightly as you await his response.

“No, I was waiting for you,” he says, his smile warm and genuine, eyes sparkling with affection as he gazes at you.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t have to, but we can eat together now,” you say, your voice carrying a mixture of sadness and affection, “come.”

You coax him up from the couch, intertwining your fingers as you head into the kitchen to uncover the delicious meal he’s prepared. The flavors dance on your taste buds, a testament to his culinary skill. Amidst bites and laughter, you savor the intimacy, sneaking playful touches and caresses, entwining your legs beneath the table, deepening the love between you.

“Long day?” he asks, his voice soft with concern as his foot finds yours under the table, the gentle pressure of his touch sending a tingling sensation up your leg, a subtle reassurance in his gesture.

“Yeah. I’m so sore and tired. You?” you ask, sinking deeper into your seat, the weariness evident in your voice as you release a heavy sigh, your body yearning for the comfort of relaxation.

“Me too,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion as he stretches his body, a silent testament to the day’s wear and tear. “What do you say… if you clean up in the kitchen, I’ll make a bath for us in the tub?” His offer, infused with a touch of intimacy and care, promises a soothing respite from the day’s toils.

Your eyes sparkle with anticipation at the mention of the tub. The thought of sinking into its welcoming depths has been a quiet longing in your mind for so long, and now, the prospect of finally indulging in its comforting embrace fills you with eager anticipation. The promise of soaking away the day's stresses in warm, soothing water feels like a luxurious treat, beckoning you towards a moment of serene relaxation.

“Deal,” you respond with a hint of eagerness, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. His laughter fills the room, accompanied by the soft warmth of his affectionate gaze, reminding you once again of the deep bond you share.

With a swift nod, you rise from the table, eager to fulfill your end of the bargain. The prospect of sinking into a warm bath lures you into action, and you quickly set to work clearing the table and storing the leftovers. Meanwhile, you delegate the task of drawing the bath to Jimin, trusting in his ability to create the perfect oasis of relaxation.

“Hey babe! Do you want some wine?” Your voice carries from the kitchen, punctuated by the clinking of dishes nearing completion.

“Yeah, sure!” Jimin’s response echoes from the bathroom, filled with anticipation for the cozy evening ahead.

As you open the cabinet, your eyes catch the glint of a bottle of rich red wine tucked away. With a soft pop, the cork relinquishes its hold, releasing the tantalizing aroma of aged grapes. Carefully, you select two delicate glasses, pouring a generous amount into each. The anticipation of sinking into the warm embrace of the bath, wine in hand, fills you with an unexpected giddiness, turning a simple soak into a moment of luxurious indulgence.

You enter the bathroom, and the soft glow of candlelight dances across the walls, casting an enchanting aura over the otherwise dark room. Your breath catches as you take in the sight before you: the bath, filled to just over halfway, exudes inviting warmth, while Jimin stands before you, his form illuminated by the flickering flames, his nakedness a captivating sight. The glasses of wine tremble slightly in your grasp as you carefully set them down beside the tub, feeling a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement.

Jimin’s allure is undeniable, his presence commanding attention as you step closer to him. His complexion, a velvety blend of creamy hues, emanates warmth beneath the soft glow of candlelight, accentuating the rugged beauty of his form. Your fingers trace the contours of his sturdy pectorals, reveling in the strength they exude. “You look like pure sin,” you murmur, unable to resist the temptation that radiates from every inch of his being.

His laughter fills the room, a melodic accompaniment to the gentle caress of your hands on his chest. As you lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his lips against yours ignites a fire within. “I better get naked too,” you jest, your voice laced with anticipation and a hint of playful mischief.

With eager hands and shared anticipation, you shed your clothes in a flurry of desire. As Jimin assists in revealing your body, he helps pull your shirt off your body. He unclasps your bra and lets it fall to the floor, which makes his breath catch at the sight of your breasts, a primal reaction that ignites a hunger within him. With each garment that falls away, the space between you crackles with an electric tension, building toward the moment when you stand before him, naked and unapologetically yourself, basking in the raw intensity of the moment.

Like magnets drawn together, your bodies intertwine in a passionate embrace, igniting a fiery exchange of kisses that speak volumes in the language of desire. As your lips meet in a fervent dance, you sense the primal response coursing through him, evidenced by the subtle quiver of his dick beneath your touch. With a tender stroke of your hand, you coax forth a soft, involuntary moan.

“Let’s get in,” he urges, his hand enveloping yours as he guides you toward the inviting embrace of the tub. With graceful ease, he eases himself into the warm, welcoming waters, settling against the back while you follow suit, finding your place nestled in the curve of his lap. As you lower yourself into the tranquil depths, the subtle pressure of his dick against your back sends a playful shiver down your spine, eliciting a soft chuckle to escape your lips. The gentle caress of the soothing water envelops your skin, melting away the tensions of the day, cocooning you both in a blissful sanctuary of relaxation.

“Do you like it?” He inquires softly, his fingers expertly tracing soothing circles over your shoulders, coaxing out the tension that had been knotted within your muscles. With each knead and stroke, a contented sigh escapes your lips, a testament to the sheer bliss of his touch.

“I love it,” you murmur, surrendering completely to the sensations coursing through your body as his skilled hands work their magic. With a satisfied smile, you reach for your glass of wine, the cool liquid adding another layer of indulgence to the moment. Placing the glass back on the table, you sink deeper into the warmth of the bath, letting Jimin’s fingers weave their spell over your back, melting away every ounce of stress.

It’s an exquisite sensation, one that sends shivers down your spine as his hands glide from your shoulders to the front, delicately caressing your breasts. The moment his fingers encircle your nipples, your eyes flutter open, a soft gasp escaping your lips, betraying the sheer pleasure coursing through you. His touch ignites an urgent longing within you, echoed by the telltale twitch of his dick pressed against your back.

His touch becomes more fervent, his fingers skillfully rolling your nipples between them, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. As his lips find the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his bite is both tender and teasing, perfectly complementing the tugs and pinches of his fingers.

Within moments, a surge of arousal floods your senses, igniting a fiery desire deep within your core. Each breath comes quicker, matching the rapid pace of your escalating lust.

As his skilled fingers work your nipples, you arch your back, pressing into his touch, the sensation sparking through your body like wildfire. It’s almost overwhelming how good it feels, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every inch of your being.

You lean back into his chest, letting your head rest beside his, and he teases your nipples, sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your body. “Jimin, fuck—” you moan, the intensity of sensation almost too much to bear.

He hums softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending shivers of lust down your spine. As he nibbles on your earlobe, a rush of desire floods through you, igniting every nerve ending with longing.

“What do you need baby?” His voice, a velvety whisper in your ear, sends a surge of heat coursing through your veins. As you roll your hips into his, seeking closer contact, the air between you crackles with electricity, fueling the flames of desire.

“I need you Jimin,” you gasp, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of desire that consumes every fiber of your being.

“You have to be more specific babe,” he breathes in your ear, while one of his hands travels down, “Do you want me to touch you here?” He asks, his fingers hovering just above your clit.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you bite down on your lip, the anticipation building as you part your legs further. “Yes, please,” you murmur, your voice laced with need and desire, your body trembling with anticipation for his touch.

As his fingers trace delicate patterns over your clit, you gasp at the gentle touch, every stroke sending shivers of pleasure through your body. With each soft moan that escapes your lips, his touch becomes more insistent, his fingers pressing down with increasing urgency, driving you to the brink of ecstasy real fast.

“Jimin!” You pant, your voice a breathless plea as the sensation intensifies, sending a surge of heat coursing through your veins. Your thighs quiver with anticipation, a tidal wave of pleasure building deep within your core, threatening to overwhelm you in its euphoric embrace.

“Are you gonna come so fast?” His taunt sends a delicious shiver down your spine, igniting a firestorm of desire within you. Despite the teasing, you find yourself powerless against the intoxicating allure of his touch. You know it’s pathetic how fast your body unravels for him, but you can’t help it.

“Your hands are so good, I can’t help it,” you gasp against the sensitive skin of his throat, fingers gripping the edge of the tub for leverage. Every touch from him feels like an electric current, igniting sensations that leave you breathless. As the tension inside you reaches its breaking point, you surrender completely to the blissful release washing over you.

As the waves of ecstasy surge through you, you surrender to the primal rhythm of your body, yielding to the intoxicating sensations ignited by Jimin’s touch. With every nerve on fire and every muscle tensed, you gasp for precious air, your head finding solace in the comforting curve of Jimin’s neck. “Jimin, I…” you whisper breathlessly, words catching in the throes of pleasure.

He nestles his head closer to yours, his warm breath brushing against your skin. “What is it, babe?” he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing melody.

Your body quivers under his skillful touch, a symphony of sensations coursing through you as he continues to tease your nipples and caress your clit.

“I want to fuck you and for you to fill me up,” you murmur, your voice laden with desire, as you press yourself against him once more.

“Fuck, yeah,” he gasps, urgency lacing his voice as he withdraws his hands from your sensitive nipples and clit, firmly gripping your hips with a hunger that mirrors your own.

You lift yourself up, the anticipation electrifying every nerve as you easily find his dick and slide down on it. “Oh, fuck!” The words escape your lips in a gasp of pleasure as he effortlessly fills you, stretching you to the brink from the very first inch.

With his firm grip, he guides your movements, each thrust a symphony of desire and need as you ride him, fucking yourself on his cock.

You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, “So pretty, baby,” before tenderly pressing his lips to the delicate curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

You tighten your grip on the tub’s edge, seeking leverage, as you rise and descend in slow, tantalizing motions. With each movement, water splashes out.. “Looks like you overfilled it,” you pant, a breathless admission, met with a soft chuckle from him.

As he peppers you with kisses, you strive to maintain your rhythm, riding him with all your passion. Yet, despite your efforts, fatigue begins to set in, and the discomfort in your knees becomes increasingly noticeable. This position, once thrilling, now feels taxing and hurting.

“Babe, my knees are hurting,” you plead, reluctantly pulling yourself off him altogether.

“Come, turn around then. I’m sorry,” he suggests, his tone apologetic as he shifts deeper into the tub, creating space in the middle. You turn around and comply, straddling his lap. As he effortlessly enters you once more, a soft moan escapes your lips, reverberating through the intimate space as he resumes his rhythmic thrusts.

“This is so much better,” you murmur, intertwining your legs and arms around his body. “And I love being able to see your face.”

With a chuckle, he leans in to tenderly kiss your lips, igniting a passionate rhythm as he thrusts up into you. Meeting his movements eagerly, you ride his cock with abandon, the water swirling around you in a sensual dance as the wine long forgotten.

You sense him pulsing within you, sending tremors of pleasure through your core, as your inner muscles start to contract in anticipation of another climax.

“Just let go baby,” he murmurs huskily into your ear, his every movement igniting a wildfire of ecstasy within you. You echo a breathless rendition of his name as your essence cascades around him. Clinging to him desperately, you surrender to the torrent of sensations as he intensifies his thrusts, sending waves of passion crashing through the water.

“Shit, Jimin, are you gonna come too?” You gasp, feeling his urgency mounting with each thrust of his dick, until he finally succumbs with a fervent moan, filling you with his essence and with a groan of your name.

You press your lips to his, savoring the sweet taste of him as you both stay still in the water, letting your orgasms wash over you. Feeling his warmth enveloping you, you start to gently rock your hips, coaxing another shiver from him, lost in the lingering sensations of bliss.

“Babe, it’s too much,” his breath comes in ragged gasps, his hands gently restraining your fervent motions. Looking into his eyes, you’re met with a torrent of desire, the heat of his gaze mirroring the flush that paints his cheeks.

“Let me wash you up and take care of you,” his voice, a soft whisper against your ear, promises comfort as he retrieves the soap, its fragrance mingling with the warmth of the water. With practiced hands, he massages the lather onto your back, each stroke a tender caress that elicits a contented moan from your lips.

You let him massage you with the soap all over your body, all while he stays deep inside your pussy. Occasionally you feel the twitch of his dick and you realize he hasn’t gone fully soft yet, and now you can just feel him getting harder again.

He washes the soap off your body and you feel so nice, so cleaned and cared for.

“I want to return the favor,” you say, a soft smile gracing your lips as fatigue begins to settle in. Despite the weariness weighing on your body, the desire to care for your boyfriend burns brightly within you, compelling you to offer this small gesture of love.

You slide off his lap and reach for the soap, lathering it in your palms before trailing your hands over his body, mirroring the care he bestowed upon you. With each stroke, he emits soft moans of pleasure, surrendering to the sensation of your touch. His physique is a masterpiece of strength and grace, every muscle defined under your fingertips. As you work your way across his body, his biceps bulge with strength, his abdominals ripple beneath your touch, and he melts into your hands like pliable clay, yielding to your every caress.

“Babe, this is so nice,” his voice, a husky whisper, caresses your ears as he savors the sensation, lost in the bliss of your ministrations. With a tender smile, you rinse away the soap, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Drawn to him like a magnet, you lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with affection and desire.

“This was such a good idea, Jimin. I loved it and I love you,” with a contented sigh, you express your gratitude, nestling into his embrace. The soft glow of candlelight flickers around you, casting playful shadows as you lean in for another lingering kiss, sealing your words with an affectionate embrace.

“Yeah. I love you too.” His voice, filled with warmth and sincerity, reverberates through the room as he gazes into your eyes, where he finds solace and home. In that moment, he realizes the depth of his feelings, the unspoken promises whispered between your shared glances. Perhaps it’s time to let the symbol of his devotion, the ring he’s carried for months, find its rightful place on your finger.

You linger in the embrace of the warm water, savoring the intimacy shared in those precious moments, until the realization of time nudges you both back to reality. Reluctantly, you rise from the soothing depths, cocooned in the lingering affection of the bath. With gentle care, you tenderly dry each other off, the soft caress of the towels becoming a silent exchange of love and tenderness.

The comfort of spending the night at Jimin’s embraces you like a warm blanket, lingering even as the morning unfolds into a delightful breakfast shared together. With hearts light and minds focused, you dive into the tasks of the day, knowing that the warmth of your shared moments will linger like a sweet whisper in the air.

The gentle breeze caresses your skin, carrying the scent of blooming flowers, while the sun bathes everything in a golden glow, infusing you with an invigorating energy that seems boundless. In this moment, with the world painted in hues of warmth and possibility, you feel an unstoppable surge of euphoria coursing through you, propelling you forward on the wings of boundless optimism.

You’re idly gazing out the window when the distant rumble of an approaching car catches your attention. As it draws nearer, a sense of unease prickles at the edges of your consciousness. Then, recognition dawns like a lightning bolt striking through the air. It's Deiji’s car— Jimin’s ex. The sight sends a ripple of uncertainty coursing through you, stirring up a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

As you watch the car pull up, curiosity interlaces with a thread of apprehension. You feel compelled to step out into the yard, a sense of obligation mingling with a twinge of discomfort. Greeting her with forced politeness, you battle the tide of memories that surge forth with her presence. It’s not that you hold anything against her personally, but her arrival serves as a stark reminder of a painful chapter— a time when Jimin's silence cut deeper than words.

You step into the sunlight, its warmth caresses your skin, momentarily blinding you as you squint against its brilliance. Deiji emerges from her car, her form obscured by the glare, until you draw nearer and discern the telltale curve of her belly.

Pregnant.

The realization washes over you, mingling with a spectrum of emotions, from surprise to a begrudging twinge of hurt. Good for her, you think, though beneath the surface, a ripple of complex feelings threatens to surface.

“Hey,” Deiji greets you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as you draw nearer. “Is Jimin around? I really need to talk to him.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “He’s inside,” you reply, gesturing towards the house.

“Cool,” she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of discomfort, her hand instinctively cradling her swollen belly. With a slight waddle, she makes her way towards the house. You follow closely, holding the door open to usher her inside.

As you step into the house, you find Jimin, who’s visibly taken aback by Deiji’s unexpected presence beside you.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin’s voice is tense, his gaze flicking towards the elephant in the room: her swollen belly.

As she gently caresses her belly, her words hang heavy in the air. “I came to tell you something,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “This baby... it’s yours.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor, and you can feel your heart somersaulting in your chest, threatening to burst out like a cartoon character. Glancing at Jimin, you see his shock mirrored in his wide-eyed expression, a reflection of your own disbelief.

“But we used a condom?” He blurts out, the disbelief and irritation palpable in his voice. It's as if he's trying to grasp at any rational explanation for the bombshell Deiji just dropped, his tone a mix of incredulity and denial.

“You know, sometimes accidents happen…” She utters those words with an infuriating calmness, her hand caressing her belly once more, a gesture that grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Every fiber of your being rebels against the notion that she’s carrying Jimin’s child. It feels surreal, like a nightmare you can’t wake up from, as if the ground beneath your feet is shifting and you’re teetering on the edge of a dizzying precipice. In the midst of your own tumultuous emotions, you can’t help but wonder what Jimin is feeling, how he’s processing this bombshell that threatens to upend your world.

Jimin stands before you, an image of stunned disbelief etched into every line of his face.

“And you came here for what, money?” Jimin’s voice trembles slightly, his words laced with a mix of anger and confusion.

A peculiar mix of emotions swirls within you, a tumultuous blend of anger and sadness that leaves you feeling unsettled.

“No. I just wanted to let you know. I know how important family is to you,” she starts, her voice tinged with sincerity as she settles onto a nearby stool.

You’re still standing there, dumbstruck, your emotions swirling like a turbulent storm. Deiji’s words echo in your mind. Jimin values family. Could it be that he wants to be a part of this child’s life?

“Can we get a paternity test, I’d like to be sure, if you don’t mind?” His voice quivers with uncertainty, his gaze flickering between Deiji and you. Despite the tremor in his voice, there’s a glimmer in his eyes, a hint of hope. You can sense it, that if this child is indeed his, he’s ready to embrace it. You just know.

Despite having rarely broached the topic of children and family, you’ve been unequivocal about your stance: kids aren’t part of your immediate plans, perhaps not even in the distant future. Yet, as you observe Jimin’s gaze, tinged with uncertainty, it's evident he’s treading carefully, mindful of your feelings.

“Yes, we can do a paternity test,” she responds, her hand instinctively drifting to her swollen belly once more, a gesture that feels almost possessive.

Jimin exhales deeply, his frustration palpable. “If this child is indeed mine,” he begins, his voice tinged with both uncertainty and a glimmer of resolve, “I want to be involved. I want to be there for them.”

His words hit you like shards of glass, each one piercing deeper than the last. You anticipated his decision, yet the reality of it cuts through you, leaving a raw ache in your chest.

“Great,” she replies with a smirk playing on her lips, as if she’s just achieved her ultimate goal with ease, leaving you feeling like a pawn in her twisted game.

Jimin scratches his head, a nervous habit you’ve noticed before, and turns to you, his expression torn between concern and uncertainty. You find it hard to meet his gaze, your own emotions swirling in a tumultuous storm. This situation feels overwhelming, like a weight you’re not prepared to bear. You're not ready to take on the role of someone's stepmother, to navigate the complexities of raising a child. It's all too much, too soon, and you're not sure how to process it all.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she says, her tone dripping with faux innocence. As she looks between you, her eyes betray a subtle flicker of mischief. Even through the haze of your sadness, you can’t help but notice it, prompting a flicker of suspicion. What could she possibly be up to?

You’re enveloped in a storm of emotions, each one crashing against you with relentless force. This isn’t how it’s supposed to unfold, not in the grand narrative of your life. It feels like the carefully crafted script has been torn apart, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and dismay.

As Deiji departs, she leaves behind a lingering tension, promising to return with the verdict of the paternity test. In her wake, she leaves you and Jimin standing amidst the shattered remnants of what was once your certainty, the world around you now feeling as if it’s tilted on an unfamiliar axis.

In the abrupt aftermath of Deiji’s revelation, it’s as if an unbridgeable chasm has opened up between you and Jimin, leaving you stranded in a silence fraught with uncertainty. Each passing moment stretches like an eternity, filled with the weight of unspoken words and uncharted emotions, leaving you grappling for the right thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” as the tension hangs heavy in the air, Jimin’s voice breaks through the silence like a fragile whisper, laden with the weight of regret and uncertainty. His hand finds yours, offering a gentle reassurance amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions swirling around you both.

A cold numbness settles over you like a heavy shroud, dulling your senses to the world around you, even to the touch of Jimin’s hand clasping yours. Words elude you as you meet his gaze, lost in the hollow void of your own emotions, feeling hollow and devoid of purpose.

“It’s… okay. I know how important family is to you,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, drained of its usual warmth and vitality. Each word feels heavy on your tongue, laden with the weight of resignation and sorrow. You force a semblance of understanding into your tone, masking the turmoil brewing within. Yet, beneath the surface, you’re crumbling, feeling like a mere echo of yourself, hollowed out and devoid of the vibrant spirit you once possessed.

“Do you think we can do this?” he implores, his gaze probing yours with a desperate intensity, as if seeking a lifeline in the depths of your soul. Yet, you can’t meet his eyes fully, for fear that he’ll uncover the barren expanse where hope once flourished. In the silence that follows, the weight of uncertainty hangs heavy between you, casting a shadow over any flicker of optimism that might have remained.

“I...,” you start, your voice quivering with emotion as tears threaten to spill from your eyes and your throat constricts with the weight of unspoken fears.

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog, obscuring any clarity or certainty that might have once existed.

After about a week, Deiji returned with the results of the paternity test, confirming that the child was indeed Jimin’s. It felt as though the ground had shifted beneath your feet once more, leaving you reeling in the aftershocks of this irrevocable revelation.

Since then, you’ve thrown yourself into anything and everything to keep busy, desperate to avoid encountering Deiji altogether. But it seems like she’s practically moved into Jimin's place, and every time you catch a glimpse of them together, it's like a knife twisting in your gut. They’re playing house, oblivious to the turmoil they’ve caused you, and it's tearing you apart inside.

Jimin has been making an effort to keep you in the loop, updating you on the baby’s progress. He tells you that Deiji is now seven months pregnant, and it’s a girl. But with each piece of news, it’s like a dagger to your heart. Part of you doesn’t want to hear it anymore because it’s a constant reminder of the life you never signed up for, the pain you never asked to endure.

It’s not entirely Jimin’s fault; accidents can happen even with precautions. He’s made sincere efforts to include you, but despite his attempts, you can’t shake off the growing chasm between you. It’s like watching two continents slowly drift apart, unable to bridge the gap that keeps widening with each passing day.

Every time Deiji crosses your path, she exudes an aura of radiance, almost as if she's dipped in the fabled glow of pregnancy. You can’t help but notice the adoring glances she casts at Jimin, the lingering touches that seem to extend beyond mere familiarity. It's a bitter pill to swallow, witnessing these subtle gestures, and you wonder if Jimin perceives them as you do. Yet, you’ve kept your silence, letting the unspoken tensions simmer beneath the surface.

Confronting Jimin feels like stepping into a storm, knowing the tempest of emotions brewing within you. It's a conversation you know you should have, to lay bare the tumultuous whirlwind of feelings raging inside. Yet, the words stick in your throat, heavy with uncertainty and fear. How do you articulate the overwhelming doubt, the gnawing apprehension that this path isn't meant for you?

The thought of navigating this intricate web of emotions with Jimin and Deiji looming in the background feels suffocating, like grappling with shadows that threaten to swallow you whole.

The prospect of parenthood is daunting enough on its own, a weighty responsibility you don’t feel prepared to shoulder. Yet, the thought of co-parenting with another woman adds a layer of complexity you can scarcely fathom. While you acknowledge that blended families are a reality for many, you struggle to envision it as your own. The mere idea of navigating this uncharted territory feels like venturing into a labyrinth with no clear path forward, leaving you grappling with uncertainty and a profound sense of unease.

The green-eyed monster rears its head within you, its claws sinking deep into your heart every time you witness Deiji’s presence beside your boyfriend. Watching her cozy up to him feels like an intrusion, a relentless assault on the sanctuary of your relationship. With each stolen glance and tender touch, it's as if she’s encroaching on sacred ground, threatening to snatch him away from the haven of your love.

You’ve been drifting apart from Jimin, caught in a whirlwind of avoidance and busy distractions. Despite his efforts to reach out and bridge the growing chasm between you, you’ve been hesitant, grappling with conflicting emotions. However, when he extends the invitation, promising to cook for you, you find yourself unable to resist the pull any longer. It’s a chance to reconnect, to confront the mounting tension between you, even if it means braving the storm of uncertainty that awaits.

As you pull into the familiar driveway of his ranch, the weight in your chest seems to grow heavier with each passing second. Dread coils around your heart like a suffocating vine, yet you know deep down that this conversation, however daunting, is inevitable. You sit in the car for a moment, grappling with the turmoil within, torn between the comfort of avoidance and the necessity of facing the truth head-on. With a resigned sigh, you steel yourself for what lies ahead and step out into the uncertain terrain of your emotions.

As you swing the door open, a tantalizing aroma envelops you, weaving its way through the air and tickling your senses. Stepping into the kitchen, your eyes meet Jimin’s, and though he greets you with open arms and a warm embrace, the sweetness of his gesture fails to penetrate the thick fog of your unease. His lips press against yours in a tender kiss, but the connection feels hollow, as if the weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you.

With a gentle gesture, he pulls out the stool for you, a silent invitation to join him. As you settle onto the seat, your gaze falls upon the meticulously arranged plate of food before you. Despite the rumbling of hunger in your stomach, an invisible barrier seems to stand between you and the meal, rendering it unappetizing despite its savory allure.

“How are you doing, babe?” He inquires, settling into the chair opposite you. With a tender gesture, he reaches for the water pitcher, his eyes never leaving yours as he fills your glass, a silent act of care amidst the weight of unspoken emotions.

Your gaze remains fixed on the plate before you, yet your mind races like a frantic symphony, each thought clamoring for attention amidst the chaos. Your heart quickens its pace within your chest, a drumbeat of apprehension echoing in the silence. Your palms grow clammy with the weight of unspoken words, and your head spins with the tumult of emotions swirling within.

“Babe?” His voice, soft yet insistent, pulls you from the depths of your swirling thoughts. Leaning in, his eyes search yours, brimming with concern, a silent plea for understanding in the midst of your internal storm.

“I...,” your voice falters, tears threatening to spill anew, a familiar ache settling in your chest. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” the words tumble out, heavy with the weight of uncertainty and fear. As you speak, each syllable feels like a burden, your body tensing, constricted by the weight of your emotions. It’s as if your heart is trapped, pounding relentlessly against the confines of your ribs, suffocating in the tightness of the moment, each breath a struggle against invisible restraints.

“What do you mean?” His voice carries the weight of concern, etched with worry lines that deepen with each passing second. His eyes, a mirror to his troubled mind, search yours for answers, pleading for clarity amidst the fog of uncertainty.

“It’s tearing me apart, Jimin,” you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to escape the weight of your emotions. “Seeing you and Deiji together, it’s like a constant reminder of what I’m not ready for. I can’t handle it—I’m not prepared to step into that role, especially not with someone else’s child.” The heaviness in your chest threatens to suffocate you, each syllable a battle against the turmoil within.

Despite the softness in his gaze, your mind is too consumed by turmoil to fully register it. “I’m sorry, babe,” Jimin murmurs, his voice laced with genuine concern, but it feels distant, overshadowed by the weight of your confession.

His words, though well-meaning, falter as they leave his lips, carrying a hint of uncertainty that mirrors your own inner turmoil. “I’ve been trying to include you in everything... it’s going to be alright. I think we can do it together,” Jimin says, his voice wavering slightly, echoing the uncertainty that looms over your shared future.

With a heavy heart and trembling resolve, you muster the courage to speak your truth. “That hasn’t really helped me... and,” you draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words to come, “I want to break up.” As the weight of your decision hangs in the air, you can almost hear the echoes of your heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of the profound shift unfolding between you.

His face registers the shock of your words, a flicker of hurt crossing his features as though caught off guard by the abruptness of your revelation. The surprise in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent testament to his obliviousness to the silent turmoil brewing beneath the surface for weeks. Amidst the whirlwind of impending fatherhood, perhaps your distress remained invisible, eclipsed by the overwhelming anticipation of a new chapter. It’s a bitter realization, yet you find no solace in casting blame; after all, his preoccupation was understandable given the circumstances.

His words tremble with uncertainty, mirroring the quiver in his voice that betrays a vulnerability you hadn’t fully anticipated. As his gaze meets yours, laden with a blend of confusion and desperation, you grasp the gravity of your decision. His untouched meal sits forgotten, a testament to the weight of your revelation. “You... you want to break up with me?” The question hangs heavy in the air, laced with a rawness that pierces through the silence. “I don’t want us to break up. I love you.” Yet, amidst the turmoil, his declaration of love resonates, a fragile plea tethered to the hope of salvaging what remains of your bond.

With a silent nod, you feel the lump in your throat constricting, stifling the words that threaten to spill forth, and tears blur your vision like unbidden raindrops on a windowpane.

“But I can’t do this anymore, Jimin. I love you deeply, I really do. But this… it hurts me so much, I can’t take it,” you express, your fingertips tracing a path along your arm as tears carve rivulets down your cheeks, your voice quivering with emotion and your breath hitching with each sniffle.

“Babe, I’m truly sorry. I had no idea you were carrying this weight and feeling like this,” his voice drips with sorrow, each word heavy with remorse, and it only amplifies the ache in your chest, pulling you deeper into the vortex of sadness.

“It’s okay. I should have talked to you sooner, it’s just been so hard. A lot has happened and you’re going to be a father and that’s great!” You force enthusiasm into your voice, the artificiality of it chafing against your soul, leaving a bitter aftertaste that lingers uncomfortably.

A furrow deepens upon his brow, betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His lips, usually so quick to speak, now maintain an uneasy silence, concealing the torrent of thoughts and feelings poised to spill forth.

“I really think it’s best to break up,” you reiterate, sensing a fleeting calm settle over your racing heart.

“But I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he pleads, his voice cracking, tears glistening in his eyes. It’s agonizing. You tighten your grip, desperately searching for any semblance of resolve.

“I know, I don’t want to lose you either. But as much as it pains me, I can’t go on like this. I need to break up,” you say, trying to hold firm, though every word feels like a jagged shard piercing your heart.

“If that’s truly what you want,” his voice barely audible, almost drowned in the weight of the moment, “then I... I understand.”

“It is,” you respond, the finality of your decision echoing in the stillness of the room.

Tears cascade down both your cheeks, reflecting the pain and sorrow shared between you. With a heavy heart, you rise from the stool, your voice quivering with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Jimin.”

His gaze averts from yours, perhaps overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. You share the sentiment; the intensity is almost suffocating, tears obscuring your vision like a torrential downpour.

“Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry I couldn’t eat, and I’m sorry it had to end like this,” you manage through tears as you step out of the house. Each word feels like a boulder on your chest, weighing you down with the enormity of the situation. Behind you, Jimin’s sobs echo in the air, tugging at the fraying edges of your resolve. You yearn to turn back, to embrace him, and promise that somehow, everything will be alright. But deep down, you know that this pain is inevitable, and your heart, already fractured, can’t bear any more.

As you park your car at home, the weight of the evening’s emotional storm presses down upon you. Tears blur your vision as you lean back in your seat, surrendering momentarily to the overwhelming tide of sadness. Suddenly, a soft knock on your window breaks through the solitude. Startled, you glance over to find your sister standing there, her concerned eyes peering in through the glass, offering a glimmer of solace in the darkness of your despair.

You attempt to staunch the flow of tears with the rough fabric of your sleeve, and you take a deep breath and gather your courage before opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air.

Her eyes widen with concern, scanning your face for clues to the turmoil within. “What happened?” she asks, her voice laced with apprehension, mirroring the anxious furrow of her brow.

You collapse into her embrace, tears flowing freely as you surrender to the weight of your emotions. “I broke up with Jimin,” you confess, your voice choking with sorrow and regret.

She envelops you in a comforting embrace, whispering soothing words into your ear as her gentle hand traces comforting circles on your trembling back, offering solace in the warmth of her presence.

The solace she offers feels like a balm to your wounded soul, a fleeting moment of respite amidst the storm of emotions raging within you.

As she absorbs your tears with her embrace, she gently queries, “Why did you break up with him?” Her voice carries a blend of concern and curiosity, inviting you to share the weight of your heartache.

Amidst your tears and sniffles, you pour out your heart, “I don’t want kids and I can’t be in a relationship with Jimin and Deiji, because she’ll always be there now.” The weight of your words carries the burden of your decision, punctuating the depth of your emotional turmoil.

With gentle reassurance, she guides you across the yard, her comforting touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. Though your steps falter, you find solace in her presence as she leads you back into the sanctuary of the house, your tears mingling with the memories of what once was.

“I’m so sorry,” with heartfelt sincerity, she utters words of empathy, her voice a soothing balm to your wounded spirit. As you both settle onto the familiar embrace of the couch in the living room, she enfolds you in her arms once more, offering solace in the warmth of her embrace.

“Me too,” you manage between choked sobs, the ache in your chest palpable with each word. “I still love him so much. It fucking hurts!” Your voice rises, echoing the turmoil within, tears streaming down your face unabated. As your body trembles with emotion, you wonder if this pain will ever relent, if time will ever heal this shattered heart.

“It’s going to be alright, sis,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. With gentle strokes, she caresses your hair, guiding your head to rest against her chest. In the warmth of her embrace, you find a fleeting solace, a momentary respite from the tempest of emotions tearing you apart.

“I don’t know, Jess…” You manage between hiccups, the weight of your words heavy with sorrow. “Jimin is the love of my life. I’m just not ready for kids... and I…” Pausing to gather the fragments of your shattered heart, you let the raw ache of longing spill forth. “I can’t do it. I feel jealous all the time. And now he’s going to be a dad?” Each syllable quivers with the agony of uncertainty, a plaintive cry echoing the turmoil within.

She gently pats your head again, a soothing rhythm against the tempest raging within you, yet the storm of emotions refuses to settle.

“I hate myself for feeling like this. For not being ready to have kids… but I just can’t,” you confess, your tears flowing erratically, echoing the tumultuous turmoil within.

“Perhaps my love isn’t strong enough,” you suddenly ponder aloud, lifting your gaze to seek solace in your sister’s eyes, hoping for clarity amidst the storm of doubts swirling within.

“I believe you love Jimin with every fiber of your being. But sometimes, prioritizing your own well-being is necessary. If you can’t fully commit, it’s better to step away before you’re consumed by the pain,” she offers, her words a balm to your wounded heart. Despite the anguish tearing you apart, her reassurance provides a glimmer of clarity, even though the thought of moving on from Jimin feels like an insurmountable task— and deep down you know that you’ll never get over Jimin.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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actualbird · 16 days

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so ive talked about this with some of my tot friends but im starting to get....Fluffy Date Fatigue with post-anniv1 card stories, especially with luke, because his and mc's pre-relationship era was ENTRENCHED in conflict, in their opposing ideals and beliefs constantly butting heads, in luke's flaws and mc's worries causing friction in their relationship and it was from within that friction from whence a deeper bond was able to be forged, and it was incredible. but ever since they got into a relationship i feel.....bereft. the friction is gone. sure, it comes up sometimes but only rarely (off the top of my head, the ones that come to mind are SSR Dream of Benji and his 2nd anniv card SSR Orange Scent) (and this is not counting the AU cards because theyre AUs) but those are outliers. overall, their relationship has stabilized into a frictionless happy and smooth relationship. which is great! good for them! this is what i wish upon all irl relationships filled with love!

but it makes for a repetitive lineup of stories in fiction.

im not saying i want lukerosa to break up or whatever (thatd harm my heart) but...but i want that CONFLICT again. and i understand that their stabilized relationship is because of the character growth that luke underwent in his pre-anniv1 personal story arc, but even given all that, conflict can still happen in a happy relationship between two loving individuals. i feel as if ever since anniv1, we've lost the emotional stakes of their relationship. which is a damn shame, because the emotional stakes is what made me adore lukerosa in the first place. their relationship brings out everything compelling about both luke and mc's characters.

but nowadays it almost feels like tot is afraid of showing anything other than a happy perfect relationship with no relationship bumps or problems whatsoever, in card stories. which just is kinda a bummer because it does lukerosa a great disservice, imo. what made their relationship so strong is how much they had to go through to get there. and i wish that was followed through on, because maintaining a happy relationship still comes with their ups and downs, and those ups and downs would make for such wonderful stories. let them argue. let them go against each other. let their stubbornness butt heads, let their fears and worries run amok. let conflict happen again, because thats what makes the resolution so much sweeter

this is all just my own view of course tho. KJBLSKDLJFBD

#tears of themis #lukerosa #luke pearce #tot luke #xia yan #tot rosa #like....ive stopped writing analyses much these days because there simply isNT MUCH TO ANALYZE WHEN IT COMES TO CARDS #(main story is a whole other thing theres endless things to analyze there)

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barblaz-arts · 6 months

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You might not read this from the many comments you get, but thank you for portraying Enid so beautifully. This might be an unpopular take, but despite how people outside her family treat her, Wednesday is privileged beyond belief to have a family so considerate and warm in their love for her, the kind most of us (and moreso in real life, because the bar is so low) can only dream to have been born in.

I’m autistic and I work in adult psychology, so clients who lash out at the world and lack empathy because of the hurt they received from their families or their environment are a dime a dozen. It’s a common saying that we can always choose to be kind no matter our circumstance but I can’t tell you how rare it is to find someone that actively chooses to be kind and mature in their empathy on their own despite their family not providing them with the affection they deserve. Enid is the fictional embodiment of that to me, at least in how I interpret it, and it’s wonderful to see how you depict her in your art.

I adore your time -travel story so much since it shows how Enid returns the love she’s entitled to but never been given, to her own daughter in such abundance because she’s grown them on her own with the people she chose to be her family.

I’m obviously rambling because you have such a way to explore this admittedly mid show into stories of your own that are so profound. Thank you so much for the constant works of art you’ve given us.

I assure you, I read and treasure every kind word I receive in my inbox :) I'm just not really able to reply to all of them as quickly as I would like, and I'm sorry about that

And thank you so much for sharing your thoughts! There are people involved in making a show, and although I've constantly said that this one is honestly not one of the best I've watched despite how attached I've come to it, I'm really grateful to the people involved in creating Enid, including of course Emma who brought her to life. For all it's flaws, one of the best thing to come out of it is Enid Sinclair. She's such a fascinating and darling character. As The Addams Family is an IP that has been prone to many incarnations, I really hope that in the future when it gets more adaptations, Enid is also along for the ride.

#asks #it's really quite impressive #Wednesday has been such a beloved character #and enid is a new original character that held her own beside such an iconic character likw Wednesday #that's pretty amazing

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fictional-library-tournament · 5 months

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Prelims round 1, poll 19

Propaganda

Scarlet Devil Mansion Library, Touhou:

It's said to have books of all kind, in thousands of different languages, and about countless different things. Some of the books were written by the librarian herself, Patchouli Knowledge. The was also probably one of the first recognizable set pieces in the windows touhou games, being the fourth stage in it's introductory game.

The Lines Between, Dimension 20: Neverafter:

Contains all versions of every story ever written, told, or imagined - free existential horror with every checkout!

"You're nothing more than scratches of ink on someone else's piece of paper."

The Lines Between is a massive place between stories, and staffed by diverse and deific librarians who are just doing their best, such as Glossary, Key, Legend and Index. The library is physically made of books, scrolls, and parchment. Its areas include the Hall of Stories, the Canonade, the Tower of Tales, and perhaps most remarkably: a brilliant view of the Auroratory. It is a beautiful aurora borealis of voices, preserving auratory stories that aren't necessarily written down. It is possible to swim up and into the Auroratory.

Fort Maria Library, Star Sable Online:

(All images come from ssoblr users)

So this is not necessarily a public library and it was abandoned for a long time (as far as we know) but the druids have it up again recently in game. It was built as part of Fort Maria centuries ago by the time of the game, and holds books from all those eras.

It is a gorgeous and expansive place with secret passageways, rare tomes, fluffy seats, old abandoned research, a lot of study areas, old relics, a moving bookcase to a portal cavern and even its very own library ghost!

It is, in my opinion, one of the most atmospheric places in the game. Even without sound on it is gorgeous and bring across its intention incredibly well, and with the sound on it is incredibly eerie. The music here is very limited and quiet, and the player’s footsteps echo through the library.

I feel like whatever you’re researching, you will find something on it in here. It feels like a place you could spend your whole life reading in, and still only have read a tiny fraction of the books there.

the citizens of jorvik (fictional star stable online island) keep all the witchcraft books in there and all their super secret and cool magic books, it was closed for years and it's very mysterious. one of the coolest characters (mrs. holdsworth) in the whole game hangs out there a lot, and it's home to a cute little capran named beatrix and she took her name from her favorite book. the only way you get in the library is by feeding her snacks and reading her books and she's also one of the coolest characters in the game (imo). also beatrix is friends with one of the horses in the game and she often is seen playing with the horse so :) OH and also there's a full heckin portal room in the lower floor!!! with a little pond and a portal that at some point the main characters (the "soul riders") get kicked in by the evil guys (the "dark riders") into this place called devil's gap (despite the name there's just one witch basically vibing in the gap potentially helping out the evil guys but we haven't figured that out yet). and it's gorgeous, if you're worrying about looks. the inside is all wooden and home-y and the portal room is also very pretty eye candy, it's very glow-y.

Bookholm, The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers

None

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