#if we were raised in these circumstances we too would do these things. the reasons people within these systems reject them is not because

[metapphjores]

there is no future or liberation for any movements that sees their "enemies" as non-human

#having read accounts of some of the most soul-destroyingly cruel and evil actions taking during genocides by their perpetrators #i understand how easy it is to divorce these people from our concepts of humanity and logic but like #nothing will be solved unless you understand that these people commiting these crimes are in fact human #and nearly nothing seperates you from them but your situations. nothing. there is no inherent moral center that these people lack. #if we were raised in these circumstances we too would do these things. the reasons people within these systems reject them is not because #they are uniquely better and more human than the majority of their ethnic group / fellow nationals / whatever #but that they were in circumstances that allowed them to understand that they were being lied to #these people actually do have be engaged with and accepted as human beings. you can not kill or remove every person who has participated #its doesnt work like that. it has never worked like that. changing things is awful demoralizing generational work that we may never see the #results of but it very literally is the only option. any solution that denys the humanity of any of the parties involved will fail and will #leave all these issues for the next generation to solve. the only way forward is to destroy THE SYSTEM creating these circumstances and hope #it leaves a better world for the children.

[kaijutegu]

It’s so fascinating to me that we’ve only been breeding Komodo dragons in captivity for thirty years. In that time, our understanding of them has actually really revolutionized the way we understand the social lives and behaviors of lizards in general, and it’s mostly thanks to this lady right here, who was born 30 years ago on September 13, 1992.

Kraken was the first Komodo to be bred in captivity. She hatched out at GMU, but was raised at the National Zoo. Her parents were wild-caught dragons- there’s still WC dragons in the AZA today- and this one specific individual probably did more to revolutionize lizard care in professional settings than any other individual lizard throughout zoo history.

Until Kraken, social enrichment wasn’t a thing people thought about. It wasn’t something anybody felt was necessary for lizards, because they were just... lizards. Sure, some keepers would play with their favorites, but it wasn’t until the National Zoo started documenting what she was doing that anybody realized how much Komodo dragons like to play with us too.

Kraken’s not in that video, but she’s the one who inspired all of the social studies that have been done on captive Komodo dragons. When she was at the National Zoo, her keepers  started getting curious when, for no apparent reason, she kept gingerly stealing things from peoples’ pockets and tugging on their shoelaces. So they started giving her stuff- Frisbees, blankets, soda cans, anything she showed an interest in.

She played with them, just like a mammal might. The way play behavior is described in psychology is a given activity that’s voluntary, repeated, and conducted under “relatively benign” circumstances. Keeper staff found that her conduct during the study met all of these criteria. “Kraken,” they wrote, had clearly demonstrated “play-like behavior with objects and even with humans (tug-of-war).” Moreover, she “could discriminate between prey and nonprey” while showing “varying responses” with different items (rubber rings, shoes, etc.). (There’s an excellent book on Komodo dragons that has an entire chapter devoted to her.)

Kraken died several years ago, but her legacy continues today. There’s several of her descendants still in the AZA, and the intelligence and social needs she demonstrated led to the improvement of life for these guys- and other lizards. The Komodo dragon program has been an eye opener, not just for reptile conservation, but for understanding reptile intelligence and how this incredible clade of animals functions.

#komodo dragon #thinking a lot about animal welfare and animal wellbeing #where would we be with reptiles if somebody hadn't realized how much this one specific animal liked to play? #reptile #reptiblr #Youtube

[awniie]

AT LEAST LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU LIE

ᣞ ⊹ ݁ summary: your boyfriend suguru finds the best way to punish you !!

꒰ content: mean!sugu, fem!reader, pussyslapping, praise/degradiation, cum denial, feel like this whole thing is kinda a niche kink

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ notes: my ‘mean suguru’ drabble was based on this so if some stuff sounds familiar it’s cus i took this n drabble-fied it; also this is for the anon who asked for it <33 ALSO @d0nk3y-k0ng my new-found geto fixation is your fault <33

“Suguru, can you help me?…this thing is too heavy!” you called out, voice straining as you struggled to bring the giant cardboard box through the door. It was way too heavy for you, and of course the delivery people had quickly set it outside the door, escaping the potential work of having to bring it inside. Your boyfriend quickly rushed to your aid, grabbing the opposite side of the box. “I got it baby, where did you wanna put it again?” Suguru asked, setting the box against the wall and looking at you.

“I wanted to put it in the living room. That way it’ll be the most accessible.” You told him. You two hand just moved into your new place and decorating was the sole thing on your mind. You spent hours on pinterest, trying to find the perfect aesthetic for your new home. You valued your home,so much so that you started repeating all those cringey aphorisms whenever you were questioned about your new-found obsession.

“Home is where the heart is, sugu.” You told him. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, but what does that anything to do with spending $100 on a house plant?” You let out a sheepish laugh. “Well…I can take care of the plant. Which takes heart…?” You murmured. It was an inane suggestion, which was appropriate for the circumstance of spending $100 on a plant. “Sounds a bunch of bullshit to me.” Your boyfriend told you. He was necessarily happy with all the money being spent on what seemed like superficial things, he seemed to be happy with the results of your decorating.

It took about 30 minutes to situate this new mirror, but for good reasons. It was big, like really big. Leaning, it was taller than you and almost as tall as your 6’3 boyfriend. It was wide as well, providing a perfect view of anyone who looked into it. It was a gorgeous peice of furniture. The frame was a creamy white, with ornate molding. There were carefully crafted swirls and curves on it, with tiny clay embellishment. It had looked like something out of a fairytale, like a mirror that could reveal the deepest desires of whoever dared look inside. It was perfect for your new house, the only thing that wasn’t so perfect was the extravagant price. Your jaw almost dropped when you saw the cost. No way in hell would Suguru let you buy it, no matter how much you beg or how many tears you spill.

So you searched for alternatives. Any sort of duplicate or listing on another site would be scouted out and search throughly before you succumb your wallet to $2,500. You must’ve been god-kissed that day, as the only cheaper listing was $1,700. Still, it wasn’t something you felt 100% sure about buying, but what other options were there? Suguru would be proud of you for finding a cheaper offering and thinking about a budget. So, you went ahead and bought it, feeling pretty proud of yourself for doing so. Did you tell Suguru about the purchase? no way. You’d only tell him if he asked, and you prayed with all your heart that he wouldn’t.

“Sooo…do you like it?” you asked him hopefully. Maybe he would say yes and then move on to something else, and not ask that dreadful question. Maybe, when you told him about the bargain you made, he’d be proud of you for your efforts. “Mhmmm, t’s real pretty.” He put his hand on his chin, as if thinking. “How much did we pay for this again?” Suguru asks, stepping back and giving it an appraisal.

Shit. It was silent for a good 10 seconds. You could feel the way your words dried up on your tongue and died, as if they were too scared to come up. He raised an eyebrow and asks again, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. “How much did we pay for this thing?” Stil not answer. He came up behind you, snaking one arm around your waist, while his open hand went to your chin. “Baby, you gon’ answer me?” His ghostly purple eyes searing yours through that cursed mirror.

…

“I-I just forgot to tell you-…!” you whined, legs buckling as you felt another sharp stinging sensation land on puffy clit.

“Oh, you did?” Suguru asked facetiously. You nod and cry as you feel another slap land on your clit. He then grabs your face with his hands, holding your cheeks between his slick-coated fingers. “At least look at me when you lie, baby.” He said as he guided your face in the mirror.

This was humiliating. He had you spread out on the floor, pussy glistening and your back pressed up against his chest. He had took upon himself to punish you, which subsequently turned into something lewd and twisted. Hence the being sprawled out, leggings and panties long discarded and receiving countless slaps on your cunt. It was painfully obvious that he was hard, feeling his length that was being squashed up against your ass. Your hair was messy and out of place, your skin sticky while drool and tears coated your chin. The worst part? He was doing this right infront of the new mirror and he wouldn’t even let you look away, so you were forced to fully embrace your current state.

“Please sugu. I didn’t mean too…just lemme cum please? You begged, your voice shaky and full of hiccups.

“Noo, only good girls get to cum .” He cooed, his finger playing with your little bundle of nerves. You’d been at this for about an hour now. He’d start to finger your cunt, and then he’d hit it as punishment. The closest you’ve been to finishing was the half-broken orgasm you’d stolen from his fingering, which in return you got another slap.

“Could’ve been done a long time ago. You’re making this so difficult for me baby.” He whispered in your ear, as if this hurt him more than it did you. “So now, are you gonna tell me the truth, or are you gonna keep lying to me? Cus’ trust me, I won’t hesitate to hit this pussy again” He threatened, the hand on your sticky clit moving even more slowly as an incentive.

You meant to shake your head, but when he swiftly plunged his fingers into your weeping cunt, the sloppy sounds of your slick, must’ve drowned out whatever of your senses was left. “y-yes…!”

You saw the gleam of that dangerous smile in the mirrors reflection. “I knew you would. Such a smart girl, yeah?”

Then your boyfriend laughed, a soft and smooth laugh that should not have gone down to your lower stomach with molten delicious heat. Could you blame yourself though? His fingers were pumping in-and-out of you with tantalizing proficiency, making your insides do somersaults. The way that syrupy-sweet praises dripped off his tongue alongside bitter jeers. Your brain was too far fucked out for so many conflicting emotions. “Go on now..say what you needa say to me.”

“m’ sorry for spending your money sugu! I shouldn’t have bought it, should’ve a-asked!” You confessed, buckling you hips in tandem with his fingers. “Ah ah…no moving.” He reprimanded, taking those fingers out and slapping your hole again. Your body jolted at the sudden sting and then slumped back against his chest.

“Look at you, all teary eyed and wet-pussied. You like this shit, don’t yeah?” He catchesized, with that stupid-stupid smirk on his face. “I bet you’re not sorry at all.”

“No-yes-no m’ sorry..! M’ really really sorry! ” You could barely understand what he was saying. Your pleasure was the only thing that mattered right now, all other senses finger-fucking out of you a long time ago. Geto loved you like this though. Fucked dumb and too far down the abyss of your own pleasure to think properly, all inhibitions lost. It was the easiest way to get an answer out of you.

“I think you bought this mirror just for yourself. Just so you could watch yourself get fucked? He guessed, dragging his hands across your quivering thighs. You hated how soft his voice sounded, especially when accusing you. whimpered as he did, wishing he’d just hurry and put you out of your misery. “N-no”

he frowned, stopping his hand in its tracks. He brought his lips close to shell of you ear, sending shivers down your spine and more wetness to your cunt. “Look at me, and don’t lie.”

You looked at him, straight through the mirror. “I promise, i didn't sugu. I just wanted our home to look nice!” you confessed, sniffling and squeezing your thighs together to create some sort of friction for your achey pussy.

Suguru felt his heart melt a little. You were so pitiful with your shaky mewls and whines . He couldn't help but feel a little bad for being so mean to his precious girl. He shouldn't punish you too hard, obviously you didn't know much better. “Aww..look at that face. How could I be so mean?” He told you, trailing that finger up on down your slit. He smiled at how you hips yet again bucked at his wandering digits. “So needy. Poor baby, drooling n’ crying just like this pussy. Guess I should give you what you want, yeah?”

“Mh! Yes sugu, please lemme cum now! I’m so sorry, won’t do this ever again.” You begged. At this point you were full on crying, all other senses overrides by your need to cum. His thick fingertip teased your sopping entrance, re-coating the fingers in cum.

He simply laughed, diving those fingers back into your pulsing heat. “Oh, I know baby. I know. Now watch me as I give this pussy just what she needs.”

#that ending kinda sucked #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #jujutsu geto #geto smut #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfic #smut #jjk suguru #gojo smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu suguru #jjk gojo #jjk headcanons #jjk fluff #jujutsu sorcerer #saturo smut #geto x y/n #jujutsu kaisen suguru

[cutielando]

family ~ rafe cameron

my masterlist

Ever since he was young, Rafe had always dreamed of having a family. His wife, his children that he would raise whatever way he saw fit with his partner by his side. He wanted it all.

Growing up, he came to the conclusion that he would never have that. Who would want to love someone as damaged as him? Not even his family loved him, he couldn’t expect a stranger to do so. It would be completely unfair.

Meeting you had been Rafe’s lifeline from the very beginning. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew, from the moment you had first spoken to each other, that he would end up marrying you.

To some people, it might seem rash, or completely unrealistic. How could you think that you would be spending the rest of your life with someone you had known for such a short amount of time? Some even called Rafe delusional.

But he had been right in the end.

You saw Rafe for so much more than his family was making him believe about himself. He had so much potential to become such a great human being, a great CEO for his family’s business, an amazing partner and a reliable friend. He had all the qualities to be amazing, he was just being let down by his own family who didn’t believe he was worth any trouble. A fact which completely broke your heart.

You had vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t let his family dictate his life any longer, that you would not let them bring him down and make him think less of himself. You would show him just how much life had to offer and how much better off he would be without their control over him.

Rafe knew he had to get out. He would never have got better if he were to remain to live under the same roof as them or even be in the same place as them.

Which was partially the reason why the two of you moved in together on the mainland, not even 6 months after your relationship had officially started. Many of your friends thought it was too soon, that you hadn’t thought things through and were just acting up. Typical things coming from entitled teenagers.

Nothing about your relationship was ordinary. The circumstances in which the two of you had met, the very beginning of your relationship with each other, your interactions with his family and especially his father, your mutual decision to help Rafe escape from the toxic environment he had grown accustomed to. Unique circumstances, as your boyfriend had liked putting it.

Those exact circumstances were the reason why Rafe proposed to you on your 1 year anniversary dinner. He hadn’t told anyone he would be doing it, making sure you didn’t suspect anything that would ruin his surprise.

The wedding ceremony had been the one to go down in history books. You’d decided to go all out, inviting every last one of your friends, both of your families, a lot of people from the island, new friends you had made since the two of you moved, wanting the people you loved close to you on that special day.

Rafe had been skeptical of inviting his family at first, very familiar with the way his father made it his life’s mission to make his son’s life a living hell with any occasion.

Luckily, thanks to Rose, that hadn’t been the case at all. You didn’t even know he was there, that’s how quiet and invisible he had made himself out to be.

Being married to Rafe was amazing. You both had stable jobs, but you still made time for each other every single day. He would always bring you something when he would come home, either a bouquet of your favorite flowers, or some kind of jewelry that he had seen on the way home and made him think of you.

Everything was perfect.

But there was just something missing. Something both of you had been thinking about but didn’t have the courage to bring it up until one night.

A child.

“Baby?” Rafe had called out to you one night while you were doing your night routine.

“Yes?” you called out from the bathroom.

“Can we talk about something once you’re done?” his words made you a little bit nervous, figuring it had to be something important.

“Of course” you called back, now suddenly in a hurry to finish your skincare.

Nerves were gnawing at your chest, making all kinds of thoughts run through your head. Deep down, you knew you had no reason to be scared or anything like that. At the end of the day, it was Rafe you were talking about. Your sweet, sweet husband.

You walked back into your shared bedroom, noticing Rafe sitting in the middle of the bed under the covers, playing with his hands which rested on his lap.

Getting in next to him and cuddling with the mountain of blankets you slept with, you smiled at him, which he reciprocated but his smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked, taking his hand in yours once you realized just how nervous he was.

He cleared his throat, turning around so he was completely facing you.

“I’ve been thinking lately, we’ve got a very stable lifestyle, you know? We both have good jobs, we really have a lot of money, we have a nice and big house, we have friends who support us, we’re doing really well, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, making you nod. “I was thinking about it, and you can totally say no and I would completely understand if you think it would be too soon. But what do you thinking about starting to try for a baby?” by the time he had asked the question, his hands were shaking even more so than they were before.

You were shocked, to say the least. You had been toying around with the idea in your head as well, but you were skeptical of bringing it up because you had just got married, you didn’t want to pressure Rafe into having a kid just yet.

As it turned out, he had been doing the exact same thing.

“I think it’s time we started trying for a baby” you whispered, biting your lip once you saw how his eyes lit up.

“You do? You’re not just saying that for my sake?” he whispered, wanting to make sure you were truly on the same page about this.

You shook your head, smiling at him fondly.

“Truth to be told, I’ve been thinking about bringing up having children ever since our honeymoon ended, but I didn’t want to make you feel pressured to have a kid right away. Turns out I’ve been worrying in vain all this time” you chuckled, taking a hold of one of his hands.

Rafe chuckled alongside you and let out a big breath, feeling relief slowly taking over his body.

Silence fell over the room, you and your husband communicating through your eyes. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, an agreement that it was time for your family to get bigger, that you were more than ready to take this step together.

That you were ready to embark on yet another adventure.

Said adventure proved to come much quicker than the both of you were expecting.

After not even a month since you’d had that discussion and agreed that you would start trying for a baby, the blue stick that you had purchased at the pharmacy had shown a + sign, marking the beginning of your journey towards parenthood.

Telling Rafe had been your favorite part. You had gone out to the store and bought a little onesie and baby socks, deciding to put them in a small gift box along with the positive test you had taken.

When Rafe came home and discovered the gift, he burst out crying, sinking down to his knees and pressing kisses on your stomach, repeatedly thanking you for giving him such a huge blessing to love and care for.

For giving him a family.

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[spaghettiposts]

Video Games

Reader x Wednesday Addams

Summery: Video games are a waste of time in Wednesdays opinion, being with you however is not.

Warnings: First attempt at writing for Wednesday.

A/N: Lemme know if y’all would wanna see more of Wednesday from me I’m thinking about writing for Tara too!

“There are more fruitful things to do aside from staring at a screen all day.”

Lifting your head from your said screen, you raised a judgemental brow. Wednesday sat with her back turned from you, typing away, she had allowed you to sit lay on her bed in the meantime so long as you promised to stay silent. The noises your console gave off broke that promise, one quick narrowed look from the goth had you lowering the volume instantly.

“Like staring at a typewriter all day?” You retorted with amusement in your voice. She paused her typing for a minuscule moment before continuing her steady pace.

“I’ll have you know my writing sessions improve memorization, vocabulary, and keep me from strangling you.” You could see a cocky smirk form on her face. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Shrugging your shoulders you sucked your teeth, a reply fresh on your tongue. “I don’t know, dying in your hands sounds like the most lucky I’ll ever be.”

At that, Wednesday froze, looking down to her paper before ripping it off, a prominent scowl appearing. You grinned to yourself behind the device, knowing damn well you had made her slip up. The small tints of red on her cheeks almost missable, just confirmed that.

“Disturb my writing time again and I’ll throw that…thing off my balcony.” She huffed, folding whatever she did get done during the duration of your visit into a neat pile. It wasn’t much whatsoever, a pattern that only repeated every session you were around.

You simply laughed in response, causing her stomach to grow spiders. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch you or shut you up in another form.

In different circumstances she’d respond with haste, quickly dismissing you from her dormitories so she could focus. But for some reason, no matter how close she was to saying no, it never happened. Wednesday supposed that was fine, you weren’t completely irksome.

But if those little noises, coming from your Nintendo? Kept happening she might just come to say it.

“I thought I had warned you to turn off the noise.” She snapped, face scrunching at the weird noises of a man crying. The noise didn’t even resemble a realistic cry, what on earth. “What even is that?” She questioned.

You smiled at the clear curiosity she showed. Not that she’d ever admit. Scooting over on her bed—carefully not to ruin her perfectly folded sheets—patted the space next to you. “Come here and I’ll show you.” You offered, receiving a cold scoff in response. “What? Come on Wednesday. We both know you aren’t getting any more writing done, why not unwind?”

Unfortunately, seeing as she had neatly arranged everything back in its usual place. You were correct, obviously Wednesday refused to let you know that, reluctantly trudging along to her bed. Muttering small things about how “I’d get more writing done if you left.”

“Mhm sure Addams.” You snickered, lifting your arm up to put around her shoulder, bringing her into you. She said nothing, adjusting to the position until she found the perfect spot to rest. On your chest.

“Technology is a man-made brain rotting scam that only diminishes human intelligence.”

“So was romance? I guess you’re into rotting then.”

“Only because you could rot with someone.” She muttered, staring at the game in your hands. The corners of her lips rising when you died, cursing to yourself. “Rot with you.” She added lowly, you almost didn’t catch it but you’re glad you did. You just hope she wouldn’t hear how much you enjoyed it, be still heart.

Feeling bold you pressed a small kiss on her head, leaning your head against hers as you continued playing your game. Later when Wednesday got tired of you mashing those stupid buttons she’d toss the game aside, leaving your full attention on her. Maybe there were more fruitful things you could focus on.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #fluff #Wednesday Addams fluff

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 12 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, some angst, DESCRIPTIVE SMUT with maybe 1 pet name and 2 jokes, a bunch of reminiscing and relentless flirting (bc jungkook is dowwnnnn badddd), praise kink if you squint?, minors please don't interact

words: 7.6k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 12 ► fall into your eyes like a grave, bury me to the sound of your name

You and Jungkook were silent for a solid fifteen minutes after you let him into your hotel room. You were both sitting on the bed, but with so much distance between you that it felt like you were on two different floors.

After your phone on the bedside table lit up for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes, Jungkook finally spoke up.

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah.” You sighed. Being silent with Jungkook oddly felt less draining than dealing with whatever was happening on your phone. “It’s Kai.”

Jungkook nodded, remembering your brother’s misadventures the last time you two talked. He was almost happy to use that as an excuse to dance around the elephant in the room a little longer.

“How is he?” he asked. “With his broken…”

“Leg, yeah,” you finished, leaning your head against the headboard. “He’s home. Mum’s grounded him. She’s turned off the router and taken his Xbox, so he’s texting me because he’s got nothing else to do.”

Remembering how angry you were when your brother got himself into trouble and upset your mum, Jungkook asked with a small smirk on his lips, “and you had nothing to do with the Xbox?”

You shook your head. “I don’t believe it’s an appropriate punishment to withhold things from your children. I think it makes them withdraw from their parents, especially when they’re seventeen like Kai. And it makes them annoy their siblings instead,” you paused. Then shrugged. “But I’m not a parent, so easy for me to say.”

Dignified, Jungkook cleared his throat.

“You’ve contributed greatly to raising your brother,” he said in a voice full of contempt for your family’s general tendency to use the nine-year age difference between you and your brother as an excuse to have you babysit for free.

Although your heartbeat increased at the sound of his confidence—and his almost reflexive habit of defending you from yourself—your outward appearance remained composed. It was easy to appear collected when you weren’t looking at him and he felt so far away.

“And look at him now,” you said, an ironic smile on your face. “A mess.”

Jungkook snickered. “He’s really not that bad.”

Sighing again, you ran a hand through your hair and felt your fingers get caught in the last strand, only adding to your frustration with your brother.

“Sure. He’s a good kid,” you said, looking up at Jungkook. “But he tries too hard.”

Jungkook saw the parallel, he felt it. You might as well have said that about him.

At last, it seemed like the time had come to address the real reason he’d come to your room. He knew that this casual chit-chat was only temporary anyway. But if he wasn’t careful, it would be the last time the two of you spoke to each other with such ease, such familiarity.

He cleared his throat and said, “this might be the hardest conversation we have.”

He didn’t need to elaborate, you understood. And still, you thought about his words for a moment and decided to disagree.

“Or the easiest,” you said. “I mean, everything important that we could have said, we’ve pretty much said already.”

He blinked, surprised at first. Then dizzy.

There were several things he wanted to say to you, but he expected to listen to you first. He knew you wouldn’t initiate a conversation about your feelings, but he’d hoped this was different, especially considering all that you’d said to each other on the street.

It wasn’t different. You sat across from him on the bed and you looked a little uncomfortable, but not particularly confounded.

He’d expected to find you grappling with questions, armoured with rightful accusations, but you appeared settled.

Maybe it’s because it’s been four years, he realised suddenly. He hadn’t been there to watch you build your defences. He hadn’t seen your walls grow.

He worried, suddenly, that nothing he’d say would mean anything to you. He worried that the only reason you let him into your room was to deliver the finishing blow—to tell him that you were done one more time.

He switched the arm he was leaning against the bed with; his right arm was slowly going numb. Actually, so was his left, and, if he was completely honest, his whole body felt a bit like it was floating away from him, but he tried to focus on the moment.

“Uh, w-we haven’t said everything,” he said.

You looked at him. “What else is there?”

“Two things.”

Inhaling sharply, you turned away. You did not really want to continue the discussion you’d had by the canal. In fact, you didn’t think there was anything to continue at all.

You’d walked away as soon as you realised that you’d come face-to-face with your break-up. And this was it. You’ve found the reason why this could never work. Why you and him together could never work. And it was truly simple: it’s because it hadn’t worked before. You already knew it, but you enjoyed the leisure of pretending that you didn’t.

All that you two had to do now, in your opinion, was reach a formal agreement that this would be it. You’ve explored each other’s boundaries enough during this tour. The time has come to stop. To go back to your normal lives, your regular jobs and duties.

However, now that he was here, there was hesitation behind your closed eyes. You had learned that the two of you had different ideas about why you broke up. And you’d spent four years boiling in them, convincing yourselves you’ve moved on from them, then facing them head-on when you really looked at each other again.

Perhaps there were a few more things you had to talk about, after all, before you could truly put this behind you.

Finally, you nodded your head once and told him, “okay. What’s the first thing?”

“The first thing,” he started, “is that I'm sorry.”

It was well known that “sorry” wasn’t always a heavy word. People threw it around like a pebble and watched it bounce off the surface of the water, rarely ever intending for it to sink, to reach the depths not visible to the naked eye. Jungkook had been one of those people many times in his life.

But the word he used here felt different.

It carried a weight that forced him to lower his head as he said it. As if all his thoughts had been poured into this sentence – this fateful “I’m sorry” – and the heaviness of it was difficult to bear. As if he’d assigned different meanings to each “sorry” in his head, and all these little pieces suddenly added up to one big word that took up the whole room.

“For not realising what I was doing back then,” he said, dissecting the apology, “and what it meant for our relationship.”

He figured there wasn’t much that you could say that would make it easier for him to breathe – the conversation by the canal, the bet, the apology, all of it was too significant to leave much room for oxygen in his lungs.

But you said, “I forgive you.”

And it felt a lot like you were performing emergency resuscitation and successfully maintaining his brain function.

He wasn’t certain if you’d said that because it was the right thing to say, or because you’d meant it. If it was the former, Jungkook would have rather suffocated.

“You do?” he asked, unsure if he was prepared for your explanation.

“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t know that you weren’t—that you didn’t realise why—why we broke up the way we did. And it sucks that you didn’t, but…”

You faltered here and Jungkook was keenly aware how you’d said it sucks, but you’d really meant it hurt me. It hurt that he’d been dismissive, negligent, and heedless – and had the audacity not to realise it.

He closed his eyes while you finished, “it sucks more to know that, all this time, you thought I’d just walked away for no good reason.”

An apology was on the tip of your tongue, he could sense it. Although you had many reasons to be angry with him for being so impossibly stupid, you also felt guilty because all this time, he had thought you woke up one morning and suddenly decided you didn’t want to be with him anymore. Like it was your fault that he didn’t realise he’d been taking you for granted every day for months before you broke up.

You should have been angry with him. Instead, you thought you were responsible for not explaining your reasoning properly before you left.

He couldn’t even begin to describe the ache in his chest. He wanted you so much, but more and more he realised that he didn’t deserve you.

“I didn’t try to stop you,” he said before you could say anything else, because this was another element of his initial apology. One more thing he had to be sorry for.

You shrugged with one shoulder. Over the years, you’d come up with several reasons why he never fought for your relationship, not even considering that he might have assumed you had fallen out of love with him. At the end of every day, you simply thought he didn’t care anymore.

“I thought you were okay with it,” you said. “When I told you we were over, you just stood there. You didn’t ask why and I didn’t... answer.”

“I wasn’t okay with it,” he replied. “But I didn’t think there was anything I could do.”

With a thoughtful nod, you agreed, “there probably wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but I felt that way because I assumed that you—you didn’t want to be with me. That you didn’t care about me anymore. And you, uh,” he stopped here and waited for a long minute. Finally, he inhaled deeply. “You thought the opposite.”

You probably should have shouted at each other as you discussed this, you thought abruptly. That would have been appropriate. Maybe even healthy, all things considered.

But then, perhaps the realisation that you both had different views on why you broke up was precisely the thing that softened the impact. His hurt because you’d left him without an explanation, and your anger because he made you do it—they both took up outstanding amounts of space in your chests. They weighed you down. And they almost balanced each other out.

Perhaps you weren’t ready to shout just yet. Or not anymore.

Perhaps you’d left most of the shouting in the past four years ago. Now you were finally on the verge of closure.

That was the point, after all: the two of you boasted—really, there was no other word for it, you were both proud of it—that you’d never spoken to anyone about the details of your relationship.

That could have been admirable, of course, this utter devotion to each other and no one else. Except that, you didn’t talk about your relationship with each other, either.

“Do you think this is our own fault?” you asked. “We were good at talking about everything except… well, us.”

“I know,” Jungkook was quick to agree. You had both been like this from the very beginning—that’s likely why he was never fully aware of his behaviour. You’d always argued, but never about the things that really mattered. “I nearly threw up before I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

You did a double take, your mind racing to supply you with a memory that matched his words, but coming up short.

You squinted at him. “Did you actually ask?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but let it hang there, no words coming out for a good minute.

“You don't remember?!” he accused, his voice so high-pitched that it could almost shatter glass.

“I remember going on at least five dates before someone called you,” you explained, “and I heard you say into your phone, ‘sorry, I’m with my girlfriend.’ And that’s when I assumed that, huh. I guess I’m your girlfriend then.”

Jungkook could remember this exact moment. It was Sid who had called him because the two of them were working for Sid’s grandfather fixing his Camaro at the time. Jungkook had needed the money, while Sid simply enjoyed the ‘69 classic car.

The memory sent a shiver down his spine because he recalled turning Sid down. He had prioritised you over everything back then. What had happened to him later?

Regardless – in Jungkook’s mind, the timeline of your relationship was different.

“I vividly remember asking you on our second date,” he said.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you attempted to remember the very beginning of your relationship.

Your first date was the traditional movie and dinner—although it turned into a movie and the rain when you got stuck in the park. You recalled the whole day with near-perfect clarity.

Your second date was a week later, at the carnival in town. It took you three hours to get back to your dorms, because the event was held across the forest that separated the university campus from a small town nearby. Jungkook had insisted that you could walk home, he had claimed to know the way. And then he proceeded to get you lost within a few seconds of entering the forest.

All you could remember him asking you back then, was, ‘I know where I’m going, so trust me, okay?’ and that certainly did not include any terms that specified your relationship status.

Confused if you were remembering this wrong, you asked, “when we got lost on our way home from the carnival?”

“Before that!” he was even louder now, both of his hands in the air as he frantically explained, “on the Ferris wheel! I can’t believe you don’t remember!”

“On the Ferris—Jungkook, you had motion sickness the whole time we were on it,” you reminded him.

“I wasn’t sick,” he argued. “I was nervous.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “All you said to me during that entire ride was ‘please’ when we were at the very top.”

“That was me asking!”

“That was—” You laughed in surprise before you could finish the sentence. “Okay, well, you can see why I wouldn’t remember that, considering you didn’t use a lot of words to explain what you meant. I thought you were asking me to end the ride. Not that I could have ended it, but—”

“You said yes, though.”

You didn’t think you heard him right, his tone noticeably lower compared to the agitated screaming before. “Hm?”

“When I said, ‘please?’,” he spoke, “you said, ‘yes.’”

You watched him, considering it.

“I think I was asking,” you said and demonstrated, “yes?”

“No. You made a statement,” he disagreed, showing you, “yes.”

You pursed your lips, choosing to quit before this escalated into an argument.

“Alright, fine,” you said. “Maybe I read your mind, then.”

He scoffed, turning away. “And forgot about it…”

Nevermind taking the high road.

“Well, I didn't think it meant anything,” you argued, “you were—”

“I had a different plan. I was going to fully embrace The Notebook and dangle from someone else’s seat to ask you,” Jungkook said, “but for that to work, you would’ve had to go on the ride with someone else. And at that point, I couldn’t let you sit in that cabin with someone who wasn’t me.”

You could feel your cheeks stretching as an involuntary smile spread across your lips.

“That’s a little crazy,” you said gently.

“Please,” he replied, lowering himself on your bed until he was lying on his back. “It’s just crazy. I went on a binge-watching session of romantic films before our first few dates. I did my research.”

You knew him too well not to point out, “was it really only for research?”

“Alright, after the first few, I started to really enjoy them,” he admitted, earning a knowing nod from you. He smiled in response and continued, “but then I got to know you better, and I figured that if I serenaded you like Heath Ledger did in 10 Things I Hate About You, you’d break up with me immediately.”

Your laughter sounded so sincere and calming that Jungkook felt his smile widen as he turned his head to look at you from where he was lying on your bed.

“So I became a singer instead,” he said, encouraged by the lightness in your laugh. “You can’t break up with me if singing for you is my job.”

Your stomach performed an intricate Loop-the-Loop and then dropped, seemingly down ten floors, all the way to the lobby of the hotel.

Desperate, you tried, “you’re not—it’s not—”

Noticing you were about to downplay his words—either because you didn’t think he meant it, or because you didn’t feel comfortable knowing that he did—Jungkook changed the topic instead.

“Were you angry at me?” he asked. “For not chasing you after you left that time?”

Struggling to collect the remains of your thoughts, you spoke very slowly, “I... I was angry that you didn’t put in any effort while we were still together. After that, I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

“I did,” he said. Then, realising, he corrected himself, “I do. And I didn’t want to make the same mistake again today.”

Hesitantly, you asked, “how do you mean? Because I left today?”

He nodded. “I'm not going to wait another four years before we talk about us.”

“Jungkook...” you said, but the sound of his name on your lips caused your thoughts to jumble once more. Your words stuck to your throat as your heart threw itself against the walls of your chest. You hoped to divert the topic, “y-you said there were two things. What—what’s the second thing?”

“The second thing is that I love you,” he said in one quick breath. “I took everything we had for granted, and I’m sorry. But the truth is that even then I was—I-I’d never stopped loving you.”

A sense of déjà vu clouded your mind, while the rest of your body reacted as if this was the first time you’d heard him say this. As if the four years you hadn’t been together were long enough to start a new lifetime, and now you’ve met again, reincarnated into different people – Jungkook, the vocalist of a rock band, and you, the manager.

But, buried deep in your subconscious, locked away in a box that your brain dared not touch even in a dreaming state, was the memory of the first time he’d said these words to you.

It was spring. You’d been together for about five or six months at that point, and you’d skipped class together to go to the same park where you’d had your first date. You’d spent the whole day walking around hand-in-hand, reminiscing about the past, dreaming of the future, taking pictures of the freshly bloomed cherry blossoms, and picking up the pale pink leaves from the grass to throw them at each other.

During the car ride back home, you were so exhausted that you could hardly keep your eyes open. The two of you had been running around so much—his energy was infectious, you’d both acted like Golden Retrievers set loose—that your legs felt wobbly and unsteady.

After a few more minutes, you had lost the battle against yourself and settled more comfortably into the passenger seat, closing your eyes. Your mind was already beginning to fill with the bliss of sleep when Jungkook stopped the car at a red light.

He glanced at you, seemingly asleep on the seat beside him, and leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. When he pulled back, he noticed a pale cherry blossom in your hair and a soft smile on your lips.

It was nothing more than a whisper—“I love you so much”—that slipped from his lips because he thought you were asleep. Nothing more than an overwhelmed confession as his heart drowned in his feelings.

But, to this day, nothing has ever come close to making your heart beat nearly as fast as it had in that car when the light turned green and he drove back to your dorm, still thinking you were asleep. That first confession of love remained a secret between you, him, and the stray cherry blossom nestled in your hair.

Slowly, you opened your eyes as the memory tugged at each and every cell of your skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. You looked around the hotel room before you dared to look at him again.

Contrary to what Jungkook believed, you didn’t appear collected because you were done. Or because you didn’t want to fight with yourself about wanting him anymore.

It was because you were tired of still wanting him so much in spite of everything.

You were tired of forcing yourself to let go. To move on. To be rational and responsible.

Tired of feeling happy about things that were probably inappropriate.

Tired of finding those things inappropriate.

But rationally, you knew that you had to leave this behind and return to your normal lives after this, regardless of what you wanted.

It’d be much harder—to an infinite extent—because this wasn’t how you’d imagined this conversation going.

Quietly, you broke the silence, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?” he asked, sitting up on the bed.

“We can’t...” the words trailed off before you could catch up. You tried again, “I can’t—we can't do this.”

He observed the battle behind your eyes and then spoke, very softly, almost inaudibly, “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“We’re—"

“We’re the ones who put meaning to things,” he continued. Not to contradict you, but to reassure you. “If we say it doesn't mean anything, then it doesn't.”

You shook your head with a sad smile, the situation vaguely familiar.

“It’s never that simple,” you said. “There’s so much more than just you and me to consider.”

“It is simple,” he insisted. Then, just like back in your bunk on the tour bus, he asked, “do you want me to leave?”

Just like back then, you answered without hesitation, “no.”

“Then this can have as much or as little meaning as you want it to. I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “I’m yours. You are all I’m considering. And I’m staying.”

In less than a second, the determination in his voice made you realise that rational didn’t always mean reasonable.

Rationally, you knew you should have drawn the line. You should have left or told him to leave. Should have distanced yourself from him for the sake of your heart. Your job. For the sake of the atmosphere backstage.

You were aware of all the damage this could do. You were aware of the risk. Of the questions. Of the pain.

You were aware that you were having the very conversation that you’d stopped him from pursuing a few hours ago on the street. But your response to him was vastly different now.

Really, the situation felt different, too.

The second thing is that I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

You couldn’t imagine yourself leaving.

There was no place in the whole world that you would have rather been in right now. And no one else you would have wanted to share that place with.

It felt reasonable to stay. And wish for him to stay, too.

Jungkook had to scoot closer on the bed to reduce the distance between you two, and as soon as he did, he leaned in right away. He’d hesitated before, got scared, panicked and changed his mind. Tonight, he would do nothing of the sort.

His lips touched yours before you could formulate a single doubt and his kiss effectively silenced all the noises and echoes in your head.

Truthfully, he knew that there was a third thing he didn’t tell you, but when you kissed him back, less tentatively than the first time on the bus, he couldn’t imagine ever saying anything to you again. Speaking seemed like an immeasurable waste of time.

Instead, he pulled you closer, his lips locked on yours as one of his hands held the side of your face. His gentle fingertips contrasted with the coldness of his lip ring against your lips as he touched the skin of your cheek like he wasn’t sure, not even now, that it was really you he was holding. His other hand found its way around your waist and settled there—the gesture so intimate, so familiar.

He kissed you and it felt inevitable. Like everything you’d been doing up to this point was meant to lead you here – even the break-up four years ago.

As Jungkook felt your hands on his chest, careful and barely there, he mentally cursed himself for wearing this white shirt yet again—the fabric was too thick for him to properly feel you.

Still, he recognised the ghost of your touch as though he’d never been apart from you. As though you’d always stayed like this, locked in a desperate embrace in the tenth-floor room of a hotel in Amsterdam.

There were endless somethings bursting persistently in his chest as he tasted you, deepening the kiss by bringing his tongue over yours. Fireworks and flames and entire conflagrations all wreaked havoc on his heart.

This time, there were no promises of five minutes, and no curtains to separate you from everyone else. When you whimpered quietly, in response to him pulling you up until one of your legs was thrown over his and you were seated firmly on his thigh, he was the only one who heard it. The only one who felt your heavy breathing on his lips as he kissed you.

And if, by a lucky chance, there was any oxygen left in the room, neither of you needed it as your holds on each other grew tighter, hands grasping whatever materials they could reach and pulling—until he took your shirt off, until you took off his.

Every single one of your nerve endings was focused solely on him—his taste, his scent, his touch, his warmth, the roughness of his dark jeans underneath you, the softness of the skin on his chest. Your body instinctively drew closer, prompting him to clench his thigh as he wrapped his arms around you even more tightly.

His lips gently trailed kisses down your jawline and onto your neck, and it was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. He remembered your body—how could he forget when it haunted his dreams almost every night?—but he yearned to create new memories, to trace the lines of your figure that he’d memorised and bring them to life in a new and different way.

You helped his eager hands find the edge of your sports bra and had to briefly pull away from him to slide it over your head. He pulled you back to him as soon as you did, needing to get lost in your touch, to feel your skin against his.

Your hotel room was filled with so much electricity, the two of you could have lit all of Amsterdam up.

“There’s so much I want to say to you. So much I have to say,” he breathed against your lips while his hands caressed your exposed sides, tracing the familiar maps on your skin.

You pulled him closer by gripping the back of his neck and exhaled, “show me instead.”

The meaningfulness, or rather, meaninglessness, of the moment seemed secondary. You wouldn’t analyse what this symbolised or where you stood.

Instead, you’d analyse how kissing him—touching him, feeling his skin, hearing his breathing—felt good. How it felt right. Like you’d been lying to yourself by doing everything else but this.

Sitting on his lap as he held you firmly in his arms—essentially trapping you in his grip, in his scent, in him—you could feel the rest of the world fade away into the recesses of your mind that you didn’t consider important at this given point.

Focusing on the feeling of his tongue against yours and the firmness underneath you, you allowed the scorching heat of the moment to take control of your movements as you instinctively moved your hips against his and forced him to suck in a shaky breath.

You undid the buckle of his belt and he had to pull back just a little, breaking the kiss. His head was spinning, overwhelmed by your closeness and the rapid beating of his heart. It wasn’t the first time you had been this close, but it had been so long, and he’d wanted this so much, that it felt like he’d never done this before.

Noticing your trembling hands, he helped you with his belt by loosening his grip on your waist. As soon as your fingers reached the zipper of his pants, he grabbed your forearms—successfully halting your progress in ridding him of his jeans—and swiftly flipped you over onto your back on the bed.

Your eyes met for a split second as he hovered over you, silently exchanging a conversation that neither of you dared to voice.

He leaned in to kiss you again and allowed you to get back to the previous task. Kissing him back, you finally managed to lower his jeans to his knees, and the simple feeling of your touch on the back of his thighs nearly made him see stars. Leaning his forehead against yours, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to regain his composure.

He briefly sat up to kick off his jeans—as quickly as he could, because the room temperature fell a hundred degrees when he wasn’t touching you—and you took a moment to trace the patterns of ink on his arm with your eyes.

You were with him when he got his first tattoo.

He acted tough in the tattoo parlour, but once the artist took you both down to the basement, all of his bravery faded. It was rather chilly down there—Jungkook was pouting when he took his jacket off, revealing his shivering skin—and he’d chosen his knuckles as a place for his first tattoo. It was going to hurt.

He knew that, in theory. But the way he squeezed your hand and bit his lip when the needle pierced his skin for the first time still surprised you both. You weren’t sure who was in more pain by the end of the session—him, from the fresh ink on his hand, or you, from how hard he’d been squeezing your hand.

Now, he had a full sleeve. And you felt a pang of pain in your chest, because there were so many tattoos that you hadn’t seen him get.

You hadn’t been there when the needle pierced his skin again and again. You hadn’t seen the way he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and placed a hand on your knee—for support, for reassurance, for all-consuming love.

You hadn’t helped him apply lotion on the fresh ink, hadn’t teased him for being a baby, hadn’t been shut up with a kiss. You hadn’t traced the intricate lines on his skin with the tips of your fingers—careful, gentle, loving.

You hadn’t been there for four years.

But you were here now.

Just as your gaze reached his shoulder, your eyes locked on the patterns you’d never touched, Jungkook turned to you and caught you staring. The dazed look in your eyes before he had even done anything affected him in more ways than he could count.

With a wide, shameless grin and a raised eyebrow, he leaned into you again. You noticed right away that he was about to say something that would surely ruin the moment, but you pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him before he could.

“Don’t,” you warned. There was humour and light and excitement in your eyes.

Chuckling as if you’d read his mind, he pressed a kiss to your lips and mumbled, “wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar,” you exhaled against his mouth as he quickly slid your biker shorts and panties down your hips, your back barely leaving the bed.

“Honest,” he countered in a soft whisper, his lips hovering over your neck as his hands returned to your waist and he aligned your hips with his. “I have better things on my mind.”

It was hard to determine which one of you was to blame for ending this unnecessary bickering by inhaling too sharply – you, who reached the edge of his boxers and pulled them down, removing the last layer of clothing between you; or him, who gently caressed your thighs, drawing deliberately slow, teasing circles that inched closer to your core.

He managed to kick off his boxers without letting go of you—which was a talent that was difficult to advertise, but a talent nonetheless—and kissed you deeply. One of his fingers slid over your thighs and traced over your folds, causing your body to twitch in anticipation as you gripped his forearms for support.

His touch felt foreign and familiar at the same time – he knew how to find every single one of your nerve endings, but your body seemed to have forgotten that he knew.

It was almost frightening how he sensed exactly how to touch you to elicit a response—the pillows of his fingers effortlessly reached the bundle of nerves on your clit at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed involuntarily, seeking more friction. Your breathing grew louder every time he applied more pressure to his touch.

It really didn’t feel fair at all—the way he appeared to know your body better than you did, even after all these years.

A frustrated whimper escaped your lips when he added another finger, picking up the pace. He alternated between gentle rubs and teasing caresses, and his touch made your head spin, but you wanted more of him. All of him.

He only inserted a finger for a fraction of a second before lightly brushing it over your folds—the motion so sweet and then suddenly not enough. Your nails were about to draw blood from how tight you were gripping his arms.

“Don’t tease,” you exhaled, more a plea than a command. “Not now.”

There was a hint of promise here, and Jungkook smiled before nodding. He kissed your lips, but instead of pulling away, he increased his pace—toying with your clit with just enough pressure and at just the right angle that you could have cried out if you hadn’t been biting your lip so hard.

“Fuck,” was all you could respond with as your eyes rolled back from the intense sensation. “Jungkook—”

This time his name was encouraging. It was begging. It made him groan as he leaned in, already almost painfully hard as he rubbed your clit, spreading your wetness with his fingers.

“Hmm.” He touched your neck with his lips in a sloppy, wet kiss that sent shivers down your spine. “You look so beautiful.”

“Fuck,” you repeated, the relentless ministrations of his fingers rendering you incapable of a more coherent sentence. “Fuck.”

And just when you felt the pressure in your stomach building, he pulled away abruptly.

The loss of contact made you exhale with enough agitation for it to resemble a whine. This earned you a smirk from him as he pulled back slightly, convinced he was just doing what you’d asked because he did indeed stop teasing.

To be fair, it was for his benefit, too. Your body, your warmth, your heavy breaths—he knew it all teased him more than he could ever tease you.

Struggling to maintain his composure, he bit his lip and reached for his length, giving it a few languid strokes.

The first glimpses of concern started to creep in when he realised he had no protection, but he saw you nod at the pile of suitcases by your bed. Confused initially, he rolled off of you and approached what appeared to be a welcome basket on top of the pile.

“Don’t tell me…” he mumbled in disbelief as he picked up the wicker basket—decorated with an appropriate white bow.

“Yeah,” you confirmed his thoughts and sure enough, among complimentary bottles of shampoo and tubes of toothpaste, he found a box of condoms.

Under different circumstances, he would have embraced his inner teenager and dropped everything to giggle at this, but he tried to stay composed. That is, until he looked at you and saw that you were biting your lip in an obvious attempt to hold back laughter.

“Well, this is quite convenient,” he remarked, encouraged by your amusement, as he climbed back on the bed. “Almost meant to be, no?”

“Don’t spoil the moment,” you warned, pressing your lips together to conceal your smile. “Just hurry.”

“Say that again for me?” he teased. “I love it when you beg.”

Undeterred by the punch on his shoulder that he received in response, Jungkook laughed and ripped the bag open. He unrolled the condom onto his length with relative ease despite the slight shake in his hands.

You reached out to help him, and he realised he might actually pass out when he felt you touch him. The tips of your fingers were on the tip of his length as he brought it closer to your entrance.

He shook his head and warned breathlessly, all of his previous confidence gone, “I’m not—not going to last long.”

He could tell as much even before he entered you, but after you nodded—giving him voiceless permission—and, slowly, almost agonisingly, he slid inside, he realised he may have miscalculated.

He might not last at all.

Lowering his head as he paused, not even halfway in, he bit his lip in concentration and closed his eyes. He couldn’t get himself together when you looked like that under him—almost too lost in the feeling of him, in the pleasant stretch, in the way you couldn’t help but clench around him as your walls anticipated fitting all of him in.

“Fuck,” he exhaled shakily as you tightened around him. He really needed to get a grip. More sternly, he repeated, “fuck,” and, with a more forceful thrust of his hips, he fully bottomed out.

You threw your head back at the sudden motion, needing a second to adjust to the stretch. This was helped greatly by one of his hands as he caressed your hips, your waist, your breasts while he gave you as much time as you needed. Hė toyed with your nipple between his fingers and the gentle touch and the utmost admiration in his dark eyes sent sparks straight to your core.

After you quietly urged him to move, it still took him a whole minute before he felt confident enough to pull almost all the way out and then push back in, testing both of your limits. He looked at you—because he couldn’t not look at you underneath him, not even if it meant he’d lose himself right away—and the expression on your face was so dreamy that he didn’t even realise he shuddered in exhilaration.

Your head was still thrown back as you held your lower lip in a tight grip between your teeth. When you slowly opened your eyes, your gaze met his right away. And there was barely anything—fuck it, there was nothing—that he could have done to prepare for it.

He thought he may as well have died then and there because nothing in his life would ever compare to the colour of your eyes when you looked at him.

Swallowing the groan in the back of his throat, he leaned in to press his lips to yours as he began to move. It was slow at first, then his hips gradually gained more speed as he felt your warm walls pulling him in. Your fingers found their way to his hair, getting tangled in the dark strands as his hips pressed into yours harder—not just faster, but with more force, too, each brush of his length igniting a new fire inside of you.

He made it impossible for you to catch your breath as he kissed you with as much fervour as before, not once slowing down the pace of his hips. Everything he did was in response to you—the way you arched your back, your whimpers in between the messy, open-mouthed kisses, the way you pulled his hair, the way you held onto his shoulders.

He knew that if he lost concentration, he’d unravel immediately. It’s been so long, too long. He’s wasted far too many nights in foreign beds, chasing highs that had always felt forced and artificial. He wasn’t prepared for the real thing. He wasn’t prepared for you.

“Fuck. I’d missed you, my love,” he whispered hazily between kisses, each word accompanied by a thrust of his hips, “so fucking much.”

You felt shivers run down your spine again. If you could have formed a sentence—let alone voiced it—you would have reciprocated.

You would have told him that you missed him too. And you would have told him how much it scared you, the way this feeling was so intense that you seemed to disregard everything else.

But you couldn’t focus.

His length stroked your walls with an exemplary balance of force and tenderness. His tongue was in your mouth, the kiss hot, heavy, messy. His hands were all over your skin, warm, eager, relentless.

He filled your head with stars.

You could not speak, you could not say anything that wasn’t a breathless whisper of his name every time he pulled away to give you both a chance to inhale.

He understood you without words, however. And the response you had to him was about to tip him over the edge. His movements became too fast to be precise, his thrusts grew sloppy, his breathing got heavier, his groans louder.

The knot in your stomach formed much faster than you would have liked. You wanted this to last longer, but all of it felt reckless—dangerous and outrageous—and so good—too­ good—that you broke the kiss, a strangled cry of his name passing your lips as a warning that you were close.

“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your jaw as he pressed his thumb on your clit. The rubbing motion matched the speed of his hips and the intensified pleasure caught you so unexpectedly that you could no longer control how loud you were.

Your heavy breaths mixed with curses and broken fragments of his name—he knew these sounds would echo around his mind for every waking moment—as your back arched off the bed and into him.

And when he heard you cry out, when he felt your grip on his arms tighten as your body jerked forwards, your hips meeting his, then lowering again in uncontrollable muscle spasms, when he felt your walls clench around him so much that they nearly stopped his movements, he almost whined, sensing his own high, brought on by the feeling of yours.

There were curses spilling from your lips as you came and you held onto him so tightly that he knew he’d have bruises on his arms tomorrow morning. Already, he couldn’t wait to look at them. He couldn’t wait to do this again.

His hips drove into yours—sloppily, accompanied by loud sounds of skin slapping on skin—until he fell over the edge, groaning loudly as he spilled himself into the condom. His body twitched as he pushed into you—one final stroke of your soft, sensitive walls—then he stilled completely.

His face was inches from yours, and you were the one who reached out to connect your lips, turning his groan into a dangerous whimper. Your kiss burned through him like electricity and, impossibly, seemed to prolong his climax.

He kissed you back like it was the first time, still powerless from his high, still feeling like he was floating, unable to come down, to pull out, to stop kissing you.

Breathless, you whined against his mouth and felt him stir inside of you, sparking a sudden new fire in your stomach before the previous one could fully go out.

He wanted you, needed you still—maybe he’d never stop. But it was the way you responded to him, the way he felt you need him as much as he needed you, that made him growl into the kiss as his hands reached for the parts of you that he'd touched hundreds of times tonight already.

It was almost desperate, the way you were still clinging to one another—like you’d never touched each other before and never would again.

Finally, you pulled away to inhale. And to, hopefully, recover.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispered, summarising all that you were about to say.

You both chuckled, giddy, excited, almost euphoric.

He rested his forehead against yours and pressed another soft kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out, and stepping back to discard the condom.

In no more than three seconds, he was back on the bed next to you, pulling you to his side and kissing you once more.

It was three seconds then, he decided, that he could survive away from you.

For a good minute after that, the two of you just watched each other, your chests rising and falling as your bodies tried to fathom something that your minds failed to grasp.

Suddenly, you shook your head.

“What?” he asked. His lips were stretched into what felt like a permanent smile.

“Nothing, I just… it would be very difficult to explain where we were if someone noticed us missing,” you said—your words humorous, but the meaning behind them serious.

Even though you smiled as you spoke, Jungkook swallowed and nodded, solemn all of a sudden.

“I know,” he said. “And I don’t care if anyone knows. I only care that we do.”

You ran your tongue over your swollen lips, preparing to say something that he knew he wouldn’t like. But he was paralysed as he watched you. He swore your lips were the colour of his dreams, and he had to clench his jaw so he wouldn’t lean over and kiss you again.

He forced himself to roll onto his back and spoke up before you could, making sure his voice was as nonchalant as possible, given the hurricane inside his chest, “can we—can we not talk about that right now? Can I just stay here instead?”

You looked at him—which was incredibly easy when he wasn’t looking back at you—and forgot, for a moment, that you had to reply.

He looked almost ethereal like this, with his head resting on the pillows next to you, his hair tousled, stray curls sticking to the droplets of sweat on his forehead, his lips pursed slightly as he stared ahead. A part of you wished to take a picture, to hold onto this moment forever. But a different part of you didn’t want anyone else to witness him like this, not even the lens of your phone camera.

He suddenly turned his head to look at you and you blinked, averting your eyes as you remembered that you hadn’t spoken.

“Hmm. Yes,” you said, the word scratchy as it caught in your dry throat. You cleared it and tried again, “okay.”

Jungkook hummed somehow ambiguously and looked away.

“What?” you asked, confused by the look on his face.

“I thought you’d still tell me to leave,” he admitted.

You sighed. “You should. But I want you to stay. I’m fine with doing what I want tonight, however stupid that might turn out to be.”

He ignored the doubt in your voice—he was getting good at that—and looked at you again. He knew you probably couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of fire your words ignited inside of him, and just how far the sparks travelled on his skin.

“Then I hope you know,” he said, “that I’m fine with only getting ten minutes of sleep tonight.”

Quietly, you replied, “I think I’m fine, too.”

“Yeah?” he asked, briskly turning to his side and propping himself up on his elbow with renewed excitement.

His abrupt jump made you chuckle despite your best attempts to remain serious, and his grin widened as he brought his hand to the side of your face and leaned in to kiss you once more. Then, twice more. Then three more times—in perpetuity, he hoped.

He knew that he was blessed to have experienced a lot of happiness in his life. But nothing came close to the feeling of your lips on his as the two of you played around in your hotel bed in Amsterdam, two nights before his band’s inaugural performance in The Netherlands during their first European tour.

This was a dream, it had to be.

And he was determined to do everything to make sure he never woke up from it.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “like that”

prev ○ next

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook au #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts rockstar au #jungkook rockstar au

[ludibriadormonoteista]

BEFORE and AFTER II

Part 1 here.

Before:

Jaune: *Yawn* Man. This Vytal Tournament sure got me tired. I hope my Team doesn’t mind me taking a nap this early in the-

*SCHWING*

Jaune: *With a Saber Pointed to his Face* …Noon.

Winter: Mr. Arc, I presume.

Jaune: T-That’d be me! Wait, were you just waiting for me by the dorms?

Winter: That’s classified. *Sheats Saber* Winter Schnee. Atlas Specialist. I have come to discuss matters pertinent to you regarding my sister.

Jaune: You’re Weiss’ sister?! Uh-! I mean-! We’re good friends! Yeah! Though I guess you could say we started off on the wrong foot…

Winter: Quite the laughable understatement, Mr. Arc. For you see, Weiss has detailed in her letters many instances where you publicly harassed her with your feeble attempts at courting her.

Jaune: Hey, I wasn’t harassing her-

Winter: In case you were not aware, Weiss is a very prominent figure in Atlas, and as such, receives multiple solicitations from wealthy suitors on a daily basis. Men with far more ambition and talent than you could ever hope to achieve in your life.

Jaune: Now, wait a minute. Just because I’m not rich, that doesn’t mean I’m not up to snuff.

Winter: Is that so? *Raises a Folder* Because this extensive background check I have on you says otherwise.

Jaune: Extensive what now?

Winter: *Reading* Lack of proper education. Zero prior experience in the field. And absolutely no training to speak of. The best I could find were your admission transcripts, which were all filled out using crayons for whatever reason.

Jaune: I had run out of ink, okay?!

Winter: SILENCE! If the circumstances were any different, I would have you placed under arrest and locked up in the remotest cell in all of Solitas! However, doing so now would violate the Vytal Treaty amongst the Kingdoms. So instead, I will advise you to recognize my authority next time you elect to threaten the sanctity of my dear little sister again. Verstehst?!

Jaune: Y-Yeah- I-I versteht(?) that, alright!

Winter: Splendid. I will be watching the tournament for the remaining of its duration. It would do you well to know your place in the meantime. That will be all. *Marches Away*

Jaune: T-Thanks, have a great day! Hahah... *Nearly Faints* Oh dear…

After:

Yang: Alright, VB! You’ve got nowhere to run!

Jaune: Knock it off, Yang! You’ve been chasing after me all morning! Can we please talk about this?!

Yang: Nuh-uh~ Ruby’s biological clock is ticking, and I’ll be damned if I let the Rose Bloodline end here!

Jaune: Don’t you think this is moving things between me and Ruby a little too fast? Can’t we at least settle for a date first?

Yang: Oh, I’ll arrange you a date, alright… WITH HER WOMB-! *Encased in a Block of Ice*

Jaune: …What just happened?

Winter: *Descending with her Maiden Powers* That should hold her for a while. Imagine my surprise it was just you two causing a ruckus around Vacuo. For a moment I thought Salem had arrived.

Jaune: Oh thank goodness! It’s you, Winter. Sorry for all the trouble, Yang and I had a disagreement and-

Winter: Never mind all that. I was actually meaning to talk to you privately about something.

Jaune: Really? Is it a mission?

Winter: In a manner of speaking, yes. Ever since you and your friends came back, I have been worried about Weiss’ sake. To think I once thought to have forever lost my sister to that blasted abyss…

Jaune: …Winter?

Winter: *Harrumphs* Alas. I have been thinking about your actions back at that bridge. You fought tooth and nail to protect Weiss despite your shortcomings. Believe me when I say you have shown yourself worthy of my sister’s hand and affection.

Jaune: Oh… Wow! Thanks, that’s a… That’s a lot to take in. I’ll be sure to think about it.

Winter: What is there to think about?

Jaune: …I’m sorry?

Winter: You misunderstand, Mr. Arc. I am not merely granting you my blessing to date Weiss. My sister deserves the best, and as your commanding officer, I demand that you provide the best for her.

Jaune: Uh…

Winter: FURTHERMORE! You are to, effective immediately, seek to copulate with my sister for the betterment of the Schnee Bloodline!

Jaune: EH?!

Frozen!Yang: !!!

Winter: With your Aura and Semblances combined, your firstborn will become a key component to winning this war, as well as generating the perfect heir to uphold both our families’ legacy! Of course, I do not plan on holding it against you in the events Weiss explicitly decides to have more children-

Jaune: Okay, STOP! Full stop! Demanding that I hook up with Weiss is already one thing! But you cannot in good conscience order me to sleep with her! She’s your sister, for crying out loud!

Winter: Exactly! She is my sister, and I intend on getting her the perfect husband! I was foolish to dismiss you before, but not anymore! Now come with me!

Jaune: H-Hey! Just hear me out for a second! What I’m trying to say is-

Winter: THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH! I will ask you one last time to not make this more difficult than it has any right to be! You can come along willingly, or I can drag you out by force! EITHER WAY, YOU WILL BE IN MY SISTER’S ARMS SOON ENOUGH!

Jaune: Y-You’re not serious, are you?

Winter: *Saber in Hands, Winter Maiden Powers in Full Effect* I WILL NOT BE DENIED OF MY FUTURE NIECES AND NEPHEWS!

Jaune: …I should get back to running.

#rwby #rwby shitpost #jaune arc #winter schnee #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #ruby rose #lancaster #ruby x jaune #jaune x ruby #whiteknight #weiss x jaune #jaune x weiss #yangposting

[lets-try-some-writing]

Considering family for Cybertronians is important stuff like child support, daddy/mommy issues and whatnot would be confusing to them

Cons: We have your husband

June: You can keep him.

Bots: June??

June: And if you could would you please scare him into paying child support?

Bots,cons: ???

Oh yeah it would be confusing. Cybertronians have convoluted and complicated relationships, but let it not be said that they fail to be organized. A family on Cybertron can be anything from the Conjunxed couple and their wards to a collection of mecha related purely through paperwork, or perhaps not even through offical means. Whatever the case, Cybertronians make it a point to know their relatives when possible and to support one another if able. Regardless of the situation, if you are family, you are obliged to follow certain standards.

Any Cybertronian involved in the forging, raising, or mentoring of a newspark must be there in some capacity. Unlike humans, simple caste sharing and funding is more than enough in most circumstances. Strictly speaking, a Cybertronian doesn't even need parents, just a familial unit of some sort and a sponsor to ensure that newsparks are taken care of. Family units are loose, but the rules are not. Even Whirl would be morally obliged to at least turn up once and a while with either payment or wisdom to share with any newspark he helped create or got himself involved with as a mentor. It is not even a question on Cybertron. The scummiest mechs still know the rules, and generally speaking, it is in the best interest of all parties to follow the rules of sponsorship.

The larger the family, the more resources one theoretically has to call upon. Hence the interest in taking care of one's line. Humans though? Considering they are not functionally immortal and are not given the great equalizer that is in built weaponry, the rules are all but nonexistent. Children do not always have the power to get back at parents, and parents generally do not have as great an investment in their offspring since any offspring are not likely to bring back investment in a reasonable time frame, at least by Cybertronian standards.

The Cybertronians on Earth simply do not understand the plethora of broken homes amongst humanity. Even Megatron, while largely uncaring of the fleshies, is a tad confused when it comes to the lack of fathers or mothers in homes. Children murdering parents isn't anything new. Cybertron wasn't much better once one got into the higher castes. But parents abandoning their young? That's new. It was a code of honor on Cybertron for a mentor or caretaker to do everything their power to at least make an attempt to provide.

Jack's situation in particular gained the collective confusion of Bots and Cons alike. How could a Sire abandon his creation? Entirely too. It was strange. So strange in fact that Shockwave was momentarily interested in possibly testing the resiliance of the human family structure since, according to his assessment, some family units matched Cybertronian ones in strength where others were all but nonexistent.

It was nigh on culturally impossible to fully comprehend. The Cybertronian family is a messy thing, but even for the functionally immortal, there are rules.

Optimus: Your Sire left you? Without a word?

Jack: Yeah. Dad left when I was young and hasn't come home since.

Arcee: No financial aid? No instructional holovids? Nothing?

Jack: Nope. Haven't heard from him since I was little.

Ratchet: That's ridiculous! Your Sire should not have been given a warrant to engage in any mentorship, much less creation!

June: You can say that again.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #optimus prime #ratchet #arcee #june darby #jack darby #cybertronian culture

[ourautumn86]

come over.

+18 fem! reader

synopsis; strangely enough, your number one enemy since kindergarten and captain of the basketball club of your college calls you up one night begging you to come over to his dorm room. after knocking on his door, things will take a turn that you would have never expected.

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡ either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3

a/n: i don’t feel too confident about this shot, but i miss y’all and i need to get over my writer’s block. i hope it’s not as much as a disaster as i see it and that you all love it. （ ; ; ）

CW;; cursing, dirty talk, nipple play, bullying and fights, teasing, smut, p in v sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, squirting, spanking, non protected sex (GUYS STDS ARE REAL, WRAP THE DONG UP), cream pie, finger fucking, hair pulling, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms… MINORS DNI!!!

word count;; +5k!

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

You were having a really bad day. Not bad, horrible.

First of all, your alarm didn’t go off for some stupid reason and caused you to 1. getting late to school and 2. getting your teacher to lower your grade just because he’s a goddamn asshole that hates you. Second of all, you’d forgotten your lunch and your wallet, so you were now starving unable to buy anything to eat (thank god your best friend Robin shared with you her sandwich or else you would be dead by now). And third of all…

“And what do we have here?”

Him.

You rolled your eyes, feeling your skin heating up and your insides turning with disgust and anger as you turned around to face the most annoying fucking person you’ve ever met.

“Give it back, Harrington.”

Steve Harrington, the name that would appear on your worst nightmares, the monster under your bed, the last person you’d ever want to live through the end of the world with... Your enmity had been going strong since kindergarten, when he had picked on you for your looks since day one just because. Then, he started to tell his friends and those around you to not go near you or else they’d catch lice. He needed to be on top of you all the time; if there was a race on P.E, he’d make you trip with his foot to get you on your knees and win (leaving you all bloody and injured), if there were presentations to be made in front of the whole class he’d crack up jokes to make everyone laugh at you, giving you quite the public anxiety and if you somewhat got to win him in anything (probably at grades) he’d go nuts and get so pissed that he’d make your life impossible for the next few months by trashing your locker, ‘accidentally’ throwing his drinks all over you, telling the teachers that he saw you cheating…

It only got worse when you found your best friend: Eddie Munson, who was too an outcast. You became inseparable, and since then you two were the ‘freaks’ to the whole high school just because you liked rock and metal songs.

He smirked, taking a look at the poster that you were just about to hang on your university’s ‘news wall’. It was Eddie’s, he was about to go on a tour and had asked you if it would be okay to hang some posters to let everyone know. Through the years, Corrored Coffin had gained fame and a lot of followers.

“The freak is going on a tour?” he scoffed, raising his eyebrows. “Disgusting. He really thinks he’s gonna become a superstar or some shit…”

You fisted your hands, your heart being squished under the nickname that your friend had had to grow up with just because he liked things the others didn’t.

“Don’t call him that.” you said, your eyes straight into his.

“ ‘Freak’?” he teased you, swaying away the poster when you tried and take it back. “What do you want me to call him then? I could call him a girl, because he surely isn’t a man with that hair of his and that stupid makeup he’s always wearing…” he though out loud, when he noticed your furious expression, he simply shrugged. “Just stating facts.” the people around you had gathered to listen to your bickering. It was a daily coincidence now, Harrington being always the one looking for trouble. Some of them laughed at his words… Jerks. Just like him.

“You know what, Harrington? Sure, call him whatever you want.” you said, ripping from his hands the poster. “But I assure you, that you’ll never be not an inch of a man that he is, if you are bright enough to know what I mean by that.” your eyes wondered to his crotch and that made the crowd burst out in laughter. You were filled with proudness when you noticed his jaw tightening and his body going stiff. You were no outcast now, you were popular to be honest, and everybody knew the two of you since Harrington was the basketball team captain and you the cheerleader team captain. It was hell on the games, each of you always fighting each other off. But your teammates had grown so accustomed to it that they just laughed at your little fights. “So go ahead and run your mouth, ‘cause I’m sure yours will never get to places his have never been.” you leaned in. “And hold your tongue, ‘cause Eddie knows how to use his really well.” you whispered inches away from his face, giving him a wink before stapling the poster to the board and leaving him behind with tightened fists and heated cheeks.

It was a big day for you and your team, and you didn’t have time for play dates.

—

“y/n!” your eyes shone when to your ears the familiar sound of your best friend’s voice ringed.

You turned around, with your pompoms in hand and high ponytail, your college’s cheerleader uniform shining due to the lights that lightened the whole basketball court.

“Eds!” you smiled, so bright that almost blinded, running and jumping on your friend’s arms, who easily caught you and squeezed you in a tight hug. “You made it!” you laughed as he twirled you around.

“Of course I made it, it’s your big night after all. Although I still don’t get this basketball and cheering thing…” he left a sweet peck on your cheek. “But look at you all dolled up! Is it for me?” he winked, leaning just the slightest in, enough for him to whisper on your ear.

You laughed, playfully pushing at his chest. “Of course Munson, you know I’m all yours.” you winked back, making him let out a quick laughter.

“I really need to put a ring on you, Mrs. Munson.” he pointed at you as the music that let the public know that the match was about to start started to play through the speakers and he backed off to the stairs to sit and leave you to your cheerleading.

“I’ll be waiting on it, Mr. Munson!” he sent you a flying kiss that only made you giggle and roll your eyes. You loved Eddie, he always found a way to make you laugh and that’s something that you truly appreciated. He was the only one that truly got you.

You turned around to call for your teammates, your smile fading as fast as your eyes bumped against those brown ones that you do well knew at this rate. Harrington looked at you with such a pissed expression… Water bottle tightly clutched in one of his hands, about to burst. He let it fall to the ground along with the towel that stood on his shoulders when his coach called out for him with his whistle, giving Eddie, who was on the first step on your back a death glare as he ran to the center of the court to shake hands with the other team captain.

What the…

“Girls come on!!” you called for the cheerleaders on your team as you still looked at the stiff body of your incarnated hell. What the fuck is wrong with him? “Assume positions!”

Not my problem.

You shrugged it off and started to cheer for your team along with the public that had come to watch the match, most of them students from both colleges. And through all of it, you tried and ignore the harsh eyes that bore holes on the back of your neck, even if your skin felt like being on fire.

…

It was late at night in your dorm room, Robin having left to stay at his girlfriend’s, Nancy, house since it was Friday. You were snacking on some candy and chips as you watch your favorite show, Teen Wolf along with Eddie, who had sneaked to your bedroom, laying in your bed fully covered and with your pjs on. After the game, which you sadly had lost, you had watched as a very infuriated Steve walked out of the court and the gym, not without giving you and Eddie, who was hugging you and congratulating you for your efforts regardless of the result of the match, a pretty harsh glare that clearly said ‘fuck you two.’

Jeez, you didn’t know what has gotten him so riled up that afternoon but you surely hoped for him to go and drown his sorrows somewhere as quietly as possible and leave you alone.

“Hell yeah!” you cheered to the power couple as they shared their first kiss, almost jumping and throwing all your chips around and on your best friend when Isaac and Allison finally shared their first kiss.

“Ugh. Really Allison?! I was expecting better from you.” the curly haired metal head gasped, acting hurt at the ‘betrayal’. He was team Scott. Which was obviously stupid since he now liked Kira.

“What are you talking about?! Scott has moved on, doesn’t she have the right to do so too?” Eddie gave you a side glance as in a ‘no’, but he quickly laughed when you hit your shoulder with a ‘hey!’.

Your attention was completely on the screen when your phone started buzzing on your side table. You took a new bite at your candy as you reached for it, still not focusing on it as you took. the call. It was probably Robin calling to check in.

“Hello?” you talked into the line, waiting for a few seconds for an answer that never came. You checked the screen, ‘Unknown number’ showing on its center. You furrowed your eyebrows “Hello? Who’s this?” Eddie paused the series and rose to sit up on your bed along with you, mouthing a ‘who’s it?’. You simply shrugged and mouthed back a ‘no idea’. The sudden appearance of a sharp and heavy breathing caught you off ward for a couple of seconds before you rolled your eyes.

“Are you serious?” you huffed, thinking it was a stupid phone call. “We're in college, how about we stop playing Scream and start being more matures?” you said, and just as you were about to hang up, a rather familiar voice croaked out:

“y/n."

You froze, your breath hitching as your brain tried to convince himself that you had heard right “Harrington?” you were in shock for a couple of seconds, Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and looked at you in utter disbelief. When the casual anger grew inside you with just the mention of his name appeared you snapped at him. “Do you know what hour it is… No. Why the fuck are you calling me in first place?” you rolled your eyes. For just a couple of hours that you were enjoying yourself with your best friend, of course he had to come and ruin it. He always does and always will.

He was silent for an instant before his voice breaks out in a whimper that makes your stomach flip.

“Please.”

“W…What?” your eyebrows were knitted together so hard it was painful. Eddie just hits you in the arm, silently asking you to tell him what’s going on. You just swatted his hand away and lift a finger to quiet him.

“Please.” he repeated.

“Are you drunk or something? You should-“ you started, but he was quick to cut you off.

“y/n…” that was something different. The way your name fell from his lips in such need, hunger… “Come over. Please come over. I need you so bad…”

“I-“

“y/n, what is it?” Eddie spoke up, and you could hear the tension from the other part of the line rise.

“Fuck. Is Munson there with you?” Harrington affirmed more than asked.

“y/n!” Eddie asked again.

“y/n.” but the voice of Harrington on the other line had you too out of focus. The way you could hear the begging on his tone, the need…

You didn’t know what had gotten over you, but you found yourself quick on your feet to grab your dorm keys.

“Wait for me.”

Eddie stood up as well and watch you hang up and made your way out of your room after putting on a pair of shoes.

“Where are you going?” Eddie inquired, completely and utterly lost. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I think there’s something wrong with Harrington. You can continue with the serie and use my bed, alright?” you quickly muttered, and when you caught him stepping closer and raising his hand to say something and find out whatever the hell was going on, you closed the door on his face.

You made your way over to the guy’s room wing, having been there before to parties and so. And before you knew it, you had knocked on his door. You didn’t have to wait a long time before he appeared on it’s threshold, his normally perfectly combed hair being a mess, shirtless and with only a pair of sweats on. He looked like a mess, with red cheeks, swollen bitten lips, glassed eyes and shaky breathing.

“Harrington, what the hell are you…” a scream almost got ripped out of you at the harsh yank that took place on your arm. Before you knew it you had been pulled inside and smashed against the now closed door of his room, his body towering over yours and his breath caressing your face.

Fuck. You’ve never been this close before.

“You’re driving me insane.” he said, one of his hands cupping your cheek, dark shiny eyes connecting with yours before they’d drift back to your lips. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me all day. Knowing that Munson got to touch you, taste you… Is killing me. And him being in your room? Having you in his arms? Thinking about him just touching you is… Fuck.” you chocked. You didn’t understand. Wasn’t he supposed to hate you? Despise you? Then why…? “I can’t stop imagining him kissing you, holding you…” his thumb pressed over your bottom lip, tugging on it, admiring. “You were supposed to pay attention to me. You were supposed to think about me.” your heart was thumping against your ribs, and you felt like dying when he harshly kissed you. It was fast, and angry. His tongue was quick to push inside your mouth, your teeth clashing and your body being pulled against him. You whimpered, your hands finding his hair as you pulled him closer. You’d never felt that way. How your whole body seemed to combust, the shaking of your limbs, the thumping of your heart…

But what was going on? ‘Pay attention to him’? ‘Think of him’? What was that supposed to mean? Did Harrington always treat you badly to get your attention? To get under your skin one way or another?

You were burning, so badly that he felt like snow.

“Fuck.” he muttered as he pulled away. “Been dreaming of doing that since the first time you yelled at me.” you whimpered when his warm hands took a harsh hold of your waist, pulling you against him close and tight enough for you to feel just how hard he already was on his sweats.

His mouth was back on yours, and your whole world was spinning. His hair on your hands, his gasps against your lips, his musky scent…

“Yeah, that’s right.” he muttered, a little smirk showing in his factions when he noticed your daze and unfocused eyes. “Focus on me. Just me.” he whispered on your ear before his lips latched to your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough to mark you up. You moaned, his hands sneaking inside your pj’s shirt and slowly making its way upwards, towards your chest.

“Fuck, Harrington.” you gasped when his warm hands took your tits, massaging them and rolling your nipples in between his fingers as he pressed a leg in between your legs, making your aching pussy brush against the lean muscle of his thigh.

“Steve.” he corrected. “It’s Steve for you, baby.”

“Steve.” you moaned when he pushed upwards with his leg, helping you ride it.

“That’s right. But you need to say it a little bit louder, hm? Need to let everybody know that it’s me who you are moaning for.” you whimpered at his words, his large hands leaving your chest to take your hips and pick you up to make his way to his king size bed.

You felt almost crushed against the duvet when he pinned you down to it underneath his weight. Almost, ‘cause right at that exact moment, you just wished he could be closer, he could be harsher, smush you against the bed and fuck you senseless ‘till you are nothing more than a babbling mess.

“That’s right.” he smirked when you pulled him closer, choked when his hands where once again pulling your top up slowly. “Fuck. You drive me insane.” he muttered when your chest was fully uncovered. “Fucking beautiful.” you moaned when his mouth left wet kisses on your chest. His tongue circled your nipples as one of his hands made its way to the seam of your pajama pants and panties, which stood completely soaked in arousal.

“Steve.” you cried out when his fingers caressed you from over the lace of your underwear, chuckling at the wetness of them.

“You are so wet for me already, such a good girl…” you almost whimpered, your cheeks blushing at the praise, something that didn’t go unnoticed. “You liked that, hm? Like to be my good little girl?” you nodded, your legs shaking when he finally pushed down your underwear and pjs to touch you. You gasped when his rough and thick fingers pressed against your core, sliding through your folds, pooled in your arousal. “So fucking wet.” he cursed as he circled your clit, making you moan. His touch was electrifying. “Is all of this for me?” you once again nodded. “I need to hear your pretty voice. Speak up for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes… It’s all for you.” you managed to sputter out.

“Mmh…” he hummed happily with the answer, smirking when you let out a loud moan as he pushed his middle finger inside of you, instantly hitting that spongy spot that could make you come over and over again. “Then I guess that if it’s all for me… I could have a taste. Isn’t that right?” your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you suddenly felt his tongue around your clit at the same time as he thrusted his finger in and out of you, slowly enough to have you gripping at his hair and bucking your hips in search of more.

He complied, starting to eat you out like a man starved. And he kind of was, having been craving you for years and years… He craved you, needed you so badly that his composure had plummeted once you’ve told him that Munson had touched you, kissed you, tasted you first… He wanted you. Wanted you to be solely and completely his.

“Ah, Steve, shit…” you were so sensitive. More than usually. Was it because Steve was too good at eating you out or because it was Steve who was eating you out?

“Louder, baby. I need you to be louder for me.” he said before going back to you, his tongue lapping up at your juices and adding another finger. Their thickness made you cry out his name loud enough for the whole floor to hear. You just hoped that there was no teacher doing the check-ins that night or you’d be screwed.

“Steve, I’m… I’m gonna…” your grip tightened on his hair.

“You’re gonna come? Gonna come on my face, hm?” he curved his fingers upwards, relentlessly hitting your g spot over and over again, pulling you closer to your orgasm. “Go ahead, come for me. Let me have it.”

He didn’t need to say it twice. With his tongue back circling your clit, you moaned as you came, harsh, on his tongue, him helping you to extend you climax by thrusting in and out his fingers whilst lapping at your release, drinking everything you had to offer in between moans and hums.

When he let go of you, licking his two fingers clean, you where a flustered mess; with your hair sticking everywhere, red cheeks, swollen lips and glossy eyes. And he wasn’t that different from you, with his chin and red puffy lips shiny with your juices, his cheeks were flushed and his hair a beautiful mess that you had created in between tugs and caresses. He looked beautiful, so beautiful that you couldn’t help dragging him towards you to taste yourself off of his lips, one of your hands finding his aching and swollen cock, that pushed against his sweats in need of release. He groaned in your mouth, pulling from your hair to part ways.

“Steve…” you cried out, your eyes half-lidded with need, your pussy aching for him, for something to fill you to the brim, to stretch you out, break you.

“What is it, hm?” oh but he already knew… “Haven’t you had enough already? I gave you my fingers and my mouth, is that not enough for you? What a needy slut…” you moaned at his harsh tone and degradation, the contrast with the recent praise making your skin burn and your body cry for him. You needed him so badly… So much that you swore you could die. “Want me to fuck you, hm? Want me to make you cum all over my cock? Have you all brainless as I use you? Pump you full of my cum?”

“Yes please Steve, please, I want it.”

“So pretty begging for me, do you want it that bad?” you nodded, squirming under his touch and whimpering when he gave your thigh a harsh slap. “Can’t hear you, beautiful.”

“Yes.” you cried out, loving how harsh he was treating you, loving the idea that he would use you just for his pleasure.

“Then say it. Beg me to fuck you.” another spank.

“Please Steve, I want you to make me cum all over your cock, please, please, please… I need it. I need you.” tears swelled in your eyes as you stuttered.

“Good girl. Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he said with a smirk, quickly shoving his sweats and underwear down his thighs to discard them aside. You almost choked at his size. You couldn’t take that.

Steve’s dick was huge. So thick and large that you knew that he’d tear you apart, stretch you out so good that would leave you sobbing and drooling against his pillow as he fucked into you over and over again.

“Gonna let me fuck you raw? Let me cum inside and fill you up?” he inquired, and you just nodded, too focused on the pink of his head beaded in pre-cum, on the veins of its sides and the brown curls at its pretty base.

“Yes, please, Steve, I want your cum.” you pleaded, and he groaned, once again pinning you underneath him and kissing you feverishly. You parted your legs for him to position himself in between them. You gasped on his mouth when you felt his head play with your cunt, slowly dragging himself up and down in between your slicked folds to lube himself up, teasing you at your entrance, pushing just the slightest against it. You were so fucking wet… More than you had ever been before.

Your nails found his back as he finally, after hearing your pleads and begging, aligned himself and started to push the tip of his cock inside, leaving you breathless at the stretch.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” he hushed you as you whimpered with every inch. “You are gonna do good for me, isn't that right baby? You are gonna take it, gonna take my cock and cum on it over and over again, right?” you nodded, sinking your nails deeper in his skin, deep enough to make him bleed. But Steve didn’t care, ‘cause he was finally making you his, and you were so goddamn tight he was losing his mind.

You were crying of pleasure and due to the overwhelming sensation of his huge cock when he finally had settled himself fully inside, his tip reaching places you’d never dreamed of, his girth stretching your walls so good it was almost painful. Almost.

"Fuck. Look at you. Already crying and I haven't begun to fuck you yet.” you moaned when he started to slowly fuck into you, so deep that you were going crazy. You needed more, so much more. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight and wet.”

“More. Please Steve, more.” you called out for him, your whimpers filling the room more and more as he started to move faster and faster.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fucking take it.” he groaned, lost on how good you felt. He never wanted to leave. Never wanted to stop feeling you this close. “Such a good girl.”

You moaned, your eyes turning white at the pleasure. This was like nothing you had experienced before.

“Tell me, did Munson fucked you this good, huh?” he asked, taking your cheeks with his right hand as he rolled your clit with his left to make you look at him. “Did he make you drool? Made you cry?”

You shook your head, but he wasn’t happy with that.

“Say it. Say that no one’s has fucked you like me. Say it, baby. Use that pretty mouth of yours.”

“No one has ever… ever fucked me like you.” you somehow achieved to say in between moans and gasps.

“That’s right. Look at you, your pussy is taking me so good… Sucking me in as if you don’t want me to leave.”

Suddenly you were in all fours, your chest against the mattress as he pounded inside of you harder and harder, so hard that you could feel him in your cervix, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried out, drooling on his pillow, tears spilling due to how good he was making you feel.

His hands found your hips, pulling you against his hips with every hard thrust, leaving you breathless.

You were a babbling and moaning mess, incapable to form any words, even his name.

“Look at you, so cock drunk you can’t even speak.” he said, and moaned when you clenched around him. “Such a slut.” you whimpered when he gave you a harsh slap on your ass, his eyes focusing on how his dick disappeared in and out of your pussy, which now seemed to be molding around him and just him.

“Steve…” you dragged the ‘s’ as he sped up, fucking you brainless, calling his name over and over again.

He could feel the way you started to clench around him. The wet noises of your juices and his thrusts filled the room with your high pitched moans. You were close. So fucking close…

“Steve, I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna…” your voice was so fucked up due to your screams that you swore you’d have a sore throat tomorrow morning, but you didn’t care.

“That’s alright sweetheart. Why don’t you come all over my dick, hm? Let me see you fall apart.” and you did. You came so hard you saw stars, your ears ringing as you squirted all over his bed sheets. “Fuck, good girl. Good. fucking. girl.” he groaned at the sight and the feeling of your cunt gushing around his whole cock. “I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck you so full of me I’d have you dripping for a week.”

“Yes, please… please, please, Steve…please.” you babbled as you came over and over again, throwing him over the edge with a ‘fuck’ and moaning when you felt him spill inside you, painting your walls in white.

And maybe and just maybe, you stopped hating Steve that much from now on.

‘Cause we all know what they say… From hatred to love there is only one step.

a/n;

i hoped y’all liked this college stevie!! love you!!!!

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<33333

#stranger things 3 #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #college au #steve harrington basketball #steve harrington team captain #steve harrington college #stranger things 1 #stranger things 2 #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #dom!steve #dom! steve #dom!steve harrington #dom! steve harrington #fem! reader #fem reader #s.h.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

was i the asshole for dating both a dad and his son at the same time and not telling them about each other?

that one's wild as hell, i know.

let me get this cleared up in advance; this is NOT a fandom thing, everyone in this story is male and OF COURSE an adult (M and i are similar aged but A was a very young father so he's not much older), they both knew i was polyamorous and i was free to have other partners without having to tell them everyone i was dating. this isn't a problem of ages OR cheating. also this was pretty long ago.

so a while back, i was very close with this guy M, and his dad A. i actually met A first, through work, but ended up hanging out with M more due to us being closer in age. i did and still do love them both equally. i started hooking up with each of them (separately of course) and it turned into a relationship. i loved them more than just sex.

but heres the thing, i never told them i was dating the other. again, with the solutions we worked out for my polyamory, this wasn't a case of cheating, and if it were anyone else, i wouldn't be asking this, but it feels a little more important since i was sleeping with their son/dad.

there are a few reasons i didn't tell them, though. i mean, half of it was cause of awkwardness, it would be really weird for them to know that their boyfriend was also with their son/dad. but more specifically, they had a very strained relationship. M was disabled, and cause of that, his dad was kinda too coddling and was weird about M having a sex life despite him being an adult. M didn't like A that much either because of some personal stuff, but A is not a bad person, it was just a misfortune of raising a child young and alone. my country is also not very perfect with gay laws, and while i knew they both were queer, i still didn't want to out either of them to each other anyway.

it was just a coincidence both relationships formed, also. i am very open about being bisexual, and each of them confided in me separately that they were gay too, and it developed from there cause we cared about each other alot. i wasn't trying to cause amything or be sneaky, and i loved them both equally and didn't want to have to choose.

i still care about them but due to completely unrelated circumstances im not in contact with either anymore, though things ended on a good note with both, it wasn't a messy breakup. but i was recounting this as a funny dating story to my newer friends, and some of them said that was really shady of me and even that it was indirect incest? which i dont think is a thing, but it might be.

i can't do anything about it now, but i have been thinking it over and maybe it was a shady thing to do after all. so am/was i the asshole for this?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[usedpidemo]

Anywhere but home (Red Velvet Seulgi)

“So can you tell me why you decided to stop by here, out of all places?” you ask, intently gazing at your uninvited guest. 

The thing is, you’re also an uninvited guest. 

You’re inside a hotel room, not your home.

The woman leans back on her chair, smiling radiantly, mirroring that same deep stare back. She takes a moment to ponder through her answer, let her eyes linger on you a little longer. 

“I missed you.”

“Do your members even know of your wheareabouts?” you say, worried. She should be anywhere else but here.

She strongly shakes her head, waves it off as a non-concern. “No, but you shouldn’t worry about them at all.”

“So they—”

“They’re too busy having fun by themselves.” Kang Seulgi has this dour expression on her lips, as if you’re asking beyond what you’re supposed to. “Again, you shouldn’t worry about any of them.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t caught on about our secret—yet.”

Seulgi chuckles, running through fond memories in her head. “I keep my promises, remember? And you haven’t.”

It’s not easy to defend your case to Seulgi, even if the reasons are justified. Back then, you were both young and reckless, and based on how she acts and sounds now, she still is. Of course you still remember the promise you made, much clearer now that she’s suddenly back in your life again than when you first spoke about them years ago. Life really finds a way to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain, pursuing you even as far as the ends of the earth.

“You know very well I couldn’t stay longer than a year,” you say, sitting on a dinner chair across from her.

“Then why did you promise me that you would come back then?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“Look—” you pause and catch a breath. Note the sudden lump suddenly stuck in your throat—a byproduct from years of pent-up feelings from a lack of closure. “Life happened. Shit happens. I didn’t willingly forget, I just didn’t get any opportunity to see you again.”

“Sure, sure. Willingly forget, right.” Seulgi scoffs at your answer, as if you weren’t going through difficult circumstances like she had, as if you had no battles to fight. “I bet you were doing better once you left me to go home, like they always do.”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?” you reply, raising your voice. “I told you life happened!”

“Okay, let’s remove the part where none of us could fly for a year, maybe two. How about the rest?” Seulgi retaliates with another question, and it leaves you in utter disbelief at how stubborn she is. Perhaps that’s the one thing that brings you two together: just how headstrong you both are. “Did you even try to reach out at all?”

Your eyes immediately stray away from hers, much to her audible disdain. No words required to imply anything else. 

“Okay, I guess I did forget about you,” you say, and it’s a half-truth, primarily because you want to avoid any more of this unnecessary drama resurfacing, especially when you’re on vacation out of all times. A nice five-star hotel in Los Angeles, a place you don’t have eager thoughts to travel to, apart from the occasional leave and maybe the multiple team playoff games in the spring. “What do you think happened when I tried to get another visa?”

“Should have asked me for help. I could have vouched for you,” she replies, as if that’s going to improve your chances whatsoever. It doesn’t help in the slightest now. “But what’s the point in talking about that now? I’m here now, so we can catch up on what we missed out on.”

You let your annoyance be known in the form of an indignant sigh. After a brief pause, you quietly retort, “You should have led with that to begin with.”

“Well sorry I’m not the same girl I was four years ago,” she says, tone miffed. “I mean, just look at yourself.”

You fall back on the chair, covering your mouth, preventing more damage. Point heard and taken. Your appalled reaction elicits a quiet giggle out of her.

“So unserious. You’ve always been like that,” she adds, clenching her hand into a fist, observing as you crumble and fall apart before her. “We’re both stuck in the past, but at least I grew; became a better person out of it. And you?”

“Seul,” you say, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she stops this personally charged attack on your character, but she doesn’t stop; she lets her mouth run every thought, every unspoken word built up from four years of waiting. It’s almost comical how she talks about you, like she has an audience listening to her, you included, and you can imagine all the laughs and jeers as she talks. She knows how to charm anyone with the right words and a dash of charisma added in between. Most of it, both insults and playful jokes alike, obscured behind those cute eyes and puffy cheeks that capture your attention whenever she smiles, having lost her anger somewhere in that impromptu rant. 

And it ends like it always has. A show of affection, a little kiss, then you’re both back in each other’s arms, as if the passage of time was a mere afterthought. It’s the oldest trick in the book that you know. 

And it works as it always has. To a fault.

—————

“Gotta say, I hate it when you do that. It’s like cheating and I really fucking hate it,” says Seulgi, between impassioned kisses, tasting each other’s lips like water in a desert. “That’s the one thing I don’t miss about you.”

“Yet you’re still kissing me,” you reply, pecking her lips rapidly, like you have a point to prove. You caress her bare shoulders, while your fingers play with the spaghetti straps holding her shirt together. She mirrors you with your own shirt, tugging at its fabric, itching to undress you as much as you.

Kang Seulgi can complain all she wants, but she falls for it every single time.

“Shut up.” Seulgi rests her warm palms against your cheeks. With a tight press, you’re puffed up, blushed as bright as the sun.

You make out with each other hungrily, urgently reaching for the bedroom, where you end up pushing her onto the mattress. It’s only then you remember just how hot Seulgi looks when she’s at her simplest: in a pink camisole and really short jean shorts. She really had this all planned out, knowing she’d be traveling the States all summer long, and California isn’t the most inviting place to wear her typical clothes.

Or maybe she learned a thing or two from Joy about wearing skimpier clothing in public.

“You’re staring,” she comments, snapping you out of your lust-filled daze. Seeing this, she spreads her toned, slender legs apart, as if inviting you inside them—an offer you absolutely won’t refuse. “I don’t have all night to wait, baby.”

“Hm, how long are you here then?” you ask as you undress right in front of her. 

She doesn’t give an immediate answer; her eyes linger on the growing tent on your bulge, before she scans up to your face as you hover above her on the bed. “Gonna have to be more specific. We’ll be here for a month before heading home.”

“Here. Los Angeles, I mean,” you quickly comment as you lift her slinky arms over her head and kiss down from her temple to her neck.

“Mmm—” Enraptured by your soft lips, her words crumble into nothing but a whine against your ear. “Five days. Practice tomorrow and on Thursday, then two shows the days after.”

“And do you have any free time in between schedules?” You whisper against her neck, slowly lifting her shirt over her head, leaving only a simple pink bra to cover her. You sneak a finger between her shorts, dig between the fabric to brush her folds, wincing at a newly wet sensation. 

"Oh." Seulgi says, voice deep and breathy, shuddering as you press into her slick. Her thoughts go haywire, your long-forgotten touch so fresh and foreign to her, even though you’ve had her in this position countless times. 

"Between practices maybe?" 

"God." Seulgi sucks in a gasp of air, chews on her lip, and says what you're both thinking: "I need you to fuck me so fucking bad." 

“Answer the question first, Seul,” you tease, stroking her sensitive clit with your digit, then placing a second one to overwhelm her. “I really want to know so we don’t waste whatever time we have left.”

Much to her chagrin, the moans and quivers she releases do just that. It’s not primarily her fault when you’re the one instigating. Still, she can’t help but become helpless beneath you.

“Mm—mm—please—just—fuck—” she cries out, tilting her chin as her words are reduced to nothing but helpless mewls and moans. It’s almost cruel to watch, but you’re enjoying every moment of this, relishing the sight of a pleasure-laden Seulgi squirming as you finger her. Part of it might have something to do with the brief argument you had earlier, but as she said, you never really became a better person out of your brief little fling.

And perhaps for your sex life, it was all the more better for it.

She really had no time to waste, hectic schedule and all, but you had all the power and freedom to pin her down like this as long as you wanted. You hated Southern California as much as the day job that allowed you to vacation here in the first place, but you’d happily request a transfer here if it meant you could fuck Seulgi like this as often as you could. You certainly know that this isn’t the reality, but at least for one night, and God willing, the next few days, it is.

“Answer the question, Seul,” you repeat in her ear, every word laced with venom, as your fingers increase in pace stroking her slick cunt. Even with the obstructive layers of fabric around her groin, it only serves as a minor distraction as you pump your digits inside her, never letting up even in rapidly growing heat. As for Seulgi, it only makes her needier, whine louder and her figure squirm more violently, keeping your fingers in a harsh lock. Unable to keep herself together, her fingers squirm at air, then at the sheets as her climax quickly approaches.

“Mm—oh—oh—gonna cum oh my—” 

It takes only a few more pumps before she lets up, giving in to her first of hopefully many orgasms tonight. Slack jawed, neck exposed, she utters a deep, echoed moan as her juices coat your buried fingers between her folds, staining her underwear and shorts in the process. You keep your digits tucked in her heat, slowing your pace to a stop as she rides down her climax, heaving and gasping for air.

“Didn’t expect you to cum so fast, Seul,” you say, withdrawing your newly drenched fingers from between her legs before putting them in your mouth, tasting her delicious slick. “You still taste so good after so long.” 

While she recovers from her orgasm, you pick away at the remainder of her clothes. Shorts and underwear go flying off your hand, and her nakedness reveals the true aftermath: an endless flow of juices dripping from her cunt down to the sheets. As you undress her, you notice the sticky puddle built up on her panties too.

It isn’t your problem.

You hover up to a limp Seulgi, who’s still reeling from her orgasm. An ear to ear grin forms on your lips as you repeat the process. Kiss down her neck, to her collarbones, until you lay your face against her cleavage, playfully teasing her breasts with a hint of tongue, if not for the bra you’ve purposefully left in place. She’s too weak to resist or respond, having turned into a shell of herself, an outlet to satisfy your personal desires. Hungry for more, you sneak those same fingers back into her folds, forcing weak, shrilly whines out of her mouth. 

“Mm—baby, we don’t have enough time—” she blurts, desperate, before drowning in her own moans as you slowly finger her again. You know she’s wrong, you know you have all the time in the world, and you certainly won’t rush, not when tomorrow is uncertain.

You struggle to unclasp the hook on her bra, having buried your face deep into her skin. It’s only after Seulgi regains a little control of herself that she assists you, intertwining your hand with hers before you work together to finally undo the obstructive piece of clothing. She slips the straps off her shoulders, tossing them aside before you dive head first into her now bare chest again, kissing and fondling her breasts.

With every deep kiss, she reciprocates with a whine, and every mewl dripping from her lips comes out a note higher than the last. She clings to your shoulders while you make out with her, like you’re the only reason why she would want to be here. You feel the same way, too. Her eyes flutter open and close like window curtains, mouth pouting and puckering with hunger yet to be fully satisfied, as curved and cute as that smile is. 

She eventually stops you dead, cups a warm palm on your cheek, redirecting your eyes and meeting hers. 

“I didn’t come to make love tonight,” she says, panting between words. “I came here to get fucked. Hard.”

The way she articulates such filthy thoughts leaves you breathless. Sure, she’s said it countless times when you were still together, but you’ve never seen her sound this passionate, this desperate, this needy, that it’s almost uncanny. Up until this point, you thought she was here to reignite a flame, but it seems as though time has burned those fond memories away.

Suddenly, you find yourself lying flat on the bed. It happened so fast; you were caught unawares and in awe of Seulgi’s newfound strength. She flipped you over then proceeded to straddle herself on your lap, resting her lanky arms on your bare chest. There’s nowhere to look except for those glazed eyes, staring you down hungrily. Even as she slowly slips off your underwear and your cock springs free, tapping the edges of her folds, your gazes remain locked toward each other.

And God, Seulgi’s figure is so fucking perfect.

You wonder just how much better her body could look when it was already flawless. The way she used every curve, every muscle, and every subtle movement to hypnotize you couldn’t be any more convincing. Now you wanted to fuck her as hard as she wanted, maybe rougher, and give her a good reason to stay a little longer. 

She catches you staring doe-eyed, smiles with an audible giggle. “God, is this the first time you’ve seen me naked like this? Be real. This is nothing new to you.”

It sounds insulting, and it probably is, but even her voice sounds sexier now to your ears, and that overlooks the intentioned insult. 

“Oh, I get it. None of these girls fucked you as well as I did, huh?” she continues, leaning her face—and the rest of that fucking body, its immaculate figure—ever close to you, pinning you deeper into the mattress. Her lips inches away from yours; you want to kiss them again so bad. “Gonna make sure you won’t ever consider anyone else except me.”

Right before you make a move, she asserts herself over you, drawing back her figure, lifting herself before slowly descending on your raging erection. It’s a difficult, agonizing watch, like watching a car crash in slow motion, only this is something you want to happen immediately. You want her tightness to suffocate and consume you. You want to fill her up with every bit of load you missed out on.

As you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable, you gasp. Your tip brushes between her folds heavily, sucks every bit of air out of your lungs. If she buries herself down to your hilt, you might as well die. A much better fate than slowly being grinded down to the dirt for the bare minimum by work. 

Seulgi’s eyes slam shut, and through gritted teeth she whines, feeling your cock for the first time in years—might as well be forever. The hands that were glued to your chest make their way to your shoulders, pressing on them tightly, as if the idea of letting go would kill her. Slowly but surely, she penetrates herself, inch by inch, until her whole cunt is consumed whole by your cock, burning your loins with her heat.

You both release a harmonious moan as you let the wondrous feeling settle—the feeling of being one again. She draws a hand back to brush off a wave of dark hair covering her face, then she gingerly leans down to kiss you passionately. Even after all these years, she’s still incredibly tight, incredibly hot, that it brings you back to the first time you took her.

It wouldn’t surprise you if you ended up like this for the rest of the night. The best case scenario, just the two of you tangled up in bed. Of course, her body has other things in mind.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” says Seulgi, breathing heavily as she continuously brushes those annoying strands of hair covering her beautiful face. “You have no idea how many dildos and people I’ve fucked because of you.”

Your eyes widen. Forget the dildos, that’s a long-running secret between you two. People?

You immediately echo your thoughts into words. “People?” 

“When we got here the other day, I was so desperate. I tried so hard. Club after club. Then I saw you roaming around the poolside and I just knew I had to have you.” Her hips begin to move, to buckle around your cock. After a prolonged whine, she adds, “God, I don’t know if I can leave you after I make you cum in me again. I just—”

The motion around her hips accelerates, and Seulgi loses herself in growing pleasure, letting her body do the rest of the talking. The way she lifts and sinks herself down, using your cock to stretch her out clears out every question or thought you have. She feels so fucking good, and you’re more than satisfied watching her make you hers. 

Hands on her waist, you watch as she relishes in you, groaning as she rides you in rhythmic motions, bouncing up and down your cock. You don’t even have to do anything; your hips move on their own, thrusting up and meeting her halfway. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, so fucking big.” Seulgi slowly leans her body back as she fucks herself on you, enabling you to ogle your now wet cock disappear and reappear between her slick folds. 

With each plunge, you find your collective moans join the wet flaps of your flesh slapping flesh, and it leaves you even more breathless. Swallow your throat. You don’t know how much more you can take. The erotic sight and sound is quickly becoming too much to bear. You want the moment to last a little longer.

Not that it’d ever, ever be up for you to decide.

At least Seulgi is gracious enough to recognize this. She continues to impale herself on you, experiment with angles on your cock between thrusts to maximize her already surging pleasure. She isn’t fast nor slow, but perfectly paced to make sure both of you feel good. One hand remains firmly planted on your chest, again, while the other pinches her breast to keep you on your toes. A sight that drives you crazy, now you’re the one breaking rhythm with your now wild strokes.

“I’m gonna lose it, Seul, I swear—” you mutter, aroused by her teasing. She giggles. It’s as she intended. 

“Yeah, maybe that’s the point—” she says in a singsong tone, “Maybe I want you to fuck me like this. Maybe I want you to use me like a fleshlight. Maybe I want you to fuck me like a whore.”

At this point, the only feasible thing that could happen is the first one. You’re giving her hard, deep strokes, aroused by the sight over you. Seulgi has you completely under her spell. It doesn’t help that you’re so close, hanging on by a thread, using every bit of your willpower not to burst right before she says so, even though nothing is at stake here.

“I’m so close, Seul,” you say between gasps, caught in the heat of the moment, and it might have been the worst thing you could have possibly said. “I am so close.”

You swear her ears perk up as you spit those words out, as if they were the extra fuel she needed to recharge her. A hand runs across and down your neck, pinches a nerve or two, strains a few breaths in the process. She rides you vigorously, slamming herself against you like she has some kind of resentment against your cock, but it’s out of lust, not hate. At this point, you’re both crashing your bodies into each other, racing to see who gets to cum first, to find out who wants each other more. 

“Yes, please cum, I want you to cum—” Seulgi rests both hands bare on your chest, angles her face where your lips can function as a safe cushion for hers when it happens. She smells of everything sweat, sex, and alcohol, her hot breath tainted with the shot or two before making her way to your room. “Please fucking cum for me—”

The remainder of her words gets lost at the tip of her tongue as she fucks herself on you, losing herself in the ecstasy of sex for the final time, every nerve and muscle in her body quivering as her heat suffocates you beyond any point of escape. 

Seulgi goes limp, rigid at a point where your cock pokes directly at her womb, and she orgasms. Her mouth slowly dips, producing a whiny, elongated moan while a fresh torrent of her slick creams your shaft and leaves you completely breathless. You grip your hands on your svelte waist, still thrusting through the fading embers of her climax, preparing yourself to follow shortly after hers dies down. 

She regains a little composure, and then she proceeds to pull the plug on you.

Seulgi lifts her hips up, right at the moment you expected to reciprocate your cum to fill hers as she did to you, and pulls herself from the depths of your cock as you orgasm. It feels like a knife was stabbed, twisted, then pulled from your gut, and the sight is almost unbearable to watch. Your aching cock gushes. Bursts of your seed geyser around your shaft, violently throbbing as you cry out in agony, agitated and deprived from what you really want. 

Her eyes glaze down, as if she’s seeing blood on her hands. After the joy comes the immediate regret. She’s trembling, and you don’t know whether it’s from the aftershock of her orgasm, or from guilt. 

“Oh my god. Fuck. I-I’m so sorry—”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” You shout, rolling your eyes as far as the back of your skull and gasping as your orgasm meets an unfortunate end, your cock gradually shrinking as it throbs until nothing spews from your tip. 

“I—I didn’t know what came into me,” she says, tone remorseful, as she gently scoots next to you. She’s on all fours, unwilling to rest beside your tired, splayed out figure—unwilling to bring you more misery and pain than what you’re experiencing now. “I guess I just wanted a little payback for ghosting me like that.”

The freezing glare you give her is half-annoyed, half-furious. You had little to no strength to do anything about it, unfortunately, and this is the best you can do. 

“Well what can I do about it, jerk,” you blurt, turning your glance the other way, wishing you’d never let her in—both inside this room and back into your life.

The bed lightly quakes, and you feel the warmth of an arm outstretched over your figure. “You can take my ass instead. There’s lube in my bag, go get it if you want.”

You refuse to budge an inch, leave her dry for a few minutes, completely unresponsive toward her. She tries to draw you back in, cuddling and kissing your ear softly, playing with your hair, nuzzling her face against your cheek. As much as you want to push her away, you can’t—both from a lack of strength and a lack of willingness to turn her away again, at least completely.

Seulgi redirects your face to the ceiling and the corners of her face. Caressing your shoulder, she whispers, “I really didn’t mean to. My emotions got the best of me. I never wanted to hurt you like this. Please.”

You briefly glance in her direction, catch her eyes twinkling, nearly at the point of tears. You still don’t entertain her.

“C’mon. I will let you punish me. Use me. Let me make it up for you.”

Still, you don’t bother. Seeing how none of efforts have been working, she slowly hops off the couch and limps out of the room. You’re annoyed that she didn’t close the door on the way out, and a little more after she returns and rejoins you after a moment with a bottle in her hand. 

Smiling, she presents the bottle directly in your gaze, confirming it is, in fact, lube. “See? You can fuck my ass. Isn’t this what you always wanted to do with me? Let me warm it up for you.”

You utter an involuntary gasp when Seulgi straddles herself atop you again, her toned, slender legs spread out wide, giving you full view to her cunt and her ass. She strews liquid from the bottle into her hand and coats her holes with the lube, giving you an alluring stare, grinning ear to ear, as if it’ll convince you.

As soon as she finishes glazing her tight holes with lube, you lift yourself from the bed, cupping her face and meeting her lips for a passionate kiss.

“You better not.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

Seulgi can’t keep her mouth off you, your chin, your jaw, affection overflowing until she sees your glow underneath the bright lights. Now, she’s flat on the bed as you keep passionately making out, her hand snaking down to your cock and stroking it back to full mast, eliciting a string of moans from your mouth into hers. Pumping your length and finding it hard, she breaks off the kiss and pushes you away.

Turning her body face down, Seulgi clambers atop the bed on all fours, arching her slim back and sticking her wet, curved ass directly in front of you. She’s clearly mastered the art of using her flexible body to seduce and hypnotize. She’s practiced the motion that it’s routine, like it’s a regular music show performance to her. 

It’s moments like this when you wish there was a mirror available.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Seulgi looks over her shoulder, brushes off stray locks of hair aside, giving you that ‘fuck me’ stare that overpowers you every time. She says she’s down whenever you are, but you know she has anything but time available. 

Still, you were going to indulge in her and make the most of fucking her ass until the sun rises.

You grab a handful of her flesh, stroke your cock with the other hand. Brushing your tip against the entrance of her folds, it’s enough to make her fold, make her crumble. Low whimpers exhale from her mouth, impatiently waiting for you to enter her, to ruin her tighter hole.

“Mm, God, please, put in me already—” she whines, her head spinning—both literally and figuratively. “I don’t know how long I can take it without you inside me.” “I thought you said whenever I was ready?” you jest, poking fun at what she said moments ago. Hearing the neediness in her voice compels you to tease her. Just your cock against her wet folds has her cries reaching higher. Up, down, and her tone pitches.

“Stop that! Just because I said what I said doesn’t mean I want it as much as you do.”

“I wasn’t complaining this much when you forcefully rode me,” you reply, spanking her ass with a quick palm, forcing a yelp from her. The more she goads, the brighter her cheeks smolder.

“Please just put it in already, oh my God.” Seulgi turns to you, gritting her teeth, so desperate for her cock to be filled. Another slap, another cry of pain and pleasure. 

“Keep complaining. I like it when you complain like that.”

“Mm, fuck!” With every word she tries to utter from her lips, your hand meets her flesh with a powerful smack, disrupting her train of thought. You could write poems, lyrics, sonnets, with the syllables she's stuttering out, until even the slightest of noise is enough to warrant another slap of her ripe ass. Soon enough, her cheeks are burning the brightest of red.

And you still haven’t put your dick anywhere inside her.

“Enough teasing! Fuck me already—mmmph!”

You take her by surprise, nudging your cock against the tightness of her smaller hole, and making her moan the loudest she’s ever moaned so far tonight. Her body tries to resist, to push you off before you can fully sink yourself deep in her ass, but the wetness of her entrance is enough to help you nudge yourself inside. Seulgi’s groan drags out as long as the time it takes for you to penetrate her backside, slowly but surely burying yourself to the hilt. 

When you finally reach the depths of her ass, you groan in agony as you drown in the sensation of her tight walls stretching against your cock. Hands firmly gripped on her ass, you swear you can feel your shaft breaking in half as you struggle to move inside her, but after a moment to acclimate yourself, the torturous feeling of her tightness mellows out, and the pleasure kicks in. 

“Oh God, Seulgi. This ass feels so fucking good, oh my God,” you rasp, leaning forward to whisper and grunt in her ear. “You’re so fucking wet and tight, you’re going to break me.”

She angles her head, unable to face you, but her side profile says everything you need to know. Her body trembles wildly as her very foundations crumble with your presence inside her, yet she’s still able to maintain some semblance of composure to say something back. “And that’s what I want. I want to break you. I want you to ruin me, too. Use me. Fuck me.”

As if you needed any more convincing, she wiggles her ass against your buried cock, making you squirm.

Drawing yourself back into position, she moans as you pull your cock away, the tightness of her ass making it difficult, and her wetness making it easy to plunge back in. It also helps that Seulgi herself leans back against yours whenever you take her, urging you to slide deeper and deeper inside her.

So with a steady rhythm, you fuck her, reveling in the sight of Seulgi’s perfectly arched back and toned body rocking with yours. You had no intention to break her as she wanted, you wanted to let the feeling of her tighter hole linger longer than her pussy as compensation. The sensation of her asshole is so otherworldly, so different from fucking her cunt, that they’re almost completely separate entities. It’s neither better nor worse, it’s in its own league.

But maintaining this level of poise proves to be almost difficult, if not impossible. She urges you on—with loud moans, with enticing jiggles of her ass as you fuck her, with occasional demands from her needy lips—compelling you to take her harder than what your limits are. She pushes all the buttons in your brain that it drives you crazy, and you can’t help but give in, even when she’s the one allowing you to take her like this.

It’s sinful. Out of control. Your pace becomes disrupted, frenzied, and completely erratic. You’ve got both hands gripped to her waist, hammering away at her tight hole as lube and slick coat her outer layers, and the room is filled with the sounds of her lewd noises echoing all over the place backed up by the wet smacks of your flesh slamming against her skin. Forget that the whole establishment can hear you fuck, they have no idea who you’re even entangled with. Seulgi can scream and cry all she wants; they can do nothing to make both of you stop.

“Yes, fucking ruin me, fucking use me, keep fucking me like this—” 

Resting your head over her shoulder, inhaling the scent of sweat, sex, and alcohol from her, you rasp in her ear, “I’m so close to cumming again.” 

To make sure she doesn’t try anything funny, you fuck her as hard as your body allows, force her deep onto the sheets. You lay flat on top of her, hammering her with hard, mind-numbing thrusts while you cling to her shoulders, grab a fistful of her dark locks, kiss and nibble her ear—find anything to distract you from the inevitable. She’s screaming and mewling, forcing your attention to her, screaming about how she wants you to empty your seed inside of her, which you intend to do. 

Either way, you don’t have a lot of time left.

You rest your head beside her ear, peck her sensitive skin. You’re fucking her ass so hard it’s almost cruel. Each stroke twists that expanding knot further and further until it’s beyond your control. “Gonna fucking cum again, Seul.”

She nods, bites her lip, eager and ready to receive you. “Inside,” she says once, and it only takes a handful more of pumps into her tight hole before you’re hilted deep inside her. The sound from your throat is primal, borderline animalistic. Your bodies tremble violently as you fuck your cum with each withering thrust, making sure not a single drop goes to waste, until you find yourselves frozen in a state you wish would last forever.

When your orgasm finally dies down, so does the rest of your body. Going numb, you press yourself against her lithe figure, lock her in a tight embrace, finding solace beside her head. A calm, peaceful quiet follows, with your collective deep breaths the only stir for minutes, maybe hours. 

“I guess we can call it even.” Seulgi breaks the silence,  turning her head to meet yours.

“Still didn’t cum in your pussy though,” is your immediate response, still unsatisfied, despite filling her ass with a hot load. “So no. We’re not even.”

“Relax. I’m here for five days. You know this place very well, right?” Seulgi pushes you off her and you settle on opposite ends of the bed, meeting each other’s gazes, her eyes twinkling with a rekindled fire and renewed lust. “We’ve got plenty of opportunities to fuck till then.”

Her cute face glows from the brightness of the sun beginning to rise over the city. That can only mean one thing: a new day has arrived.

“Or we can start right now.”

“Even better.” 

—————

(A/N: The irony of naming this fic Anywhere but home when the actual inspiration is one of Seulgi's other songs from the 28 Reasons album. Specifically, Los Angeles. It's also the best song on there as well. I've been itching to write a fic with those pics she took when she was on vacation, but realized most of them didn't really fit the city setting of the story XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #red velvet #seulgi

[davekat-sucks]

lute x adam is better than davekat and chaggie. they both sound killer singing together.

also just like wish's "villain", I find no fault in adam's reasoning, sinners such as rapists and pedos should be eradicated. i dont give a fuck about how apparently there are random kids in hell to emotionally manipulate the audience, for all we know that could be a grown ass man pretending to be a kid, and maybe that could have been more interesting: to see a hell's citizen take advantage of vaggie's kindness. it'd explain her trust issues & lute's bizarre reaction to actual mercy.

whats up with modern shows/films these days and their weird morals...

Adam x Lute is better than Davekat and Chaggie. Funny enough, Vivziepop confirmed that pedophiles, Nazis, and racists are already wiped out after they died. Like, human pedophiles/Nazis/racists who die, don't go to hell, limbo, purgatory, or heaven. They just get erased from existence. Angels have nothing to do with it. The Hazbin/Helluva universe already does its work. Of course, imps and hellborn creatures like hellhounds or the Sin ringleaders, can still be pedophiles, Nazis, and racists. But they are exempt from extermination. So the only sinners that do get sent to Hell to just do the same old shit would be murderers, con artists, human traffickers, rapists, and those who commit slavery, are still around. Which makes me question where does child murderers or those who lead child human trafficking and slavery fall in. Do they get wiped out from existence too if they didn't touch the child in that way? Do they get wiped out from existence for harming a young soul? Or do they get straight sent to Hell because murder is bad, regardless of age? Probably doesn't help that Heaven already admitted they don't know the requirements of people getting into Heaven, so it's a mystery on who is even checking since apparently at this point, even innocent souls who likely died of accident or bad circumstances, get sent to Hell regardless. It probably will be answered later on by some bullshit means, but it raises more questions on when in point did that become a thing. People pointed out that Angel Dust's sister, MOLLY, is there. What point in time Heaven allowed others to get in before it all changed with the extermination? Does even something small as when you were a kid stealing from the cookie jar, count as a major sin to be sent straight to Hell and that's why the child is sent in? Who the fuck knows. Maybe it will get answered in finale. Maybe they will hold it off for season 2 since it is confirmed and they are already recording the lines as we speak. I think the reason for these weird morals in recent modern media, just only goes for the straight black-white mortality, but hide it differently in these recent times as an act of justice that we won't make the same mistakes like we did in the past. Unfortunately, they are but are too ignorant to see it. Also in the case of how Hazbin Hotel is presenting with its rushed pacing, people, audiences and creators, would rather get to the heart of the matter fast and immediately than to build it up on how to get there. Why the fuck should we know about Camille and her backstory when all that matters is that she is a protective mother and that's it? No need to build up sustenance, all it matters is just the emotional factor to pull at your heartstrings for one moment like a quick sugar rush. No need to show the slow burn romance of why Vaggie likes Charlie. All it matters that she is now cute lesbians with her and its a good rep for LGBT. TL;DR of that is people are impatient.

#Hazbin Hotel #Helluva Boss #Hazbin Hotel Critical #Adam x Lute

[lykegenia]

So something has been bugging me for a while now about A and N’s backstories, and while I know not everyone will be as pedantic as me, as someone who loves history and has done a lot of writing, I feel that if you’re going to write a story about vampires and give them a specific time and date of origin, then there should be a certain level of research that goes into making that background authentic. I'm not saying that Mishka didn’t do any research. It just seems that in order to keep the vibe of a happy, mellow fantasy some of the less savoury aspects of A and N’s upbringings have been left out, and it's a shame. To be honest, it feels a bit disingenuous, and it feels like an opportunity got wasted.

Let me explain (long post got long, it's 2am)

Let's take A first, since the problem is simpler here.

A is the child of a Norman lord and an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, born in the first generation after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. A says that these were turbulent times but that their parents had a happy marriage. Which. While I’m sure a lot of unions in that time period made the best of it, I can’t help but feel this description strips away a lot of the context of what was going on at that point in history - and removes some of the complexity about A’s thoughts on love and relationships.

Basically, after he took control of the throne, William the Conqueror stripped many Anglo-Saxon lords of their lands and titles so he could give them to his Norman buddies instead - with the added bonus that it left the Anglo-Saxons without the means to raise armies against him. The sisters, daughters, and widows of the dispossessed Anglo-Saxons were then forced to marry these new Norman lords to legitimise their power, not infrequently after all of their male relatives had been slaughtered. It’s not as if Anglo-Saxon women weren’t used to being used as political chess pieces, but the years after the conquest were brutal. It’s why William had to build so many castles. The point that I’m trying to make is that even if A’s mother was content enough in her daily life, due to the power imbalance between her and her husband, it's very likely she had little choice in the matter. She may have seen a lot of her family killed for political reasons, with the knowledge that – in an age where women had very little protection outside of their paternal household – she might be next if she made too much of a fuss.

It would be fascinating to see what effect that tension has had on A 900 years later, or even to get an acknowledgement of how much times have changed, but we don’t. We don't see how their early years affected them, how they view relationships formed naturally instead of via political contracts. And I really, really wish we did. There is so much potential there.

But A is not the one keeping me up past 2 in the morning. It’s N, and the utter detachment their backstory seems to have from the period in history they lived in as a human. And it all stems from the fact that they came from the English nobility in the late 1600s.

See, the bulk of the problem is that English inheritance law at the time heavily favoured primogeniture, where a man’s wealth would go to his first-born son. Some dispensation was made for widows and other children, but the estates, assets, and most of the money had a very clear destination.

For one thing, this makes it kinda weird that N’s stepfather would have needed an heir before he could inherit, because except in extreme circumstances everything would have gone to him anyway. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the worst part of the problem, it’s just annoying when there are more plausible reasons for him marrying a woman already pregnant with another man’s child (old family friend wanting to save her from disgrace, needed the dowry to pay off gambling debts, there was a longstanding betrothal between them that would have been tricky to get out of, etc.).

No, the bigger problem with N’s backstory vs primogeniture is firstly that at the time the English aristocracy was racist af (still is tbh) and given his pretty obvious mixed-race heritage, no court would have agreed that Nate was a legitimate son (this is for a very special reason that we will be coming back to). I say Nate specifically here because primogeniture requires the eldest legitimate son. Nat wouldn’t have inherited at all, as women in that period passed from the guardianship of their father (or other male blood relative) into that of their husband after marriage, and only gained any kind of independence with widowhood. If N had been an only child, maybe they would have been treated as a special case, but unfortunately Milton exists: the eldest legitimate son who by law will inherit everything.

Now here’s the thing. Your average aristocrat in the 17th century is very obsessed with lineage and keeping the family line unbroken. He would not, therefore, send his legitimate heir to sea to be shot at or drowned before he can carry on the family name – that joy instead goes to any other sons who need their own profession, because again, they will get very little. Nat would have had a dowry, but would never have been expected to make her own living, so I'm going to focuson Nate for this next bit.

In Book 3, if you unlock his tragic backstory Nate tells you he joined the Royal Navy after Milton went missing so that he could go look for him. And, well. This is where his backstory as Mishka tells it completely falls apart. For two reasons:

1. Even in the modern day, you can’t ‘just’ join the Navy, and you certainly can’t just jump straight to being a lieutenant – it takes years of training and after a certain age they won’t take you because they won’t be able to mould you easily enough into a useful tool. For most of the Navy's history, the process was even more involved. It wasn’t an office job you could just rock up to and then quit if you felt like it, it was a lifetime commitment. Boys destined to be officers would be sent to sea as early as 12 to learn shipboard life, starting at the bottom and moving up the ranks. These were gained by passing exams and by purchasing a commission – which is why you generally had to come from wealth to be an officer at all. Once you get to lieutenant you're responsible for a lot of people, and might be tasked with commanding any captured ships alongside the daily running of yours - it was not an easy job.

2. Even as a lieutenant (one rank below Captain, with varying levels of seniority) it’s not like you can just go where you want. In the 1720s British colonies already existed in India, the Caribbean, and up the entire eastern seaboard of North America and into Canada, and the Navy was tasked with protecting merchant shipping along these seaways (and one trade in particular that we’ll be getting to, don’t worry). Nate could have ended up practically anywhere in the burgeoning empire. He would not have been able to choose whom he served under, and would not have been able to demand his superior officer go against orders from the admirality to chase down one lone vessel because he thinks another one of the admirals might be a bit dodgy. It could not have happened.

Besides these impracticalities, there’s a far easier way for the child of a wealthy man to get to a specific point on the far side of the globe to look for their lost sibling, which is the route I assume Nat took sine she couldn’t have joined the Navy (yes she could have snuck in but she’s specifically in a dress in the B2 mirror scene so). All they'd have to do would be to charter a ship and tell the captain where to go, which is the plot of Treasure Island. It's quicker, less fuss, with less chance of things going wrong. It's even possible in the age of mercantilism that the Sewells had some merchant vessels among their holdings that could be diverted for the task. Why go through the hassle of joining the Navy and potentially ending up on the wrong side of the world when you can just hire a ship directly?

If Nate does have to be in the Navy (and let’s face it, it’s worth it just for the uniform) then it's far more plausible is that, as the illegitimate son who would not inherit because of racism etc, he got sent to the Navy as a boy and rose through the ranks to become a lieutenant. When he got news of Milton’s disappearance not far from where he was stationed, he begged his captain to go investigate in case whatever happened turned out to be the symptom of a bigger problem. Like pirates.

I like this version better not just because it makes more sense, or because it keeps Nate’s situation re: inheritance closer to Nat’s and therefore makes their stories more equal, but also because it adds a delicious amount of guilt to Nate’s need to find his brother. We know his entire crew died looking for answers, because he was selfish – that’s roughly 100-400 lives lost because of him, and we know that sort of thing eats at him.

So that's one side of the story, but if Milton wasn’t in the Navy, what was he doing on the other side of the Atlantic in the first place? Well, this is where we come to the biggest elephant in the room regarding N’s backstory as a member of the 17th century English aristocracy and potentially as a naval officer: the Atlantic Slave Trade. If you are wealthy in 17th century Britain it's more than likely that your wealth comes either from the trade itself, or from the products made with the labour of enslaved people. If you are wealthy, you want to protect your assets from attack by pirates or foreign powers so you don't become less wealthy, and that is what the Navy is for.

Regardless of N’s own views on slavery at the time – and any subsequent changes in opinion – it’s likely their family owned or had shares in slave plantations in the Americas. As distasteful as it is, it makes far more sense that Milton was on a trip to check the family’s holdings when his ship - specifically a merchant vessel - went missing. From a pirate perspective, a merchant ship would make a much better target than a Navy vessel, being slower, more likely to have valuable cargo, and less likely to have marines or a well-trained broadside.

It's not surprising that Mishka left out the subject of the slave trade given her tendency to skirt around darker subjects and general blindspot for racial politics, but it is nuance that, if it was there, would create a more grounded and coherent backstory for N that doesn’t have quite so many holes. Like with A being the child of an invader and his war bride, we could get some deeper thoughts from N about their place in the world - How do they feel to have grown up so privileged when others who looked like them were regarded as literal property? How did they feel being part of the system that made it happen? Did it inform their compassionate nature? Is it still a source of guilt or someithng they've tried to make up for?

I'm not sure where I was going with all of this. It's late, my sleep pattern is fucked. The tl;dr is that giving the vampires' backstories historical context would make them feel more multifaceted and would give opportunities for character growth that are instead missed because of a desire for a more sanitized version of the past.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #a du mortain #adam du mortain #ava du mortain #n sewell #nate sewell #nat sewell #it's annoying because it’s such a small tweak in the grand scheme of things #If she didn’t want unfortunate implications she could have made N from a century later when the navy was actively trying to stop slavery #A could have been from a 50 years earlier to tie his whole family’s demise into the subjugation of the english after the battle of hastings #or a century later when the two courts had mostly integrated #mishka made choices #they deserve to be given more substance than mere aesthetics #you can tell it’s late I’m using long words

[some-pers0n]

I've got a couple messy feelings on Cleril and how the fandom treats it, so here. Take this rant.

TL:DR: Cleril is good you guys. Trust me.

Maybe it's a sign that the brainrot from writing murderers and people who are so far gone from the general norm being able to be soft and sweet is killing the last remaining sense of reason in me, but I don't think Cleril is as bad as people make it out to be.

Yeah, obviously at first glance this should never work. Saying that Peril isn't the most stable character in the series would be a massive understatement. She is constantly characterized as reckless, clingy, emotionally dependent, and always puts herself down as a monstrous dragon only capable of hurting others. Clay has never shown any sort of romantic interest in her, only being passive and sweet with her in a platonic sense. Peril on the other hand loves Clay to the point of obsession. She practically makes him her moral compass. That sort of idealization isn't healthy.

And...you'd be correct. In that state? There isn't too much of a connection there to begin with. If it were to happen right now, I think it would mostly be out of Clay feeling pity towards Peril. He wants her to be happy and is kind of self-sacrificing like that, but, I don't think he could handle being the dragon who she puts all of this pressure on. To be somebody who she centers everything around.

But, Peril isn't really that dragon anymore. It's like people read Escaping Peril, get to the end, and then think: "Oh wow she sure developed. Not enough to be a healthy character!!" as if Escaping Peril didn't end with her burning Darkstalker's scroll and thinking to herself that she didn't mind if Clay wouldn't approve of it. She was acting on her own volition. She knew that burning it was the correct thing to do. She's moved on from treating Clay like this centerpiece in her soul. This dragon who she treats more like an idea of her conscious to keep her on the right track. She's improved. Getting better.

Peril is a character I think is misunderstood by a lot of people, especially ones that aren't really in her position. I don't wanna be an arm-chair psychologist and spout nonsense, but Peril is heavily traumatized and reminds me a lot of people who get out of these horrible situations and are trying to adapt to a new and scary world all on their own.

Peril had an awful childhood. She was raised to be dependent on Scarlet. Scarlet was the only dragon who was keeping her from being thrown off a cliff by an angry mob. She was manipulated and gaslit into believing that what Scarlet did was good. That Scarlet was the only one who cared about her. That these kind of horrible and unhealthy relationships are something she thinks is normal. When Clay comes around, she does the exact same thing. Puts him on a pedestal. The concept of being treated as anything but a monster is completely foreign to her, so she instantly grows attached. She thinks he loves her. Why else would he be so kind? She associates basic compassion with love because that's what she's been raised to believe.

But, she's healing. Throughout Escaping Peril we see her come to terms with her childhood. She understands that she is not a monster, but rather a dragon who was a victim of her circumstances. She is not the same, volatile, unpredictable dragon she was in TDP. People still think of her as that, when she certainly isn't anymore. She's so much better.

Her arc is one about bettering yourself. That, no matter how hurt you were, you deserve to be loved. You deserve to be treated with respect and kindness. You are not a monster. You are capable of love. You are not a heartless being. There are people who care about you. There are people who will stand by your side and help you. There are people who love you.

People never talk about Clay's side of Cleril either. People barely even discuss about Clay for that matter. He's so much of a nothing character in the eyes of the fandom, reduced to little more than Peril's partner who can give big hugs.

But, Clay is like Peril is so many ways. That was one of the many reasons they both got along. Clay and Peril were brought up as unfeeling monsters. Born killers who cannot change their fate. Clay believed in it. That no matter what he tries telling himself, he's a murderer. That at his very core he wants nothing more than to tear out somebody's throat.

But, he learns. He is kind. He is compassionate. He is patient, earnest, sweet, loyal, and above all: loving. He is not a monster. He is more than the labels placed upon him. Only he can define himself through the actions he makes in the present. He is more than the mistakes of his past. He is Clay. He is not Clay the Killer, or Clay the Destroyer, or Clay the Monster. He is Clay.

Him and Peril are alike in so many ways. Clay is the final result of Peril's journey. She's still struggling, but she's making progress. She's developing and changing into somebody better. She's making amends for her mistakes. She's going to be somebody bigger than the labels that were placed on her. She will no longer be Peril, Scarlet's Champion. She will be Peril, known for her fierce loyalty, undying love for her friends, and being the one to burn brightest in the darkest of times.

I believe they can love each other. I believe that Peril can love another dragon and not be extremely clingy or dependent. I believe that Clay and Peril can help each other.

Call be a hopeless romantic or a optimist, but I believe in love. I believe love can help others through their struggles. I believe in people being able to change and grow beyond who they were. Above all, I believe in hope for a brighter future for anybody who has been hurt in the past.

#wof #wings of fire #Really putting the 'rant' part in that #Peril wof #clay wof #cleril #cleril wof #sp-rambles

[bluetomorrows]

Clone High: It's About the Contrast

Something I've seen a lot of is Clone High S2 redesigns. People taking the new characters of S2 of Clone High and changing the designs, usually cause they don't like what we did get. Some of these are neat. I saw one that tries to combine their new designs with their S1 designs from when these characters were incidentals. A lot of them seem to take the personality out of the design. Most of them look hard to animate, but that isn't the point I'm trying to make.

People seem to really dislike these new designs. There are valid design reasons (some are a bit overdesigned, and they definitely clash with the S1 designs) but it just seems people are mad at them in concept. Especially Harriet Tubman. How could they turn Harriet Tubman into... this?

It's outrageous! And yeah, it is. It's supposed to be. That's the joke. In the 20 years since Season 1, the Clone High Fandom has grown and shipped and gossiped and a lot of people have forgotten that the incongruity of the characters is part of the joke. Joan of Arc was not in fact a goth girl who constantly thirsts over tall men. The same goes for several other characters.

Harriet Tubman isn't Harriet Tubman. She shares her DNA but she is decidedly a different person. That's the point of Clone High, the show is less about historical figures interacting in a high school setting and more about how these people might be if they were raised under different circumstances. Ideologically, Clone High is an argument against great man theory.

Gandhi changed the world. But when he isn't born and raised in British controlled India under very specific circumstances, he's just some guy. The same goes for Cleopatra, JFK, Joan of Arc,, Jesus Christ, and yes, even Confucius, Frida Kahlo, and Harriet Tubman. It's circumstances that create people, not people making the circumstances.

Imagine if you had the chance to have a conversation with the real Harriet Tubman. What do you think she would say? How would she act? I'm sure she'd probably be an interesting and nice person, but she wouldn't be a character fit for a wacky animated sitcom. You don't really expect former slaves to be bubbly like that.

It both literally and metaphorically takes the basic DNA of these figures and subverts and modifies their existence through modern society, or rather the tropes of teen dramas. Not just asking what would happen if these people were in high school but if they were ordinary people. Instead of being a hero whose life is in danger, Harriet Tubman is a girl who gossips and whose biggest worry is becoming a basic bitch.

Look at the S2 finale. The board of shadowy figures have assembled their great men and put them in competition. They'll weed out the best of the best to become the great men of the future. And out of about 100 clones, only one actually makes it to the end. Everyone else fails. The one clone who does make it, Joan, is born again into extreme circumstances. Being left for dead by her friends and suffering a psychic break. There is no such thing as great men, just extraordinary situations.

I think this theme of subverting these legendary figures is something that should be kept in mind when talking about the show. It isn't really a show about historical figures, just historically-themed characters. And that's okay. It's very funny when done well! It's a cartoon and it really acts like it. It was never asking to be taken as a serious drama and definitely wasn't asking to be a commentary on historical figures. It simply parodied its contemporary teen dramas a little too well and we got invested in joke characters and everything changed. The S2 writers were in a very unenviable place, and I applaud them for taking things in bold new directions. If you haven't watched S2 or even just watched a few episodes, I'd recommend giving it another chance. It's not perfect but it gets better as it continues. It has its own distinct feel and style while still understanding what "the point" of the original was.

Also Kahlopatra for life ❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

#clone high #clone high season 2 #clone high reboot

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now - Bonus chapter 23.5: Maisie’s pov

Fic masterlist

Getting Maisie’s voice right was challenging (and the whole reason I didn’t consider writing her pov before loll), and I don’t think I nailed it, but I kinda like how this chapter turned out heheh enjoy!

Rowan mentioned dropping Maisie at Aedion’s on ch. 23, and this is what happened

*Winks at this Nonnie*

Warnings: none?

Words: 2,6k

“F—fork,” Uncle Aedion said as soon as he opened his front door, rubbing his eyes. “Rowan, what the fork are you doing here at six-thirty?”

Maisie sighed, holding Fleetfoot. She knew what he was going to say, that word she couldn’t repeat either. But if grown-ups hated the word ‘fuck’ so much, why were they always saying it?

“I brought Maisie for a fun morning with you.” Rowan patted his daughter in the head, a reminder of the terrible braid he made. It was the fastest braid he’s ever done, with no ribbons and some strands thicker than others. Her mom would never let her go out with hair like this. “You can go to the pool…” He trailed when Aedion wouldn’t stop glaring. “The playground?” Rowan’s face started turning into a grimace. “Watch TV? Roblox?“

Maisie’s heartbeat fastened. Her dad was strict about screens, so something must’ve happened. And it was weird that her mom didn’t sleep with them last night. The only change was Fleetfoot, but Aelin liked Fleetfoot—she even promised to play with them later.

But she didn’t.

The little girl turned off from the conversation her dad and uncle were having, needing to think. Most of the time, she was the cause of her parents’ fights, since they were always shouting her name at each other, but it all got better when they started going to the playground together. She didn’t hear them shouting anyone’s name, but maybe her dad would feel better if Maisie took him to the playground with her mom.

The little girl clutched Fleetfoot to her chest, her heart feeling all tight and squeeze-y inside.

Rowan and Aedion were having a weird staring thing, so she didn’t miss much.

“We can go to the pool once it opens.” The last words didn’t sound nice, and Maisie didn’t like the way Uncle Aedy was talking to her dad. Not sure of what to do, her eyes darted between the two men.

Rowan ran a hand through his head. “Look, I know I should’ve—“

“And I have a guest sleeping upstairs,” Aedion added, eyebrows raised.

Her dad’s eyes widened, and for once he seemed to change his mind, his expression dropping. “I’m sorry. I’ll try Lorcan—“

“No, I—“ Aedion ran a palm over his face, shoulders dropped, and when he looked up again, it was like a different person. He smiled down at Maisie. “Come on, Kiddo.” He patted her shoulder, frowning just a little bit at her ugly braid. “Gods, I’m as bad as your mother when I wake up too soon. It doesn’t even look like I’m always asking her for more time with you, huh?”

Her uncle gave her a reassuring smile, lighting up Maisie’s mood a little.

“Just—“ Rowan cleared his throat. “Your guest… is he or she decent?”

She didn’t understand why Aedion’s smirk was so big, but at least he said, “She’s a mom—a very good one. Don’t worry about her.”

Her dad hesitated, but handed her purple backpack. Maisie knew he didn’t like leaving her with strangers, but he trusted Aedion, even if Aelin complained about him.

Rowan crouched down to remind her of everything every grown-up ever told her, but she wasn’t worried about staying with her uncle. Instead, she thought about her dad. He had already done everything Maisie thought was impossible, so she trusted him to fix things today. He did it once by taking her mom to the playground, he could do it again.

“…don’t talk to strangers, don’t listen to anyone but your uncle, and don’t leave his side, okay? Do not, under any circumstance, run off.” A pause for emphasis. “But if you do, call me when you get lost.” He lifted a brow.

Maisie let out a heavy sigh, already knowing what to do. She recited her dad’s phone number in front of him, watching him check if she was correct.

“That’s perfect.” He kissed her forehead. “Your mother’s now.”

Like she remembered the second part of it. “You’re teaching too many numbers,” Maisie protested, “It’s making me dizzy!”

Uncle Orlon said her life would be easier once she knew how to count, but she was having a tough time agreeing with him. Ever since Maisie learned it, Rowan had been making her learn phone numbers. She tried to remind him that she could know every number in the world and play Roblox if he just gave her a phone, but it was hard to change her dad’s mind.

After a long time of her dad being a big Buzzard, Aedion finally shooed him away. He banged the door closed and grimaced at the sound, then dropped her big purple bag and Fleetfoot’s smaller one at the couch.

“You hungry, Kiddo?”

“Yes,” Maisie lied. She ate breakfast at home, but she also had plans.

“I can make you a grilled cheese,” he called on his way to the kitchen. Maisie carefully laid her puppy on the floor and ran to her uncle.

“Can I eat lots of sweets and then you tell Mom and Dad that I ate grilled cheese?”

She didn’t expect Aedy’s loud laugh.“Nice try, Kiddo. I’m more scared of your mom than you.”

Maisie frowned, a little grumpy about her plan not working out, but she could convince him to give her sweets later. It worked with her mom most of the time.

“You’re lucky I did the groceries for my friend yesterday,” he said, head stuck on the fridge. “I have Brie, Gouda and provolone.”

Interesting. Maisie had no idea what any of these were. “I want grilled cheese.”

“With which cheese?”

The little girl sat up straighter. No one ever asks her that, but Uncle Aedy would mock her forever at any sign of weakness. “The yellow one.”

He snorted, but brought a very yellow cheese to the counter. “Good choice.” He paused before closing the fridge. “With salad?”

“No, thank you.”

“Good manners, Munchkin,” Aedion praised, even if Aelin always complained that he had none. “Would your parents even ask if you want salad?”

She giggled. “No, but you did.”

He sat her on the counter so Maisie could help him make the perfect grilled cheese—like cutting off the crunchy part of the bread and making triangles, or adding the perfect amount of cheese. It looked so good, Aedion even made one for himself.

“This is the bestest grilled cheese ever,” she said on the table where they ate, eyes closed to taste it better. It tasted differently from the one her parents made, but it was so good Maisie wished she could give some to Fleetfoot, who was laying at her feet.

“Really?” Aedion perked up. “Better than your dad’s?”

“No.”

Uncle Aedy didn’t seem as happy anymore, but her parents always tell her that it’s bad to lie.

He changed the subject. “So, you’ve got a dog now?”

“Yep.” She gave her uncle a big grin. “I went to a dog place with Uncle Dorian and Uncle Fen, because they were looking for one. Daddy went too, but he kept being bossy with me and didn’t even notice them. Then, I saw this little puppy, and I just loved her so much!”

“She is cute,” Aedy said, leaving the table to sit with Fleetfoot on the kitchen floor. Maisie did the same, not caring about their dirty plates. He grabbed a small toy the dog chewed on, trying to play with her. “I think Dorian posted about it on Instagram. They got two rescue boxers, right?”

“Yes,” the little girl said without explaining a lot. She was still grumpy about her uncles—why invite her if they wouldn’t do anything she said?

“Did you like them? What’re their names?”

She frowned. “Calvin and Klein.”

Aedy leaned back, laughing loud. She couldn’t figure out why it was funny.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“No,” she said with her arms crossed.

“But they’re boxers!”

Who cares? Just because the doggies have a smushed, grumpy face, it doesn’t mean they can’t have cute names. Maisie sighed. “Calvin is okay, but Klein?” she said in a squeaky voice. “Klein isn’t a good name for a dog, a kitty, a fish, not even a giraffe!”

Aedion had this smiley, funny face on. It didn’t even look like they were talking about something important. “So you think ‘Fleetfoot’ is a better name than ‘Klein’?”

“Much better. Fleetfoot is the cutest, babiest puppy name.”

“Did your dad teach you how to clean her poop?”

“Daddy’s having a tough time teaching me how to clean me after I poop.” Much less Fleetfoot. It’s too much poop for a kid to clean.

“Fair enough. She’s sleeping outside, then?”

“She’s sleeping with me.”

Aedion snorted. “I doubt your parents would let it.”

“She is!” the little girl shouted, then crossed her arms, eyes squinted at him. “If Daddy sleeps in twos, I can sleep in twos too.”

Maisie never got to join her parents’ sleepovers, so she told her dad that she’d have super fun slumber parties with Fleetfoot and not invite them too. Rowan said it was fair.

His eyebrows went so high it looked funny. “Your dad sleeps in what?” Aedy asked really loudly.

“We’re all sleeping in twos now. We spend the day together because it’s more fun, and then Daddy sleeps with Mommy, and now I’m sleeping with Fleetfoot too.”

He bent down to be eye-to-eye with Maisie, eyes as big as plates. “So your mom and your dad… they’re sleeping in the same bed now? You’re sure of that?”

She sighed. This was getting boring, and she was supposed to spend the morning at the pool. But maybe… is this why her mom’s always saying that she worries about Uncle Aedy when he’s alone? Because he needs someone to hug?

Maisie put one hand on his shoulder, petting it like she sees adults doing sometimes to someone who’s sad. “Hugging someone when you sleep is nice because it makes us feel happy and safe. That’s why we’re all sleeping in twos now,” she said, hoping he’d get the tiny suggestion.

Maybe he was worse than her mom thought. Uncle Aedy was so surprised he didn’t say anything, and his mouth was open so big a fly could come right in.

“Aw. That’s so sweet, Mais.”

Maisie heard the voice coming from the door, squealed when she saw Auntie Lys there and ran to hug her.

Aedion blinked, still looking a little frozen. “Okay, Kiddo, focus on me. Just to be sure, your mom and your dad—”

“Shh!” Lys gave him a sneaky grin while she hugged Maisie. “I didn’t know I’d see you today, Hawkie.”

The little girl giggled at the nickname. Auntie Lys started calling her that after seeing the White Hawks shirt her dad sometimes makes her wear to soccer classes. It was her favorite team—not that Maisie knew many—and she liked cheering for them with her parents.

“Is Timmy here?” The little girl asked his mom, excited with the idea. Maybe she could take them to the pool, since Aedy was a little slow today.

“No, he’s not…” Lys trailed, combing Maisie’s loose strands out of her face until she saw that crazy braid. She made a funny noise with her throat and kept going, “And I’d appreciate it if you waited a little to tell him you saw me with your uncle. You see, Timmy hasn’t met him yet, and I don’t want him to feel left out.”

Maisie walked past Lys, into the living room, and threw herself on the couch. What’s a girl gotta do to go to the pool here?

“I don’t have anything cool to tell him anyway. I know Uncle Aedy likes boys more than girls.”

Aedion ran to her, his eyes big again. “What?”

Why was he making her repeat everything she said today? “I know you and Auntie Lys aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend because you like boys more than girls.”

“No, that’s not—“ He looked between her and Lys, saying the f word that would make Maisie’s mom mad—he said it in a low voice and probably thought she didn’t hear it, but she did. Her auntie was laughing, but Aedy looked red like a tomato, and he said, “Not like that! I like boys and girls the same, okay?”

Huh. Maisie held her chin with her hand, trying to understand. People like girls or boys more, because they have to pick one to marry and have kids, puppies or kitties with. But if Uncle Aedy liked both… her eyes widened with realization.

“Is that why you’re not married? Because you can’t find a boy and a girl to marry at the same time?”

“No!” he answered super quickly. Auntie Lys had the same red face as him, but she was laughing, while Uncle Aedy looked weird and mixed up. “I don’t wanna be with two people. Not that I can’t, it’s… actually, I can’t anymore, but—“ Aedion sighed and ran a hand through his face. “I’m like your Uncle Dorian, you know? Like when he used to date your mom—“

“That’s a lie!” Maisie screamed, feeling angry for her mom and uncle both. “Uncle Dorian likes boys more than girls.”

He and Uncle Fen have puppies together. He doesn’t want to marry a girl! And him and her mom—ew. He’s her uncle, not a second daddy, and Maisie liked it that way.

“Yes, yes.” Aedy squatted to look at her in the face, holding both her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Kiddo. I’m just trying to explain that some people look for girls or boys to be with, but I look in both until I find one person to settle down with. You got it?”

“Yes,” she lied. Girls or boys was easy to understand, but if you could search in both, it’s not helpful to chop off half the people you could marry. Maisie sighed, resting on the couch. Whenever she talked about marrying a girl because boys are gross, her dad said she was too little to decide. She was finally understanding that he knew something she didn’t—or maybe he still knows something else she doesn’t yet.

Uncle Aedy looked ready to say something else when his phone rang. “It’s your mom,” he said before taking it, answering her with lots of yes and um-hum, and finally letting her—and Maisie—know that yes, they were going to the pool soon.

He passed her the phone. “Your mom wants to talk to you.”

“Mom?”

“Hey, Maisy Daisy.” The happiness in her mother’s voice made Maisie feel better too. If her mom was happy, it meant her dad was happy too, and if both of them were happy, it meant her dad fixed whatever he needed to fix. “Your father told me you were spending the morning with your uncle. Are you having fun? Are you hungry?”

“It’ll be nicer once we go to the pool,” she said, eyes squeezed at her uncle, watching him closely so he’d know she hadn’t forgotten about that promise. “And we ate grilled cheese. It was yummy.”

“That’s great, honey.”

Her mom sounded relaxed in a way it only happened when she was being lazy, and Maisie didn’t want to end it with something serious, but she had questions.

“Uncle Aedy just told me that you and Uncle Dorian were boyfriend and girlfriend.” Maisie scrunched up her nose. “That’s super duper gross. Did you do it or not?”

“AEDION TOLD YOU WHAT?!”

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #look at us now #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic