#(un)official guide

[whumble-beeee]

You Look So Much Prettier This Way

Poor Stan. What will you do to get out of this predicament, I wonder?

What will you do when fighting back isn't even an option?

Stan sat stunned. He couldn't speak. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't complain, he couldn't quip, he couldn't stand, he couldn't struggle, hell, he could barely even move.

He wanted to cry.

His face hurt from where they punched him. His neck hurt from where they grabbed him. His entire body hurt from where they'd manhandled him to the ground and pinned him down and tied him up, choking him, punching him if he dared flinch, or god forbid he struggled against their grasp.

And after all that excessive tying, the rope that scratched against his tender skin and pressed in on his ribcage in a suffocating embrace.

They'd gotten out the duct tape. His heart stuttered, eyes wide. He started to scream, he kicked out at them.

Big mistake. As soon as they finished they mortifying ordeal of wrapping his mouth in layer after layer of duct tape, they slammed him down onto his back and hoisted his legs into the air, bent them into the most odd position, and by the time Stan realized that had still more rope, they were already wrapping it around his ankles and his thighs.

Over and over.

He tried to scream. They kicked him. He screamed some more into the duct tape gag. More blows. Tears. It didn't stop. He couldn't even curl in on himself to protect his soft underbelly.

Then they plopped him on the floor.

Surrounded him.

Appraised him, hungry eyes searching over his body.

Stan couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

The one he thought to be the leader stepped foreward.

Knelt in front of him, cupped Stan's cheek in their hand.

Stan could barely even find the strength to jerk away, and when he did, they just grabbed his collar and yanked him back, made him stare right into their ruthless shark-like eyes. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them.

"You look so much prettier this way," they lulled. "I wonder if your friends will agree when they come to find you."

* * * * * * * *

Whumptober 2024 | Day 7 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

Stan is an OC that belongs to The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping!

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx

(If you wanna be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

The recent Batman & Mr. Freeze: SubZero conversation once more got me thinking about my old pitch for if SubZero’s existence hadn’t been so violently rejected, so here’s a model sheet that’s Totally Definitely 100% Official.

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | set in the world of handsome, dirty, rich. joel is celebrating your one year anniversary with a few surprises. alternatively: how fast can ali turn a new pedro pic into a fic? also, bless @undercoverpena —she set me on a dangerous path with this one.

content warning | sugar daddy!joel, reader has no description other than a vague mention of a dress, thigh riding, borderline public sex/voyeurism, the use of a certain undergarment for pleasure, fingering, established relationship, sneaking around, subtle dom!joel & brat!reader, pure filth i do not apologize, un-beta'd

word count — 2.7k

He’s rented out the entire restaurant. All for you.

It doesn’t dawn on you at first, but as the primly dressed workers attend to you at the door, carefully removing the coat off your shoulders while another guides you toward the table in the corner of the restaurant—the rest of the space was dimly lit, except here. The overhead light casted a warm but pale yellow glow down on the table. Two plush, leather chairs that you were sure cost at least half of your monthly rent—not that you paid that, either. Joel had made sure of that.

You tried to deny it in the beginning, to fend off his constant willingness to make sure you didn’t have to stress or lift a finger when it came to finances—that you could focus on your degree without any outside distractions. 

Your relationship was still something kept between the both of you, a sacred bond in a bubble that hadn’t been popped yet. It was perfect, too perfect. And you refused to give that up just yet.

“Really?” You ask, scrunching the dress up near your hips as you take a seat in the pulled out chair, careful that it wouldn’t ride up too high, but it seems futile as the moment you both hit the seat, Joel’s palm is settling between your legs. His palm curls around your left thigh, a comforting gesture he did whenever he had a moment to touch you—it doesn’t move, doesn’t linger too close or too far, it’s just there. You rub your thumb over his knuckles and smile. 

“I shoulda told them I wanted the center table, huh?” Joel joked, flashing that perfect smile, his cheek dimpling. “Only the best for my girl.”

“Oh, because the empty restaurant you rented out wasn’t enough?” The playful resonance in your tone makes Joel chuckle, but quickly fades as he sees one of the several waiters approaching.

He orders some fancy bottle of wine you can’t pronounce and you can’t help but stare. He’s so…dressed down, compared to you. A simple white shirt, black jeans that he’s worn on several occasions but always hugging his thighs in a way made your mouth fucking salivate.

You weren’t even five minutes into this date and you were ready to cut short and run, saddle up over his lap in the driver’s seat of his truck and sink down on his cock for a quick five minutes of pure bliss, feeling the full extent and intensity of his love for you in the way he let his guard down in those moments.

The second you’re alone he’s moving his hand from your thigh to the nakedness of your neck, sliding around the back and guiding you toward him, a surprisingly gentle kiss against the column of your throat followed by a soft, “Never enough, baby.”

God, he was in a mood today.

It was nearing a year of making…whatever this was official. It wasn’t asking for your hand in marriage or even to be his girlfriend, just a silent agreement that you both wanted whatever it was that you felt for each other, regardless of labeling it. And that was what worked the easiest for you both. You tried not to think about it too often, the outside distractions and betrayals you were allowing to happen when buying into his attraction to you.

But, right now, that was the last thing on your mind.

Joel does all the ordering—a three course meal of chef’s choice that came with a hefty tip.

So, they were very good at leaving you alone. Just as Joel had requested.

“Did you like your gift?” Joel asks after some time, using the cloth napkin to wipe at his mouth, peering up at you as he forks another piece of food into his mouth.

Gift. You huff a soft laugh through your nose behind closed lips.

“Oh, those—” You roll your eyes playfully, poking at your food with your fork, “yeah—of course.”

And you were absolutely wearing them, just like he asked.

A sleek, lace pair of panties with a matching bralette, but the very obvious bump of a vibrator tucked away in the gusset of your underwear was a dangerous, dangerous game. They didn’t come with a remote but you knew exactly where it was, watching the smile on Joel’s face grow more relaxed as he was on his third cup of wine, but somehow more drunk on the sight of you.

“Wearin ‘em?” Joel asks, just to be sure. “Like I told you?”

“Why don’t you find out, Mr. Miller.”

He hadn’t heard that in a minute, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he reached blindly, but with careful precision for the remote in his pocket.

The buzz startles you at first, but it was faint. You could ignore it easily, so you did.

“Eat up,” You motion to him and his forgotten third-course, a too sweet dessert that neither of you could finish on your own, but you were willing to do anything to distract him, “don’t be rude.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow up and chuckles, “Mouthy tonight? Alright.”

It was a specialty of yours, knowing just the right amount of brattiness to get under Joel’s skin.

The vibration picks up without warning, Joel now leaned back in his chair, left leg crossed over right and his hands resting in his lap, pointedly placed over the obvious growing bulge in his jeans that he was attempting to hide.

You hand grips the table in shock, jostling the silverware slightly.

Another soft laugh from Joel and you shoot daggers in his direction.

“In public? Seriously?”

“We’ve done worse,” He shrugs, “remember that night down at the beach over the summer?”

You did. Very well, in fact.

He had fucked you so hard the ache didn’t go away for a week, right there, on the beach—a group of college kids partying not even less than 20 yards away. You knew they were watching and maybe it was the result of genuine, human curiosity. But, the whistles and shouts—it sent a bolt of excitement down your spine, causing you to squeeze around Joel’s cock as he pumped into you, coming inside of you with your face pressed into the sand.

It wasn’t your proudest moment, but damn did it make the ache between your thighs so much worse as the memory floods your mind and Joel seems to notice you becoming spacey, nudging it up a few more notches and that causes a seering look of warning, teeth gritting as you gripped for his thigh, blunt nails digging in while your other snuck between your thighs, gripping hard on your dress as you squeezed your legs shut against your hand.

“Come here,” Joel says as he beckons with two fingers, curling them in a way you were all too familiar with.

“Joel, not here—” You stress, looking around at the vacant restaurant. 

You couldn’t even hear them moving around in the kitchen anymore. You turn back to Joel and he’s still waiting, daring you as he scoots his chair back a few more inches. He offers a hand, gently removing the one gripping his thigh and you feel your body moving against your better judgment, so willing and pliant to his touch.

He maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thigh, hand gripping your waist as he forces you to take a seat, the broadness of his thigh, the taut muscle against the press of the vibrator as it forcefully dug into your already swollen clit. You gasp, gripping the tablecloth in desperation. 

“Go on,” Joel encourages, “right here—I already know what you want, baby.”

You used to think he only enjoyed the idea of you using anything but his cock to get yourself off, but you quickly realized that it was your favorite thing to do—it was the only time he got cockier than usual, more teasing, seeing how easily riding his thigh would unravel you. It felt primal, that need for release and it was building in your core, that tingling heat lingering in wait.

“If they come back—”

“They won’t,” He stresses, his voice gruff and low as a palm spreads out over your back, the other one finding its home on your thigh, so dangerously close to the hem of your underwear underneath the silk dress, “slipped them a note—”

“Don’t tell me you t-tipped them so you could get your fuckin’ rocks off in the middle of din—” Joel increases the vibration another level and your jerk, holding back the strangled moan that dared to escape as you cant your hips against his thigh, “fuck, Joel. This is—”

Joel shushes you, fingers crawling up your back until he can grip the back of your neck, holding it tight as he pulls you up, head falling back instinctively against his hand, “Ride it, sweetheart.”

You can’t help the subtle rock of your hips, eyes scanning the room anxiously—you’ve never been this intimate in public, at least not with the looming chance that anyone could walk in and see you; arms spread out to grip the table cloth and Joel’s hands all over you, leaning forward over his leg. The table provided enough cover that unless someone decided to step within a few feet, they couldn’t see anything. 

Still, your heart raced.

“Come on,” He teases, the subtle twang to his voice that had you clenching around nothing, the constant hum of the vibrator tucked away in your panties doing nothing to help quell the ache, “I rented out this restaurant for us, asked them to give us some privacy and you’re still feelin’ shy?”

“If someone were to walk by, Joel—”

Joel grips at your neck tighter suddenly, pulling you until his chest is against your back.

“I’ll turn that thing all the way up if I need to and it’ll stay on ‘til we get back home.”

His place, he means. He often called it home because it had become that to you. You had your own place, your own things, but you still found yourself there more often than not. A drawer in his closet tucked away with your belongings, your toiletries tucked away in a cabinet so Sarah wouldn’t ask questions. You’ve become masters of this game of hide and seek, managing to keep this entire thing quiet for close to a year.

Maybe it was just dumb luck.

He adds emphasis on his statement as his other hand slips between your legs and under the silk hem of your dress, palm pressing flat against your cunt and leaving you no room to wiggle away, hips jerking against his touch as you moan out, your hand slapping over your mouth at the sound.

“I’ll give you the next sixty seconds, baby,” Joel warns, glancing down at the shiny Rolex on his wrist, “if you don’t come, it’s gonna be a hell of a ride back.”

As if to make you suffer more, he slips a finger between the wet, sticky fabric of your underwear and over the line of your cunt, dragging through your slick and slipping a finger inside of you wordlessly, angling the vibrator stuffed inside the gusset of your panties against your clit with perfective precision—feeling the throb of your pussy around his fingers, the tight clench of your walls, you find yourself rocking against his thigh mindlessly, desperate to chase that relief.

You couldn’t breathe—the feeling caught in your throat as he lifted his leg only a few centimeters higher, foot raised off his heel, your dress slipping up slightly higher under his grip and allowing him a clear view of your ass, the delicious curve and the black lace that clung to your skin. He could pull his cock out and get himself off there within just a few minutes if he really wanted to and slip himself inside you right as he came, knowing how much you enjoyed being stuffed full of him.

“Attagirl,” He commends you, a grin growing on his face that you unfortunately can’t see, but you feel it—his gaze, the hot press of his hands on your body, “just like that.”

Your eyes fall closed, heading bowing as he releases his hold on your neck to grip at the fabric bunched at your waist, slipping his hand over bare skin, fingertips pressing into the flesh of your waist, aiding in the hurried rock of your hips. The feeling of fullness comes from his fingers when he slips in a second, squeaking out a quiet “Fuck,” as your hand slips, slapping against his other thigh for support, accidently brushing your fingers against the remote tucked away in his pocket and dialing up the vibrator to the max, unknowing that it was only a level off.

“‘’S right there, darlin’,” Joel softens his tone, picking up the pace of his fingers fucking into you, his grip on your hip tighter, undoubtably ruining his jeans for the night, but he clearly didn’t mind.

The feeling builds—the quick and constant stimulation does nothing to help, sending you flying over the edge with a gasp, crying out Joel’s name as he keeps you stuck, pulling out his fingers in an instant and turning off the vibrator, leaving you to wade through the orgasm untouched.

“There you go, baby,” He coos, “makin’ a goddamn mess on my jeans, aren’t you?”

You nod, feeling dizzy as your head spins and your body goes light, whining through the sensitive friction of the denim against your cunt and Joel slides a comforting hand up your spine, rubbing against the middle of your back.

“Still with me, baby?”

You nod quietly, raising your head up slowly.

Joel chuckles lowly, patting gently at your thighs until you turn sideways in his lap. He smiles softly at the disheveled state of you, much less composed than a moment ago.

“What was that about?” You ask after a moment of gentle care, his lips pressing against your neck, chin, before pressing against your lips in the most tame kiss he’s ever given you.

He’s checking in.

“Wanted to cross somethin’ off my list.” 

You raise your eyebrows in pleasant surprise, a small laugh bubbling from your chest as you adjust your dress over your chest, “A list? Like…for sex?”

Joel shakes his head, pulling his lips together in a nonchalant frown. 

“No—well, there’s some of that on there but…things I wanna do with you.”

“Oh,” Color you intrigued, you push one of his imperfectly styled curls back behind his ear, “care to share?”

Joel swipes a dollop of whipped cream on his fingers and shakes his head, “Where’s the fun in that, baby?” You shrug as he presses the cream to your lips and you open dutifully, allowing him to press the whipped sweetness against your tongue, mixed with the taste of yourself as you close your lips and suck just for show, kissing his fingertip teasingly as he pulls away and pinches playfully at your thigh.

You laugh airily, reaching for your phone on the table as you turn to him, pulling up your camera.

“Wait—you really have to see the look on your face,” Instead of keeping the dumbstruck look on his face, he brings his hands to his mouth in the act of blowing you a kiss and you snap the picture with a smile, letting out a startled yelp as he tips you back slightly, nearly into the table as he angles your body to allow his lips to touch your ear.

“Take those off,” He tells you, “otherwise I’ll be tempted again.”

“No self control, Mr. Miller?”

Joel catches your chin between the thumb and pointer of his left hand, cutting off the small giggle that starts to escape your mouth and his eyes are pensive for a brief moment before softening, “Do as I say, darlin’. We got a long drive back.”

You nod, feeling his thumb swipe over your bottom lip before he’s helping you off his lap, swatting at your ass playfully as your feet hit the floor. 

“Yes, sir,” You reply flippantly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before you disappear. 

Joel smirks to himself as he reaches for his wallet.

You were right, without a doubt.

Joel had no self control when it came to you and he quickly realized that he’d be willing to do just about anything to make you happy.

-

divider creds: @/saradika-graphics

[c0llisiion]

DAY 23 — YEOSANG

★ npr, f!reader, face sitting , pussydrunk!yeo — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 512

Hello! This is part of my kinktober list! Day23 is officially out <3

This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable.

“Baby… please… It won't hurt me, I promise..." Yeosang reassured you. His hands rubbing up and down your thighs as you cradled his lap. 

Yeosang had been begging you for months for you to have your pussy on his face. Lapping at your folds and tasting you in a different way. But you were always unsure and skeptical. You didn’t want to hurt your boyfriend by sitting on his face; what if he suffocates?

“Im not gonna suffocate, sweetheart... Just once, and I will show you how good I can eat you out with you on top of me…” He was slowly guiding you up his body, his eyes half-closed and his mouth in a sleazy smile. 

You pout and think about it before hitting his chest. “You better tell me if you feel uncomfortable, alright?” 

Yeosang's smile widened, and he was quick to pull your body up. Your crotch hovering over his mouth. His slender fingers pushed down your underwear, exposing your glistening wet pussy. 

He took a deep inhale, his mouth watering at the sight. 

You carefully adjusted yourself. Holding onto the headboard for stability and your knees on either side of his head. Before you could give a confirmation that you were ready, Yeosang pushed your hips onto his mouth.

His mouth making immediate contact with your clit, sucking and rolling the nub using his tongue.

You gasped out and gripped his hair as he abused your bud with his tongue. His mouth eventually traveled lower to your core. Pushing his tongue into the entrance and licking your arousal. 

You moan rather loudly at his sudden action. Your grip on the headboard and his  hair tightened as he continued eating you out.

Yeosang hummed in satisfaction against your pussy, the vibrations sending pleasure coursing through your body. Low, breathless curses left your mouth. Yeosangs tongue lapped and sucked you clean, spitting and kissing your hole. 

His hands kneaded your ass cheeks, spreading them and playing with flesh.

He grunts as he feels you pressing yourself against his mouth. The pleasure getting so close that you needed more of it.

You heard the grunt and immediately panicked before lifting yourself off his mouth and looking down at him with worry.

“Are you okay?!” You scan his face for any discomfort. 

Yeosang clicks his tongue in annoyance and slaps your ass, “did i ask to fucking stop?” He asks sternly. 

“N-no..." "Sit back down. Im not done yet.” And with that, he pushed you down once again, but this time making sure to bite down onto your clit softly, making you cry out. 

He moaned and groaned against your pussy. His voice vibrating against your folds, making you see stars. “So.. so good…” he started rocking your hips against his mouth. Smothering himself in your essence.

The pleasure was starting to get worse at every step. Your body unconsciously pressing down and gripping his hair tighter.

Yeosang chuckled against your cunt and kissed your entrance. He spoke, his voice slightly muffled. “Told you would like it.” 

Tags~ @cassies-cookies @minghaosimp @unlikelysublimekryptonite @mamnaimiefrankie @marcoswhore @theyadorevalerie @applejackthebest515 @un-knew @salemluvsmusic @ka0ila @atztrsr @kpopsmutty69 @jisunglyricist @targaryenluvs @yuminhyunn @chansramennn @anylady-fics @marihoneywk @mikaelless @paboskzfan @lezleeferguson-120 @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @felixsangelicfreckles @vtyb23

[himezoro]

roronoa zoro's guide to relationship (smut)

tysm everyone for your love and support on the previous post ! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i'm so sorry for how long this other post was to come, but work has been pretty exhausting and as you may know, i'm a lawyer so when it comes to having free time it gets hard lmao this one was requested by @jinjen, i hope they'll like it ! <3

i'm also working on a "one shot" smut for roronoa zoro that i've had in mind for so long, i hope you'll like it!!

minors dni !! 18+ only.

here's a headcanon of what a relationship with roronoa zoro would include sexually. i had a female partner in mind when writting which is why it's pretty gender based !

wc : 860

even before being in a relationship with roronoa zoro, the sexual tension between his s/o and himself was beyond compare ; his hair would bristle when he heard their voice, when their hands would touch at dinner, when they just entered the room. the tension between them is so high it gets hard to breathe. his eyes would linger on their figure like those of a ruthless predator ready to pounce onto their prey. the sway of their hips, the flips of their hair, the bites of their lips, the look of their doe eyes. everything sets him on.

it became a game for the two of them to play with that said tension before getting official. he's a tease after all. but afterwards? hell, there's just no rules. everything's allowed. from their s/o sensually touching his thigh under the table and tracing the shape of his growing erection when everyone's eating to him whispering the dirtiest things into his s/o's ear when they're just sitting reading in the middle of the kitchen with sanji close by. "how 'bout we give that shitty cook a show of how exquisite ya' juices taste ?" "i bet i can make ya squirt before ya reach the bottom of that stupid page baby.". it's all competition, and it's about who's going to resist the urge to cut the tension.

zoro would easily cut it before they do. hell, he's got three swords ffs.

he's always horny for his partner.

aside from this game, zoro can go from being a slow and passionate lover to a ruthless beast. going from "i wanna make love to you" to "i'm gonna fuck you until your brain goes dumb".

when he's in the mood for passionate sex, zoro would take his time to kiss his s/o endlessly. having them onto their lap, grinding slowly but surely, his hand at the back of their neck in a loving yet firm way. he would whisper sweet nothings he won't say in any other circumstances "you're so goddamn pretty", "i want this body on me forever", "i wanna make ya feel good", "let me please you", "i love you".

during those intimate and slow times, his giant figure would be afraid to break you. his cock would pound into their s/o painfully slowly, missionary style, so he can watch them take him so gracefully. he would leave trails of hickeys all over their chest while firmly holding their hands, moving his hips to the rhythm of their racing heartbeats.

he knows their body like his three swords.

would lick and finger your pussy like there's no tomorrow, until your legs shake while praising you so bad. he would lick all of your fluid and even lick his lips before kissing you to "give ya a taste".

he loves it when his s/o praises him, saying how good he's making them feel, or simply hearing his name in between their moans. he feels like he's the strongest in the world.

but the second zoro feels jealous or "dominant" (which would be more appropriate since he feels pretty confident in his ability to please you), oh boy. be ready for a ride.

he would pin their s/o to the nearest surface. anything remotely close : the floor ? check. the dinner table ? check. the desk in your room ? double check. the wall to the shower ? triple check that one. he would grab their face with his right hand, kissing them hard, watching the trails of saliva connecting them with complete lust before diving back into a sloppy yet quite nice kiss, while playing with his s/o's clothed pussy under their dress with his left hand.

if this makeout session came after a meaningless fight (angry sex), he would spin them hard so their ass was pinned to his clothed erection and smack it hard. "gonna be a good girl now or shall i smack some senses outta ya ?" he can be mean during those sessions, but when he would make up for it later.

he would make them suck his giant cock until he hears them gag, saying "ya can take it. look at me while you swallow it all." he loves receiving a blowjob from their partner, seeing his cock disappear into the depth of their throat.

he's so ridiculously strong. he'll have their s/o fucked in every position. makes them cum so many times his s/o loses count, but not him. he's competitive and keeps his record in check. his stamina is pretty solid too.

even in these times, he cannot help but praise their s/o. "your pussy's squeezing me whole", "you're taking my cock so well, looks like it's made for it".

loves shower/bath sex where he can have fun with his partner at the same time.

sleepy morning sex as well <3

in the end, sex remains a matter of trust and intimacy, so no matter how, be sure to know that afterwards, this boy would not let go of you and ask for a back rub just to keep the intimacy going.

would hate it if someone dared interrupting his peace during aftercare (which can happen since luffy and usopp are always going crazy).

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Seth Mandel

In the summer of 2000, Israeli forces pulled out of South Lebanon, where they had maintained a security buffer between Hezbollah and the Israeli civilians in northern Israel. A few months later, Israel was rewarded for this gesture when Hezbollah ambushed three soldiers on the Israeli side of the border and took them captive.

The Iran-backed terrorists disguised themselves as employees of the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon (UNIFIL) and attached UN markings to the trucks used in the attack. The next day, UN workers tried to tow away the trucks but were stopped by Hezbollah operatives. The UN workers turned the vehicles over to Hezbollah.

But there was a twist. The UN had videotaped the scene, which was filled with evidence of the previous day’s kidnapping.

What the UN did with that tape is crucial to understanding the UN’s role in Lebanon and in shaping the conflict up to the present. With that tape, the UN did… nothing.

The news this weekend was saturated with coverage of UNIFIL blaming Israel for putting its cardboard peacekeepers in danger while the IDF responds to Hezbollah’s continued attacks. Israel, in turn, exposed the fact that the UN has allowed Hezbollah to construct tunnels and weapons depots under its nose, protecting the terrorists from IDF counterstrikes.

But all of this begins back in 2000, with that videotape.

Israel’s Labor government pleaded with the UN to turn over the recording, which could help Israel in its search for the captives. Time was, as always, of the essence: Every minute that went by put the kidnapped Israelis’ lives in more danger.

Instead of turning over the tape, the UN lied repeatedly by claiming there was no tape. Eventually, scenes from the tape leaked, revealing what everyone knew the entire time: Of course the tape existed. At that point, the UN publicly admitted they’d had the tape all along.

By then, the soldiers were dead. In 2004, Israel would trade hundreds of terrorists in Israeli jails in return for the bodies of the three soldiers.

There was some irony here: The Hezbollah terrorists dressed as UNIFIL and then UNIFIL aided and abetted their getaway and helped ensure the murder of the soldiers. What had started with terrorists impersonating UN members ended with the UN impersonating Hezbollah. The two were on the same team, cooperating in acts of profound evil. It was manifestly unclear where the UN ended and Hezbollah began.

Sound familiar? It should: It’s also the story of UNRWA, the Gaza-based UN agency that has become an adjunct of Hamas. Its members participated in the Oct. 7 attacks last year and even helped hold Israeli hostages. The head of the UNRWA teachers union turned out to be a high-level Hamasnik with ties to Yahya Sinwar, the mastermind of Oct. 7. We even have video of an UNRWA worker dragging away the body of a murdered Israeli alongside a Hamas terrorist. Where does one end and the other begin?

And by the way, the exact date of that Hezbollah kidnapping 24 years ago after which the UN hid the videotape and obstructed Israel’s attempts to get its soldiers back? Oct. 7, 2000.

This pattern would repeat itself throughout UNIFIL’s tenure in South Lebanon. Israel says the time has come for that tenure to end. Over the weekend, Israeli officials guided journalists along the border so they could see for themselves that Hezbollah is stronger with UNIFIL’s presence than without it.

One of those journalists, the Telegraph’s Jotam Confino, posted pictures and video of a UN compound with a lookout tower 100 yards away from a Hezbollah tunnel entrance. To state the obvious: It’s not a hole in the ground. It’s a tunnel, and constructing such a tunnel requires extremely noisy and conspicuous machinery as well as the regular presence of Hezbollah operatives. These tunnels and weapons caches along the border area were built, and are maintained, with the full knowledge of the United Nations—in fact, in full view of the United Nations.

If you approach a UN compound on South Lebanon you are probably standing above a Hezbollah tunnel or bunker. Where does one end and the other begin?

[shadeops21]

Cosplay Guide 2.0 - Release V1.0

Hello everyone!

With MWIII around the corner and me only about 10% through the MWII multiplayer operators, I realise that I am NOT going to finish the complete guide in time for release, not with the time I have available.

SO, I am going to release the guide in stages, first with all the 'story' characters added (that I could get assets for) and then later with Multiplayer operators, and then with additional faction AI/NPCs after that.

In parallel, I will also work on MWIII loadouts as a separate project as assets for that become available too. Honestly cannot give an ETA for when to start expecting those, but they will be coming at some point.

Now, without further ado, I preset to you:

THE [UN]OFFICIAL MODERN WARFARE COSPLAY GUIDE

Clicking to the above will take you to a Google Drive download link, where the PDF will be hosted. As versions are posted, I will announce this via posts like this and provide new links, and delete the old version too.

V1.0 is story characters only, and total size is 525MB. Pages are 5100x3300px size, so quality should be fairly high with minimal compression artifacing.

This has been the culmination of literal months of work on my part, and if you would like to show your appreciation, I have enabled tipping on this post (and will on future posts for version updates). I have zero intentions on pay-walling content, as I believe knowledge and information like this should be shared freely. But my research and ASD-borne levels of focus are driven by copius amounts of tea and sugary foods, so if you want to 'fuel' me and keep this going, I won't say no!

A huge thanks to everyone that has reached out to provide their own insight on gear and equipment, either via notes and reblogs on the different guide posts I've made, or via my ask box, or through my DMs. You've helped fill my blind spots and further enhance the accuracy of my research. Many thanks to those, you all know who you are!

Thank you for your support! Seeing the daily batch of likes and reblog notifications for these guides, even after all this time, serves to motivate me and keep this project going!

[romanarose]

Please, Mr. Miller?

Header by and the fic dedicated to @sweetlummie . Thank you for supporting this series

Dividers by @anitalenia

DBF!Joel x Reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

First installment is Yes, Mr. Miller? but all parts can be found on my masterlist <3

Summery: Getting ready for the labor day cookout, you reminisce on Labor day last year when things with Joel began. Ft. your dad surprises you

Warnings: Virginity loss, dirty talk, PIV sex, age gap (legal, reader is over 21 so stfu y'all), size kink, bleeding from sex (I know theres been discourse over the whole bleeding your first time, but I bled soooo. It's a normal thing to happen, don't be embarrassed.) Joel is a bit of a pain slut what can I say, reader scratching Joel enough to make him bleed,

Immersivity: Reader is fem, afab, dresses v hyperfem and cutsie, reader is shorter than Joel and coded that Joel is larger, can carry you.

A/N: My last instalment for this series, the dbf holiday fucks series as I call it, caused a whole hoopla. I didn't do memorial day nor forth of july as planned. I wasn't even going to do any more but then I thought of everyone who supported me and of course my dear Lum, and decided to write one more installment. This will wrap up the series with a happy end for our dear horny bastards <3

Everything needed to be perfect. Joel was coming over for the yearly labor day cookout your dad did to celebrate the end of the summer, and oh what a summer it was!! Joel had made this time after gradating college special, spending time taking you out of town so you could both not worry about getting caught. You even had another threesome with him and Tommy, a time that was extra special now that you belonged to Joel officially.

This wouldn't be your anniversary technically. Labor Day always falls on Monday, but your anniversary was the same date of course. You spent the "anniversary" of the first time Joel and you had sex getting fucked into oblivion at Joel's house. Today was still special, because you and him would always remember Labor Day for this.

As you apply your simple make-up, pink eyeshadow and pink blush and pink lipstick to match the dress you brought over to your dads, you think back on that day.

You had been giving Joel 'fuck me' eyes for months. Ever since him and your dad became friends the last year or so, you can't deny how much you wanted him. The barrier, however, was obvious. He was your dads best friend, and then there was the fact you were a virgin.

Still, your record wasn't exactly lily white. You'd fucked around a bit here and there with boys and girls but that was the problem. They were all just like you, inexperienced. Most were boring, most only focused on what they wanted. You need a grown ass man to teach you, to guide you, to make you cum the way your vibrator could.

Joel was that man. So, you spent months sending signals...

Signals that ended up with you pushed up against your bedroom door that fateful Monday while your dad fell asleep on the couch, his body crowding you with his breath hot against your face.

"You think you are awfully cute, don't you little lady?"

You can't help smile at that. Yes, yes you do think you're cute, thank you.

"You just think you can prance around here in these little skirts and lowcut tops and get me hard like a fucking teenager not have any consiquences?"

Despite his words and harsh tone, when Joel's hand went to your hip his grip was light, letting you know you weren't being trapped.

You look up at him. "I know what I'm about, Mr. Miller."

A small smile appears on his face, and he grind his hips against your stomach, making you feel him growing erection. "You feel what you do to me?" He waits until you nod. "I think it's only right you help me take care of it, don't you? Or do I have to fuck my fist in the shower thinking of your face again?"

"No, Mr. Miller, I think I should help you, but... you have to help me with something..." You trail off, uncertain how he'll take the news.

"And what is that?"

"I'm a virgin..."

With this piece of information, Joel's face softens and he gives you a little more space. He seems like a new person, resting his head on your forehead and you see him cringing a bit.

"Shit darl'n, "m sorry. I was come'n in strong for no fucking reasons"

But you don't want him to feel bad for assuming you weren't a virgin, most people aren't by your age... "No, no don't be sorry! I... I liked it." Joel opens his eyes to look at you, your faces so close together. "i like you being dominate."

That smile again... that damn smile and you knew you were in trouble.

"You want this? You can say no, any time..."

"I do. I really fucking do."

With that, Joel kissed you... and oh what a kiss it was. Joel devoured you like this betrayal of his friendship was sending him to death row and you were his request for a last meal. He kissed you like he was willing to sacrifice it all just for your lips, that committing this sin was worth it just to be the first between your legs. He kissed you like you were his already. Joel never stopped kissing you like that, not even a year into the affair.

He took his time with you, just like you knew he would. This, this is why you trusted Joel Miller with this part of yourself. Your vibrator was at your apartment, but Joel made you cum on his lips, humping the mattress with his arms locked around your shaking legs. Then, he opened you up on his fingers, the thick digits easily maneuvering in and out of your drenched pussy before curling them up and dragging another orgasm out of you.

When Joel finally lined himself up between your legs, your pretty dress still on and the skirt flared out at the bed sheets, he tucked his face to your neck, kissing and nipping softly to not leave and marks. "Are you sure you want this, darl'n? We can stop. I promise."

But you didn't want to stop. No part of you wanted to stop.

You grab at his ass, your done up nails gripping his asscheeks. Your body felt on fire, burning for him and only for him. You knew this could never be a one time things, even before he deflowered you, you were his to keep, his to play with. "Please, Mr. Miller?" You begin to beg for him. "I need your cock, please, please, please? I need it so badly, it's all I want, I need you, only you!"

Joel groaned at the honorific, head dropping down at he began to slid into your tight hole, splitting you open. "Shiiiiiiit baby... s'fucking good... so fucking good."

Your grip on his ass tightened as the pain of being stretched peaked, nails digging in and scrapping him, making him bleed for you as you did for him.

When he's fully seated inside you, Joel plants a little kiss on your lips, humming a little in the back of his throat. "My sweet girl... saved herself just for me, huh?"

"Yes" You lie a little. For the bit. "Wanted you to be my first, Mr. Miller."

He groans, slowly pulling out almost all the way. "Love it when you call me that." then, he thrusts himself completely into you, pounding your pussy as the gentle uh, uh, uh's begin to fill the room in time the the pleasure he brings you.

"Shhhhh princess," Joel's nose nuzzles your cheek. "Gotta be quiet, remember? Can't have your daddy finding out you let his friend deflower his little girl, hm?"

You whimper at that, the secrecy, the naughty air adding to the sin happening in your old bedroom as he thrust again and again and again until you're unable to keep quiet anymore. The pleasure is too great, too strong as your orgasm approaches and he knows it. Gentle hand a contrast the the way he cock is rearranging your insides with pound ferver, Joel cups your face and puts his thumb to your lip.

No hesitation, you open your mouth and as soon as his thumb slides inside you lock your lips around him.

"Good girl... good- fuck- good fucking girl... just needed someth'n to keep your mouth busy, huh? Something to suck on? Yeah, I know baby, I know, it's a lot isn't it? It hurts a little, huh?" Joel looks down, watching the way his cock disappears into you, watching how it comes out covered in slick. He likes looking at you writhe under him, struggling to take it all... "Awwww big stretch.... That's it baby, suck on my thumb... harder, want yuh to practice for my cock, because i ain't done with yuh after tonight. You know that, don't you? You're mine, pretty girl. I'm your daddy now."

He can feel you tightening, your cunt beginning to pulse the same it did around his fingers.

"Bite down on my thumb when you cum baby, make it hurt."

You do as you're told, biting down to prevent from screaming as you cum on his cock, waves of pleasure rushing your body like the crash of the ocean on a rock. Not holding bad, you bit him to the bone and watch as his head rolls back as he cums, reveling in the pain as he floods your cunt with his spend. Again and again he fucks his cum inside your pussy, feeling it begin to leak out and down your ass crack before his softening cock finally still inside you.

There is a moment when Joel body falls on your, covering you with a blanket of just him pressed on your dress, that you think he's just going to get up and walk out. Maybe he's wake your dad up to say goodbye and then just not speak to you again now that he got what he wanted...

But he doesn't. Joel kisses you, saying he'll be right back before getting his pants on again and going to the bathroom. He returned to clean you up, calming your embarrassment when you see the blood on the sheets, and holding you until you fell asleep.

That was one year ago.

Today, you skip down the stairs at your dads,m pink dress fluttering around your knees, and hope happily outside to where you dad was grilling. A few people had trickled in, but were talking across the yard.

"Hi dad!" You start surveying the party goers, looking out over the yard. You don't see Joel yet, but Tommy is in the pool already which means Joel is probably stuck carrying in whatever they brought.

"Hi honey!" He greets you warmly. "That a new dress?"

You give a twirl. "Sure is!"

"Looks real nice, I always liked pink on you. I think Joel will like it too."

Your blood runs cold and you freeze. You don't even have it in you to act natural or confused, you just stare at him in shock. You wonder if he's about to start yelling, although that was rarely in his nature.

"I..."

Your dad smiles at you, adding cheese to a few burgers. "Relax, honey, it's fine. I saw your car at Joel's house back in May. Yuh ain't slick." He gives you a wink.

"Oh...." You say dumbly, unsure what else to say. "Are you... mad?"

"I was a little when I first saw it... but mostly because you guys didn't tell me. Then I thought about it and realized you guys were probably nervous. I figured as long as he's treat'n you right, I'm fine." He cocks an eyebrow. "And he's treating you right, ain't he? Just cause he's my friend don't mean I'm choosing his side."

Tears of relief well up in your eyes. "Yeah daddy, he does. He treats me real good."

"TOMMY!" Joel shouts walking up the driveway, carrying several bags and a cooler. "You couldn't help?!"

You and your dad laugh, and when you sniffle he leaves his grill to give you a hug. "Good. I'm glad. I just want you to be happy, and Joel's a good guy. I'm just glad it's not Tommy."

You laugh again at that, and once he's satisfied you're happy, he goes to putting the burgers on a plate.

"So... is it serious? I don't wanna be in your business, just wondering."

You watch Joel set up the snacks and beer he was specifically told not to bring, but because of who Joel is as a person he brought them anyway. He and Tommy help a kid out of the pool, and when Joel looks up he sees you staring at him from over the deck.

He grins at you and waves. You wave back. "Yeah dad. It's very serious."

You run down the steps to tell him you dont have to sneak around anymore.

If you want more joel with fem reader since this series is done and I'm largly leaving pedro characrters, check out @sweetlummie 's work! lots of v fem cute reader, including great plus size!!

Thank you all for your love on this series!!!! the first part went over 1k notes which is huge for me!!!!

I love you all dearly.

althought im not writng pedro characters as much if you are an enjoyer of my writing, check out my tag list! i got rid of it for a while but am bringing it back

thank you!!!

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

[whumble-beeee]

HOLY SHIT

This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen OMG OMG OMG

Literally cackling, I love this so much this is exactly how I imagined this encounter would go! Words cannot express how much I absolutely love this just LOOK at them aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Anyway, thank you so much, whoever drew this! You have my entire heart!

Happy holidays, @whumble-beeee!

[kamotecue]

the transfer ✯ a. bonmati

pairing: aitana bonmati x reader

summary: the spanish defender tried to get you out of her mind, but she couldn’t. little did she know, she would see you sooner than she thought.

part two of here

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

you didn’t know how to feel about the transfer, it was a shocking move that no one expected. yet here you were on a plane to spain, more specifically barcelona to sign a two year contract with the team.

but thankfully, the team had hired someone to drop you off at the training grounds where you’ll sign the contract. after that, you’ll have the whole day to yourself.

as you arrived at the training grounds, you took a deep breath.

“nervous, ms. l/n?” the driver had asked as you chuckled at his words.

“just a little bit.” you timidly said, giving him a soft smile. he hummed at your words, completely understanding it.

“i’m sure you’ll do well, you had a fantastic season at arsenal.” he commented as you gave him a small nod. you had exited the car, and immediately someone had guided you to a room.

you talked about the contract, the essentials like the kits, the clubs sponsors and etc. you had finally signed the contract, posing for a few pictures as they would release it on their official social media page later.

“would you like to meet the team? i heard they are currently training.” a staff had asked, as you politely declined as you had to set up your apartment.

you bid goodbye before swiftly leaving but only to be stopped by a staff.

“what number would you like on your jersey?” she asked, as you gave her a small smile.

“number 17 is still available, is it not? i’d love to have that number.” you said, as she hummed in acknowledgment.

you had already set up the guest bedroom, and the kitchen. the living room was a mess as it had the cardboard boxes from the furniture you had ordered. your room was close to being complete, you just needed the finishing touch.

but the next day, you grabbed a light breakfast before heading to the training grounds. you had two pairs of football boots in your kit bag, followed by shin pads and a fresh pair of clothes. you were clad in the barcelona training kit, and it was quite stunning.

you watched from the corner of your eye as the team did their stretching. you were having a small talk with the physiotherapist about your recent knee injury that you sustained during the world cup, it was the final game against norway.

“muy bien chicas, tenemos un nuevo fichaje. [alright ladies, we have a new signing.]” jonatan, the head coach said as the players had stopped their stretching—a late signing? whispers had broke out, a late signing was always interesting.

“¿vamos? [shall we?]” he commented as you took a deep breath before making your way to the field, aitana’s eyes had widened on realization. while the rest looked a bit curious.

you weren’t from world class national teams like they were. but you were signed to a well known club in london, arsenal was always a talk of the town.

“este es y/n l/n, nuestro nuevo fichaje. y/n, puedes presentarte. [this is y/n l/n, our newest signing. y/n, you can introduce yourself.]” he gave you a small smile, as you softly nodded.

“hola, soy y/n. anteriormente jugé para el arsenal, y juego para el equipo nacional femenino de filipinas. [hello, i’m y/n. i previously played for arsenal, and i play for the philippine national women’s team.]” you fluently said in spanish, as a few players furrowed their eyebrows.

you had locked eyes with aitana as she gave you a soft smile, little did you know—that was the start of a developing relationship.

[phoenixyfriend]

A lot has been happening today that rep calls could affect. UN vetoes, KOSA, Julian Assange, UNRWA's funding crisis and Israel's demands that it be completely dismantled, the large number of bills we just learned are on the docket for the coming week, and even the good news that is recent successes by the BDS movement.

And like... I care about this stuff. I want to talk about it. But it takes an emotional and mental toll to do it, and it takes time, and... there are two reasons to write up reference, update, information posts:

Compensation. I'm not a journalist, but if I were, I would in theory be getting paid for the information I collect and share to my audience. However, I am not, and am doing this for free. I have gotten maybe $5 in donations since I started this project, and while I recognize that this is probably because people are (quite rightly) donating instead to Palestinian charities or local campaigns or something, it's a basic fact that I am not actually being compensated for this work.

Promoting change and activism. This is in fact my main goal: to have a positive impact on current events by giving people a guide on the news and politics because there's so much happening that's hard to keep track of, and if I'm already doom-listening to half a dozen political podcasts, I might as well save other people the trouble, right?

The thing is, like... most of the reblogs on my guidelines and helpful posts are from me, to me. I am the one reblogging. I am desperately trying to get these things to circulate so I can make a difference, but... no dice. Some of the posts are admittedly pretty long (my 'how to call your reps, here's some verbiage' post is 3.4k words), and I can imagine some people are saving it for later, and then maybe forget, or they don't want to share something controversial, and like... I do get that. I do.

But it does mean the posts aren't circulating, and thus they're having less of an impact, and I can't help but feel like there are other things I could be doing to help that would be more effective. More bang for my buck, except it's my time and effort instead of my money. Like, maybe it would have more an effect if I hunted down a wider variety of elected officials I could bother instead of instructing other people on how to bother theirs? Maybe going to protests (which would be a huge commitment due to distance) would be more effective than trying to help ensure that the effectiveness of "I actually have a vote and you are losing it" of calls has the weight of numbers behind it.

Especially since I did try to blaze it, and tumblr mods rejected the post. I don't know why. It's not against ToS, since none of it was disinformation or election interference, which is the only reason given on the FAQ for why things might not be approved for blazing, but who knows.

Maybe tumblr just decided the possible blowback on them for blazing a pro-ceasefire post would be too much.

I don't know. I just... it's just really disheartening to try to help and it gets stymied because, as much effort as it might be, it doesn't reach more than a (comparatively) tiny audience, especially when my relatively low-effort polls and shitposts get easily ten times as many notes with way less energy put in.

EDIT: This is not a post that I need to have reblogged. this is just me bitching. This a vent post. What I am asking people to reblog is my activism posts that I spend hours on to try and help nudge things in a better direction. Please reblog THOSE. This one doesn't need reblogging unless you have an actual comment. Reblogging this post just to reblog, with neither useful comment nor encouragement, is not helping me with my issue of 'not paid, not making an impact' or helping with any important causes.

[whumble-beeee]

Just Relax (It's Not That Serious)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 13

Content: drugging, noncon undressing, dissociation, (fear of) needles, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), tied up/handcuffs, past captivity references, begging, fear, light unreality? (related to the ptsd)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[The first 72 hours after a hero’s capture is also massively critical to you, villain, as your hero’s keeper! When planning on long-term hero-keeping, use this time to lie low, keep your hero firmly in your grasp, and really set the mood for the rest of their stay. Set non-negotiable expectations. Show your patience. For as much as your hero may fight you, curse and jeer and scorn and defy you, they will still be only human (with select power exceptions, of course). They will still need food, water, shelter. All of which must be obtained from you, their captor! You are the one ultimately in control, no matter how much the hero may scream otherwise. 

So why are these first 72 hours so important? Well, how long do experts generally agree that a person can survive without food or water? How long can they ignore you? How long before they have to rely on you for their every need?

72 hours.

Be patient.

Make them count.]

* * * * * * * *

“Finally, Christ,” Deeby muttered under his breath as Stan finished forcing the bar down his throat. It had taken him longer than he'd meant, what with the dehydration and the not wanting to be drugged and the weary pain that seeped into his every bone and the spinning of the room and the not wanting to be drugged. It was a surprisingly difficult task to knowingly poison himself. Who’d've thunk?

“Happy?” Stan finally spat with a heaving breath. There was the slightest taste of salt and battery acid twinging the back of his mouth. It made him nauseous.

Deeby absent-mindedly grabbed the used protein bar wrapper and tossed it into his plastic bag. “Yeah. Not done yet, though.”

 Stan whined. It was all he could do to not start crying on the spot. “Why can't you just let me fall into unconsciousness in peace? I ate your stupid protein bar! It's-it's never-ending with you!”

“Well, it feels less gross to have you undress now than when you're high off your ass.”

Stan blinked. It was like the world had been overlaid with TV static for a moment. But he was back. Violently. Because what? “Ah– Co-come again?” 

“Your uh– fuckin’... What's it called, your tank top? The transgender tank top, the one that squishes your ribs. Your… ‘tranksgender’ top.”

“My binder?”

Deeby snapped his fingers in triumph. “That's the bitch! We're taking that off now.”

“WHAT?!”

“I can help if you want. I don’t know how long it's gonna take the drug to start affecting you, considering you haven’t eaten in two days, so it might not–”

“I’m not taking my binder off!” Stan yelled, startling back from yet another all-consuming dip into the static. The worst part was, it wasn't even unpleasant. He almost would have enjoyed it, save for the predator six feet away stalking at him as if he were a wounded antelope, one hand resting on the ornate knife holstered right next to his gun. His eyes sparkled with that ever-dangerous red excitement that Stan had become painfully acquainted with again and again and again over the past two days, though there was something more serious underneath the child-like sadism. Tired eyes, deep breaths... 

“I know you're not supposed to wear it for this long, runt.” The mercenary brushed the still bright-red gash on his cheek from where Stan had whacked him with the handcuffs. “And besides, I still need to get you back for this. Please make me do it the hard way.”

Stan’s breath caught between a groan and a cry and his vision swam around him, only grounded by the sudden noxious pit in his stomach. “Dee-deeby…” he panted. “Stay away from me.”

Deeby continued to stalk closer, voice taking that dangerous low twang, the light bass growl snaking through the room and slithering around Stan’s throat, suffocating him more than a literal yank by his damn collar would. “Aw…” he tutted. “That's no fun, is it chiquito? I think you just need–”

“OKAY, OKAY!” Stan skittered back, pressing himself into the wall with racing heart and rabbit-fast breath. “I'll-I'll do it, I'll do it! You don't– You–... I'll take off my binder…”

That did, in fact, stop Deeby dead in his tracks. Stan swayed. Deeby looked at him expectantly. Stan stared into the distance. Deeby raised an eyebrow and made an impatient circular motion at Stan with his hands: get moving.

The static.

“Runt, if you don’t–”

“I– jus– ju-just-just don't touch me–”

“Stan–” Deeby warned, taking a single step toward him. All the air sucked out of the room. “I'm done giving you chances. Off. Now, or I'll do it.”

Stan grit his teeth with an almost mewling whine. His cheeks burned a bright red embarrassment under near-invisible blue freckles, and his very lungs stuttered as they tried to figure out if he wanted to scream or just cry. He started to pulled the shirt over his head, slowly, as if he could go slow enough that the bounty hunter would just get bored and give up entirely.

Ha.

Then he lost his way. He searched. More fabric. Where did the holes go? Where was he? He was lost! He tangled his arms around, searching, growling with frustration as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself, genuinely trapped as time simultaneously moved way too fast and excruciatingly slow. Then a whoosh, and his cotton-polyester prison disappeared, pulled off over his head to reveal a very amused Deeby glinting back at him, eyes sparkling as always. 

It was so cold in here.

Stan shoved him away, thankfully braced against the wall or else he might have fallen over himself. The world was so… tilted.

“Turn-turn around,” Stan ordered, blinking hard to keep himself present.

“What, no ‘thank you?’”

“Turn around!”

“Not turning around, bud.”

“Please, I don-don’t– don’t want you to-to see– to–...Turn around!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Please! Deeby, I’m begging!”

“Not happenin’,” he sang, deadpan as ever.

“I thought you-you-you-ou said you weren't gugh-guh-gon-gonna–...” Stan shivered and took a deep breath. This stutter was driving him insane. “Tha-at you weren't a perv!”

“I'm not. I'm not gonna do anything except make sure you're not trying to pull some shit.”

“I won’t! I'm drugged! I-I can’t even take my shirt off!”

“All the more reason–”

“Declan!” Stan pleaded, pupils blown out and wide, tension at the top of his mouth so tight he was sure he was about to start bawling. “I care. I care-are-re. I don’t wan-want you–... Please…”

His voice turned high and quiet, tears burning to fall, pressure building up behind his eyes and ready to burst.

“Plea-ease…”

Declan closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Another tired deep breath.

“Turn yourself around if you care so much,” he muttered. The knife appeared in his hands, point pressed into the taut fabric on Stan's chest. “I'm done playing games. Stop stalling. Now.”

“I’m no-ot–”

The mercenary grabbed the strap of Stan’s binder and yanked him forward, barely pulling the knife out of the way in time for Stan to not fall on top of it and instead sending him hurtling into the man’s chest with a blood-curdling screech, then flailing and shoving off of the captor as hard as humanly possible. The push mixed with a sudden heavy fog bank engulfing his mind mixed with a painful misstep on his bad leg caused him to all but crumble to the freezing concrete floor in a heap, chin banged and bleeding and dripping and staining on the ground as his face pressing into scratchy dirt particles, as he laid there confused and scared and scrambling, just trying to figure out how to silence the roaring confusion of his mind as it blindly panicked in the pressing, buzzing fog that surrounded it. Threatened to swallow him whole.

Then a force grasped him by the back of his neck. Then a knee planted into the base of his spine. The full body weight of a man at least twice his size ground into his lower vertebrates, seemingly trying to press them straight through the soft flesh of his stomach into the unforgiving floor.

Stan screamed.

Was Deeby going back on his promise not to–

GET OFF!!

His binder, he couldn't let Declan take it off.

OWOWOWOWOW– NO NONONO–

The fog the fog the fog the fog the fog the fog buzzing buzzing buzzing buzzing BZZZZZZZZZZ–

A gloved hand pressed him into the floor by the back of his neck. Others in scratchy black tactical gear held his flailing limbs down. He strained. He cried. He screamed. He screamed so loud. So loud his throat was sore. They didn’t let up.

He wanted his mom. His dad. His sister. COME HELP!! Where were they? He cried out for them, heaving sobs. Unheeded.

“DEEBY!” He screeched, feet kicking out as if they could somehow free himself if he just kicked hard enough. “Get off! GET OFF! You're not taking my binder off–!”

“Mhm, yeah, sure bud,” Deeby mumbled as Stan continued his tantrum. His fingers squeezed slightly at either side of Stan’s neck. Warning. Patient. Waiting. He was waiting him out. Stan's head spun as if filled with angry bees, cries becoming weaker, fighting more and more sluggish as Deeby just sat on top of him.

Where was his sister? Where was Chloe?! CHLOE!! He needed to protect her! That was his only task! Protect her! He’d failed, he’d failed, he needed to save her, save them, get away. Every time he raged and strained and screamed another hand just came to pin him to the dusty ground. He was an animal thrashing around in a cage, a trap that only tightened around his throat the more he struggled.

“DEEBY– Deeby… Declan, Deeb– please get off, please, I need to save her, I don't– I just– can't–... ple-ee-ea-ease…” 

Deeby didn't say anything. Was it the drug that made him feel like he was floating on air as a pressure chamber simultaneously caged in his skull, teasing it to shatter? Or maybe the hyperventilating as he realized there was no escape. Or maybe the gutting hunger, or the throat squeezing thirst, or the burning panic, or the bone-deep exhaustion, or the pain, the pain, make it stop, all-encompassing, never-ending, or the violent shaking from lack of oxygen, or any number of the many other things that were wrong with him. Maybe all of them. His limbs lay stiff, as if held down by lead weights. His protests devolved into barely a whimpering whisper. He couldn't breathe. Not with the bounty hunter on top of him pressing his stomach into the floor, not with the probably broken ribs, not with the binder pressing into the swelling of his ribs and making every intake of air a monumentally agonizing feat achieved less and less each time…

“God, shut her up, I’m not dealing with this in the transport.”

“Really? It’s just a kid.”

“Unless you’d rather I shut her up myself.”

NO NO NO ESCAPE ESCAPE HE NEEDED TO FIND HIS FAMILY–

A tiny little prick on his upper arm. He screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t anymore, screamed because he couldn’t do anything else, screamed until one of the gloved hands slapped over his mouth and stayed there until he quieted, and then he couldn’t even scream. It stayed there until tears soaked through the course fabric. The edges of his vision started to go dark. 

“That’s it kid, shut up, go to sleep. Don’t struggle. It’ll be easier if you just relax.”

His head fell limp against the dirty ground.

He was gonna die here, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Made sense. 

He let his head lie down on the floor.

He lurched with silent sobs.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't.

This was all pointless.

He was done.

And he went limp.

“There ya go. Attaboy.”

Deeby's voice came from above him. Slow, comforting, praising, as if he were speaking from a thousand miles away.

“Attagirl…” The last voice he heard. The last time he saw his childhood home. The last time he saw his parents. The end of his first fight for his life. Failed. 

The black consumed him. 

Stan let out something between a whine and a sob. The mercenary took just a moment to readjust, legs now caging him in and pushing inward on either side of Stan's hips. “Yeah okay, whatever runt. Let’s just get this done.” 

Deeby's fingers probed under the binder for a moment, causing Stan to squirm anew purely on instinct. Until he hit a particularly nasty bruise. An electrical storm webbed through his ribcage. A flash of white. Stan yelped a cut-off, strangled squeal, a sound he prayed he’d never have to hear again.

“Sorry…” muttered above him. His binder flipped upward and over itself, a brief squeeze, the fabric pulling lightly at his skin, his arms, his hair, then pressure relieved.

Breathe in…

Holy fuck, he was alive!

Stan gulped in the first deep breath he'd taken in what felt like years, gasping and desperate and a full, deep breath. His senses sharpened. Kinda. He still sat pinned within a sea of cotton, the static that blanketed the clouds, limbs heavy, mind slow. But he could breathe! He almost remembered that he only felt like this because Deeby forcibly stripped him. That bitch.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter whispered quietly, amazed, almost inaudible. A moment of breath-taking clarity as adrenaline shot through Stan’s system for one last, final hurrah. Holy shit?

“Wh-what, what–?” He tried unsuccessfully to turn around and see. He even managed to convince himself that he didn't care that his tits were basically out, right before he flopped face-first into the ground again. This drug worked miracles.

Declan paused for a moment. Then: “Ah… Nothing, nothing, just, your ribs are much worse off than I thought. Bruised to shit…”

Stan laughed. Really? Bruised to shit? Who could have guessed? The burning anger and hatred and desperation he expected to feel, that he'd been fighting nonstop for two or three or however-the-hell many days straight? It was now buried under layers of static and sand and that lovely familiar darkness which pressed everything that made him himself to somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of his brain, unnoticed in the rolling fog. Though the knot in his throat that made him want to burst out crying still persisted. That was weird. What did he have to cry about? “Yeah… maybe you should… not… Aheh, uh, throw me… to–... walls anymore…” he giggled. He was pretty sure at least. That’s what his voice sounded like, right?

His limbs were so heavy. He might not be able to move them if he tried. Not that he wanted to. What if he just went to sleep right here?

Ah shit, he didn't have a shirt on still.

But like, who even cared anymore? The mercenary would take what he wanted, including Stan’s shirt, including his binder. He could take everything from him. Take his freedom, take his personhood, take any slight chance at happiness or have a normal family that wasn’t shattered to pieces. Shoot him with that pretty old gun, take his life entirely. Come back again and again just to make sure Stan never saw the light of day again. Who even cared if he saw Stan’s chest? Who even cared if this was one of the most humiliating things to ever happen to him? He shouldn’t fight so hard. He wouldn't be pinned face down to the floor and chained up and drugged if he just stopped fighting. This was fine. He felt fine. He liked this.

Keep fighting, rage, rage, escape.

Oh, shut up.

He felt the white overly large shirt being pulled back on over his head a million miles away, something with Eeby-Deeby getting frustrated again and his arms getting roughly shoved through the armholes before Stan could even try to lift his leaden limbs.

Chill out, man. It's fine. It's not that serious.

The way the world swirled around him was almost a comfort now. He was drugged. He knew it, it was just a fact now. The fog and the static and the way he could barely think and the way it was kinda hard to move and the way it took a second to move even if he did actually want to move… That wasn’t really Stan. That was some other guy. He was just drugged. Drugged Stan.

It was nice. Normal Stan was always so wound up about everything. Normal Stan fought so hard to change what couldn’t be changed, made everything so much worse for himself. And for what? He’d always be captured again, always chained up, always poked and prodded and beholden to the will of others, always treated like a petulant, whiny animal that needs to be tamed. Normal Stan couldn’t seem to get that. Normal Stan was those bad thoughts at the edges of his mind, the ones that kept him screaming, running, fighting even when Deeby got up off of him and gave him water which he desperately needed, sweet, sweet, water that relieved the pain and carried all his troubles away like a gently rushing river, cooled his insides of the burning heat and anger. GOD, he forgot how nice water tasted.

It was weird. Eeber-Deeber was almost thoughtful, in his own special way. When you looked past the violence. Stan should be nicer to him, make him not have to violence so much. Maybe then Stan go home! No fight, just go home and see his family… he didn’t really have a home, did he? No… But that was okay, because he still had Marcus and Chloe! He could see them again! That would be nice. Marcus, Chloe. He loved them so much. He needed to protect them. Why was he still here? His Mom and Dad couldn’t protect them, it was his job because they were…

Dead?

Dead.

It was for the best that they were.

It was fine though. It wasn’t that serious. 

…

He missed them.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @thebestieyoureinlovewith

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[mcclainwilla]

JJK 271 spoilers under the cut!!

So, with the leaks out and the series (un)officially over, I wanted to offer an alternative (NOT optimistic, but accepting) perspective to how things ended...

...specifically with Gojo.

I am a Gojo lover. I am a tragedy enjoyer. And I believe that both the (implied) return of both Sukuna and Kenjaku and Gojo's shitty posthumous treatment by the rest of the cast boil down to the same themes that have defined Jujutsu Kaisen from the start.

Jujutsu Kaisen has a punitive narrative. When a character fails to honor their goals, retribution is swift and severe. Itadori failing, continuously, to guide people to proper deaths. Nanami failing to keep his juniors safe in Shibuya. Geto failing to follow through on his own ideology. Jujutsu Kaisen also has a circular narrative. Its characters' storylines are defined by the generational curses that haunt jujutsu society. Gojo and Geto were thrown at missions like grenades until Geto finally went off. Ten years later, kids are still being exploited for their talents. Itadori, for all rights and purposes, died in the juvenile detention facility. The Shibuya task force was like, at least 50% high schoolers. Nothing has changed, despite Gojo's dream of fostering strong and capable allies who will overturn the system.

Now, about that. Gojo stated his intentions multiple times throughout the manga. He wanted to break the cycle. But that panel showing Sukuna's finger? Not surprising at all. He failed to break the cycle. Why?

Because without concerted effort, there will be no true change.

That is the point of Jujutsu Kaisen. It always has been. We ended up right where we left off - with the looming threat of Sukuna in the form of a surviving finger - because no one made an active effort to step off the tracks; instead, everyone combined their forces to push back against the train. Sure, the train stopped - Sukuna was exorcized, mostly - but trains have engines, and when jujutsu society grows complacent, the old order will begin to creep back into place.

There's another way of saying this. We ended up right where we left off - with kids as cannon fodder - because Gojo failed to consider that he couldn't dismantle the system from within the system. And the worst part is, he figured it out, right before the end.

Too late, Gojo realized his plan of a peaceful coup would never come to fruition. He realized he would have to take tangible, violent action in order to have even a chance of guaranteeing his students' futures. But because he was too slow to realize this, the hammer dropped, he failed, and died. And now, his kids might get to live to see another day, but they live to see another mission, too. And another Sukuna finger, and another Kenjaku. No one's efforts were focused enough. Like Yuki said, they were treating symptoms, not causes.

What's interesting is that this 'concerted effort' clause can also explain Gojo's apparent insignificance to the surviving cast. After Geto left, he leaned into the role of the Strongest, because there was nothing left for him to be. He took missions. He automated Infinity. He only started teaching so that the next generation wouldn't be lonely - he mentioned nothing of how that revolution would impact himself, presumably because it was of no importance to him. He'd already given up on having the very thing he tried to build for his students.

You can, actually. You can ask a flower to understand you, but you would be insane to do it, because it won't, obviously. So why would you bother?

Gojo never bothered. He let his loss haunt him for the rest of his life and never tried to put it behind him (or if he did, he did a shitty job at it). Instead, he let it motivate him, guide his choices, hollow out his heart. And in his death, he reaped the consequences of refusing to reach out for companionship: by making himself into a weapon, rather than a person, he was used, rather than mourned.

(But even though he knew he would die in the fight against Sukuna, he still wanted Itadori to keep going, to have hopes and dreams! It would be better if the world no longer revolved around 'the Strongest,' because that way, no one would have to be alone! What a nice dream. What a shame he only fought 'til blood at the end - first the higher ups', then his own.)

It's not comfortable to look in from the outside knowing that, after all that sacrifice and loss, nearly nothing was gained. But imo, it's not the thematic reach some say it is.

Jujutsu Kaisen was never about curses. It was about consequences.

[c0llisiion]

DAY 21 — CHANGBIN

★ npr, f!reader, panties , vanilla , humping, teasing — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 489

Hello! This is part of my kinktober list! Day21 is officially out <3

This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable.

[ visuals ! ]

Changbin’s heavy cock rubbed against your clothed, sopping folds. The length was dragging up and down your pussy lips, not yet entering. 

Your pink panties were translucent by now. Your slick drenching the fabric, making it a darker shade of pink. 

Changbin had a firm grip on your waist as he guided his cock over your pussy, his mushroom tip nudged your clit, making you squirm. 

“Binnie… mmm… so good…” you moaned out as he continued humping you. You were getting wetter and wetter, and Changbin of course noticed it and nodded. His eyes fixated on the way your panties clinged to your pussy, depicting the perfect outline of your sensitive part. 

He continued teasing your cunny. The feeling of the soft fabric of your undies rubbing against his cock as well as your sticky arousal was sending him to cloud nine. 

“So cute…” he breathed out. Changbin increased his pace as he felt himself reach climax. 

“Close honey…?” You ask him breathlessly. Changbin nods in return. “Y-yeah… just a bit-“ and with that, he came on your panties with an unexpectedly loud groan, the sticky substance making your underwear even more translucent. His cum ran down your clit to your clothed entrance, where he ‘pushed it in’ using his cock. 

Your inner thighs and underwear were a mess. Your arousal clung onto your thighs and dripped down your ass. His cum was all over your panties, the liquid collecting on the bedding underneath you.  Changbin pushed your underwear to the side, exposing your glistening, aching pussy. The lips covered in a thin white sheen of your arousal, and your cunt clenched around almost nothing. 

He chuckled at the sight and pressed onto your clit with his thumb, making you mewl and arch your back slightly. “No teasing…” you pout. 

“Sorry baby… You’re just too tempting…” he said as his heavy cock landed in between your lips, the length sliding up and down your pussy lips. “Oh fuck… feels good, yeah?” He looks at you. 

Your eyes were fixated on the way he dragged his cock against you. The way his dick was wet with your juices. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and you couldn’t help but find it all arousing. 

You nodded mindlessly at his words, greedy hands reaching down to play with your clit. 

Changbin smirked. His dick sliding easily, but not forgetting to nudge into your entrance a bit before pulling out. “You’re so damn sexy for this baby… I fucking love you…” 

His cock eventually started pressing into your core at every glide. Filling your needy hole up before pulling away. His fingers joined yours in the abuse of your clit. The nub overstimulated to hell. 

You squirmed and writhed at every moment. Gasping and whining when his cock would leave your hole. The entire session was erotic and arousing. Slow vanilla sex with your boyfriend was your favorite, especially when he teases you like this. 

Tags~ @cassies-cookies @minghaosimp @unlikelysublimekryptonite @mamnaimiefrankie @marcoswhore @theyadorevalerie @applejackthebest515 @un-knew @salemluvsmusic @ka0ila @atztrsr @kpopsmutty69 @jisunglyricist @targaryenluvs @yuminhyunn @chansramennn @anylady-fics @marihoneywk @mikaelless @paboskzfan @lezleeferguson-120 @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @felixsangelicfreckles @vtyb23

Taglist closed <3

[guudak]

andante, andante

[epilogue] - allegro

click here to read the original fic i.e. the rest of it as this is only the epilogue chapter. Also cross-posted this on AO3.

pairing: jungkook / oc genre + tags: college au, f2l, alcohol, pining chapter warnings: mentions of / direct references to sex but no smut or descriptions of it. word count: 4,490 The aftermath of your best friend singing that ABBA song, clumsily flirting with you and then drunkenly professing his love to you multiple times in the same night.

And honestly? It doesn’t take long. 

Your first date you both labelled officially as a couple had been bowling. Which you, by the way, had royally sucked at, but it at least gave you an excuse to ask him for a demonstration (i.e. a chance to have him pressed against you while he guided you during your turn) - sly, but clearly not sly enough since he called you out on it. Subtle had never really been your thing, but at least he’d played along. No, you had always been a master of the art of un-subtlety. You never had any shame in saying things without thinking too thoroughly or (respectfully) staring, as well as being the one to make the first move, owing to the amount of flings and almost-relationships you had prior to Jungkook. 

He’s always been handsome. Truthfully, he isn’t your conventional type. As in, not the typical guy you used to go for, but you’ve always known he was handsome. But back then, it hadn’t been in a butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way, but in an objective sense, because if you uploaded a photo of him on prettyscale.com it would have given him a 90% but if you did the rating yourself you’d give him 100. Now that he’s yours you could stare at him all you want without it being weird and he’s a total dreamboat, and you could finally say it. You don’t hide it from him either because you remind him every chance you get, and you revel in the satisfaction from the way his cheeks tinge pink when he notices you giving him the eyes. 

The thrill of seeing him blush under your gaze never gets old. You catch him trying to suppress his shy smile when he notices, pretending to focus on something else entirely, but the corners of his lips betray him every time.

“You’re not subtle, at all.”

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your tone light and teasing, “With a face like that, I’m just appreciating the view. And I like seeing you all blushing and flustered.”

“I’m not blushing,” he mutters as if offended, but the grin he hides says otherwise.

Though the dynamics of your relationship have shifted, the essence of your connection remains beautifully familiar. He’s still your best friend, only now, there's a deeper layer of intimacy woven into the fabric of your bond. It feels like a gentle, inevitable progression of the love that has always simmered quietly between you. There's a newfound softness in the way you look at each other, a tenderness in the touch of your hands that find their way together instinctively, drawn by a magnetic pull when you're close. He’s always been there, and maybe, you have since concluded, a constant is what you want. What you need. 

Over time, you’ve come to realise that Jungkook's steadiness is like a gentle glow that doesn't rush to overpower, but instead slowly illuminates what surrounds it. His reliability isn't loud or showy, and it doesn't need to be. It's in the quiet moments, the consistent support, the unspoken understanding. With him, there is no dramatic shift in your world, just the comforting assurance that no matter where you turn, he is there, like a lighthouse guiding you back to shore. And in the chaotic blur of your own life and your thoughts, his enduring presence has become something grounding, anchoring you back when your head is in the clouds.

When it comes to your love life, you've always kept things simple, governed by a single, steadfast rule: the six-month timeline before saying the L-word. That monumental declaration wouldn't escape your lips before month six. That has always been your rule. A timeline not just drawn from caution but from a lack of conviction about what it truly felt to love someone in the all-encompassing way that other people seem to romanticise. Your previous relationships, hovering close to that mark, dissolved before the pivotal sixth month. But you stand by your belief in the saying that when you truly know, you just know, without any second-guessing.

You had been upfront with Jungkook about this from the very beginning, laying your cards on the table with the kind of transparency that leaves no room for misinterpretation. He took it gracefully, in that dignified way of his because that’s just how he is but you knew he’d understand. With that stoic composure of his that masked the depth of his feelings - feelings that had matured over time, unlike yours that were still forming, and still tentative. 

He’d confessed his love for you again one moonlit evening on the beach. It was the midst of winter, and the air was bitterly cold as you both walked back from a party. On a whim, you had taken a detour, ending up by the seafront. Each of you held a handle of a grocery bag, the one that carried your leftover bottles of gin and toffee vodka from the night. The waves crashed nearby, their rhythm mingling with the crisp sea breeze and the sand crunching beneath your footsteps. His breath formed little clouds in the frosty air, and you could see the shine in his eyes reflect in the moonlight. You’d huddled closer as both of you sat side by side on the sand.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he said, his voice carrying over the waves. “You’ve been my best friend even longer than I’ve loved you. But I love you to the point I would have been content if we’d never changed a thing - anything to have you around in my life and seeing you happy, even if it was with someone else. But being here with you now, like this, is more than I could have ever hoped for.” His words were as raw and vast as the ocean before you, and surrounded by the echo of waves and winter’s chill, you felt a warmth that only he could kindle. His words were as sincere as the first time, but this time clarified, unlike his drunken confession that he barely remembered, but still heavy with the weight of emotion he had harboured for so long. But with it came a gentle reassurance: he didn’t expect, nor did he need, an immediate reciprocation. “And I know you don’t feel that way about me. But I’m here, no matter what it is you feel towards me. I’m happy just being with you.” 

You’d melted at that. You gave his hand a squeeze, interlocking your fingers with his. “Jungkook, being your best friend is one of the easiest things in the world. What I feel for you, sometimes it confuses me, but whatever it is … and I know I’m not fully there as you are yet. But it’s real, and it’s deep, and it’s growing each day. I’m getting there.” Your words had hung between you, a tethered promise in the making. 

You’d known he was content to wait, giving you the space to let your feelings blossom naturally, unforced and genuine. It had been this patience, this unwavering steadiness of his love, that touched you deeply, challenging every preconceived notion you held about love and its mysterious timeline.

.

“I think I have feelings for you,” you tell him one evening, as you both lay sprawled across his bed, one of his playlists softly playing in the background. His room is dimly lit, the glow of his lamp spilling a warm amber. The ambient lamp was a recent addition he bought since you were spending more time in his room and him being familiar with your spite for overhead lighting. 

Jungkook blinks, taken aback by your suddenness. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

“Well,” you start. “I can say I like a ploughmans sandwich, and I can also say I really like a ploughmans sandwich, and I know what that feels like, but I can’t exactly say I have feelings for a ploughmans sandwich, you know? And what I feel, I know I like you more than just really liking you.” 

His eyes soften as he processes your words, the corners of his mouth curling into a hesitant smile. 

“You’re serious?” he asks, his voice a mixture of hope and surprise.

“I am,” you affirm. “It's different with you. You're not just comfort food. You’re the homemade kind but you’re just better, better than a sandwich I impulsively make just because it’s my favourite and it's 2 A.M. and I need something. Does that make sense?”

He laughs softly, his initial shock giving way to a warmth that radiates from his eyes. 

“It makes perfect sense.” He reaches across to squeeze your hand. It’s a sweet, genuine moment, wholesome in its simplicity. Jungkook is a touchy lover. Yet, you noticed how sentimentality always seemed to kindle a spark of desire in him, a stirring deep within that brought a slightly more insistent touch to his hands and a need in him to take your clothes off. This had been a pattern - a very amusing pattern you’ve noticed in him.

“Ugh, you’re so handsy.” You roll your eyes but the bells of your laughter give you away while he pulls the edge of your shorts. But with him it never took much for you to be persuaded, charming and handsy as he is. His fingers linger with playful intention, tracing a line so light and teasing along your waist, that it has your back arching to have him closer to you.

“Behave,” you murmur, even as your voice and your body betray you. His grin widens, eyes glinting. 

“I'm trying,” he says, his voice low, but not exerting any effort to sound convincing.

You draw him in, giving him a kiss that was deep and profound. And for the second time during that evening, you lift your shift over your head. 

.

You thought you knew him well, but soon you began to notice the little things. Jungkook, though sweet, showed his competitive and mischievous sense of humour more after you started dating. It was like (as said by Shrek) peeling the many layers of an onion and uncovering the deeper facets of his personality (except, of course, Jungkook isn’t an ogre). At the indoor crazy golf course, his modesty disappeared and he delighted in teasing you whenever you missed a shot, suggesting a scoring system where points were awarded for missed holes instead of successful ones. Of course you hit his ankle with your club after that but despite his playful jabs, it was difficult to resist his charm.

When it approaches the fifth month you begin to question your timeline. The pace at which you caught feelings for him, and the depth you’re plunging into, is admittedly terrifying. Despite you approaching this relationship with an open-mind, it’s a sobering and an almost embarrassing realisation. What is it that you’re scared of? That’s the question that’s been bearing down on your mind.

You’ve been invited for drinks at the beach in the evening. A friend of a mutual friend’s birthday, of whom you couldn’t remember their name but assume it’s the guy wearing the glittery party hat and sash that says Birthday Bitch on it. It’s unlikely Jungkook could make it tonight as he has a deadline due at the end of the week, but promised he’ll come down later if he inevitably becomes sick of staring at his computer screen. In the meantime, you try to find familiar faces. 

You spot Yerim, sitting criss-crossed and staring at the sea. Her hair is slicked-back into a ponytail, no longer the bleach blonde you’re so familiar with, instead a lovely sheen of black, which is definitely a change. In the time you’ve known her she’s never had her natural hair, always dyeing it, but she’s just as pretty as she’s always been. It’s been a while since you last spoke to her but she greets you warmly, standing from the sand and dusting herself off to pull you into a hug when you endeavour for her eye contact. 

You talk to each other about many things, catching up with what you both missed from each other’s lives. Truth be told, you stopped talking as much after her and Jungkook broke up. When they distanced from each other, you saw Yerim around less and less. 

She’s on her fourth can of beer, and her face is a warm flush. “I miss having him around, you know,” she admits later on. “That’s probably the main thing. Not the gifts, or the attention, or the sex. Just him. And I never properly said thank you … to you. I know how close you were to him and I know you distanced from each other on purpose when I dated him.”

“Well, would have made it easier than having a conversation with you telling me to fuck off, you know. But I get it. I do.”

You had done it out of respect for her, and her relationship with Jungkook. You had told him that you couldn’t be with him alone like you used to, and if you did spend time together, other friends would be present if Yerim wasn’t around. You could tell at the time he was a little upset, but ultimately could see your reasoning. It made sense. He invested a lot in his and Yerim’s relationship. He wanted to make it work, so badly, but she broke it off. 

Yerim shifts uncomfortably, opening her mouth as if to speak, then closing it again. She looks like she’s summoning the courage to say something, and you have a sinking feeling you know what it is. 

“Are you and Jungkook together now?” 

And there it is.

“Only for about five months,” you tell her. You’re honest about it, you owe her that much. 

She nods slowly. “Did he ask you out?”

“Uh … well. We kind of both did, in a way. He was tipsy, then the messy, awkward stuff happened where he tried to avoid me for weeks and couldn't look me in the eye, etcetera, etcetera, and then I confronted him about it. Then I thought, we’re already friends anyway so why not? And here we are.”

You exchange a knowing look, then share a small, relieved laugh.

“That’s really great,” Yerim finally says. “I mean it.” Her smile reaches her eyes, and the expression on her face is all soft lines, free from malice or hidden jealousy. It’s what you’ve always admired her for, and why Jungkook was drawn to her in the first place. She’s a kind person, not just seeing, but finding the good in circumstances and in people. When she broke up with Jungkook, he was devastated and turned to you for comfort. It took him time to heal, because he just couldn’t understand where he went wrong. 

“Yerim…” you begin, nerves tightening your throat while she looks at you with quiet expectation. “Why did you break up with Jungkook?” 

To your surprise, she giggles.“To fully answer that I have to go through the entire emotional turmoil I went through. I was so torn about it, I hope you know that. I didn’t want to break up at first. To put it simply, and I know this is so fucking cheesy, but I thought to myself - if you and I were hanging off the edge of a cliff, and Jungkook could only save one of us, who would he pick?” She gives you a small, knowing smile. “Even in that impossible situation, I knew it wouldn’t be me.”

“No, Yerim, he would have tried to save both of us.” 

She turns away, her gaze settling on the sea instead. “Maybe. But it’s always been at the back of my mind. It always would have been at the back of my mind. I know it was partly me being insecure and I know you drifted yourself from him for me so I wouldn’t feel that way, but I knew what you meant to him. He was such a good boyfriend, but I didn’t have him as a best friend the way you did. And I realised I could never really get past that.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks at you, her expression gentle. “Don’t be.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she finally says, her voice steady. “I always knew he deserved someone who could be everything for him. A best friend, a partner, someone who really understands him. And that was never going to be me, not completely.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You were so important and meant so much to him, Yerim. You still are. He was so happy with you.”

She nods, her dark eyes shining with something that looks like acceptance. “I know. And that’s enough. I want him to be happy, and if that’s with you, then I’m genuinely okay with it. I have always been okay with it.”

The sincerity in her words touches you deeply, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed. The love, the loss, and the resolution that seems to settle between you.

“Thank you,” you say, meaning it more than you can express.

She reaches out, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Just take care of him, okay? Keep him in line. All drunk phases of him.”

You exchange a laugh, and you both sit there for a moment longer, the unspoken understanding between you finally at peace.

Jungkook comes down to the beach about two hours later. 

There's a strange flutter in your stomach as your eyes search for him. His gaze sweeps the area, scanning for you amidst the crowd. A few people greet him as he arrives, including Yerim. You know they haven’t really had a chance to talk since the breakup. Not like this, where they can genuinely connect. You notice the subtle tension in his posture as they exchange a few words, his shoulders stiff at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax. You stay back, letting them have their moment. 

When he finally spots you, his face lights up.

“Yerim’s not blonde anymore,” he says, his tone wrought with disbelief. She had been bleach blonde the entire time he knew her, and the change seems to have caught him off guard.

You laugh at his astonishment. “I know right? I think black hair really suits her.”

“It does,” he agrees, nodding slightly as if still processing it. You notice his expression, suggesting he’s thinking, perhaps a memory or an inside joke only him and Yerim shared in relation to it. Don’t they say hair holds memories? You don’t pry or ask him further, sensing that this brief flicker of sentimentality, is something that belongs to them only. 

“How are you doing?” he asks you, leaning to kiss your temple.

You pull your jacket a little tighter around yourself. “I was about to head home. It's getting a bit chilly. Sorry, I was going to text you, but I got distracted.”

“Don't worry about it,” he replies, his voice gentle. His hands interlace yours, which doesn’t help the awful fluttering in your tummy. God, this is awful, after all that talk that you didn’t like him that way all those months ago and now you feel like you’re a naïve teenager tripping over your own words all over again. 

“I would've come anyway to walk you back,” he tells you, “I’m not really in the mood to drink tonight.”

“Are you sure you don’t want at least one drink? You’re already here,” you suggest, though part of you is already eager to leave the noise behind.

He shakes his head with a small smile. “Can’t be arsed. I just want to lie down.”

“You know what, me too.”

.

When you’re both back at his place, you both make a beeline for his bed to collapse on the mattress with a shared sigh of relief. 

“I’m so tired. This assignment was driving me insane,” he groans, flinging an arm over his eyes as if to block out the world. 

You roll onto your side to face him, watching the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. “Are you almost done with it?” you ask.

“Yup. All done, actually.”

“That’s actually very impressive.” 

He peeks at you from beneath his arm, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Reaching out, he tenderly strokes your hair, his fingers gentle and reassuring.

Despite the comfort of his touch, your mind drifts back to the conversation with Yerim. Her admitting that she missed him and his presence in her life, weighs heavily on you. It forces you to reflect on your own relationship with him. Losing Jungkook, or no longer having him in your life, makes your stomach sink with dread. Even though it was your idea to date each other to see how things would go, because you trusted him, you realise now just how devastating it would be if you ever had to break up and couldn't remain friends. The idea of a life without him, in any sort of form, feels unbearable.

You shift closer to him, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, needing the physical connection and the comfort of his warmth to anchor your swirling thoughts. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice surprising you, “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

His hand pauses in your hair, then resumes its gentle caress, a quiet understanding passing between you. 

“You won’t,” he murmurs, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re my best friend, I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses, his hand trailing to trace your cheek. “And I love you.” He doesn’t anticipate your reply, like the many other times he’s said it, just kisses you deeply.  

In his arms, the exhaustion from your walk along the beach finally catches up with you, and you drift into a peaceful sleep. At some point, you feel him move beside you. He gently lifts you to free himself, careful not to disturb your rest. You peek through half-lidded eyes, watching as he reaches for his noise-cancelling headphones on the bedside table. The quiet thumps of footsteps from the room above - Jimin’s room - fill the air, a familiar annoyance for Jungkook. He has always been sensitive to noise, a trait that often makes you question why he chose the downstairs room, knowing how much he despises the sound of footsteps overhead. He always argues that he preferred being closer to the kitchen and thought Jimin wouldn’t be a heavy walker, but it didn't take long for that assumption to be proven wrong, and now he’s stuck with the downstairs bedroom with the stomper in the room above. 

As he settles back beside you, he gives you a tender peck on the forehead before lying on his back, his headphones securely over his ears. You shift slightly, turning to face him, and find yourself captivated by the peaceful rise and fall of his chest, the even rhythm of his breaths. 

It hits you all at once. That what you feel for him is far more profound than you’ve allowed yourself to admit. Far bigger than just feelings for him, far bigger than plain fond affection for a ploughmans sandwich. No, it’s something far deeper. Something that has quietly, but steadily grown into something that has wrapped itself around your heart, anchoring you to him in a way that’s both exhilarating and, strangely, not as terrifying as its fast development had been. The realisation is both startling and liberating.

You continue to watch him, your chest tightening with the weight of this newfound understanding. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, and though your heart is pounding, you take a deep breath and whisper, “Jungkook?”

When he doesn’t respond, your heart sinks slightly, but of course he’s not responding, he’s wearing his noise-cancelling headphones. You almost laugh at yourself for forgetting something so silly. But you persist, because maybe saying it now, even if he can’t hear you, will make it easier when you find the courage to tell him later when he’s fully present. 

“Jungkook … I don’t think I can follow my six-month rule.” You take another deep breath, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. This was a big deal. “Jungkook, I think I love you.”

His eyes shoot open, a look of surprise and curiosity flashing across his face. 

“What did you say?” he asks, his tone laced with disbelief. 

He pulls off his headphones, tossing them aside, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze so intense that your breath catches, a mix of confusion and realisation dawning on you. 

“I think I love you,” you repeat, the words coming out more clearly this time, though your expression betrays your incredulity. “You could hear me that whole time? I’m gonna whack you, you idiot.” You laugh softly, nervous but relieved.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he shifts closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I could hear all of it. Sorry,” he says, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you. “I love you too. But you already know that.” 

You nudge him. “I can’t believe you made me say it twice.”

He chuckles softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. 

His voice is low and sincere. “I needed to hear it twice to make sure it wasn’t just a dream.”

You roll your eyes. But there’s a softness in your gaze as you look at him. 

“Well, it’s not a dream.”

He closes the small gap between you, his forehead resting gently against yours. 

“I know,” he says, his breath warm against your skin. “And I’m so glad it’s not.”

.

Notes: Wrote the epilogue after 4 years but finished the final 3/4 of it in a day, the writer's block was definitely rampant! As well as just how busy my degree made me. I've started this chapter in so many different ways before and could just never finish it. When I first posted this fic it was months before I started university, and now 4 years later I have my degree plus a job lined up how absolutely insane is that. What’s even more insane is that when I posted this fic 4 years ago I hadn’t had a boyfriend ever or gone through any of the gross feelings leading to having one, which is also probably why I struggled so much with the epilogue when I finished the second chapter. Now myself and my other half have been together 3.5 years (?!?). And when I wrote this chapter, I definitely had him in mind. Gross. So many different takes on love and what it is, this is mine. Also ploughmans sandwich supremacy. Also I haven't been on tumblr in years does anyone still use tumblr 😭 But anyway, that’s a wrap!

[tuesday-is-a-good-day]

This is not war, this is a massacre.

I want to make it very clear that I stand with Palestine, I stand with the people in the West Bank and Gaza, I stand with Palestinians everywhere. If you claim to be neutral or in anyway support the heinous actions of the Israeli Government, this page is not a place for your intolerance.

For anyone who is uneducated on the matter, I will provide links below so that you learn more. For anyone that wants to support the people of Palestine, I will provide links to resources so that you can provide that support.

Even if you have no money, you have something to give to Palestine, and that is your voice. The Israeli government wants to sweep this under the rug, pretend like it's a war against Hamas and not the genocide that it is. As of recent, Israel has cut off power and communications within Gaza, which has left all without means to contact each other and the outside world. Hospitals in Gaza are running out of supplies and power to treat the wounded, if power and support is not returned, thousands of innocent people will die, many of those being new-born babies. Hamas is not in the hospitals, nor in the schools, nor the neighbourhoods that Israel has been bombing, by now it should be blindingly obvious that the actions they are taking are against the people of Gaza, and not Hamas.

Israel has closed the borders to Gaza, there is support waiting just outside it's walls, but they are being deprived of the food, water and medical supplies that could save lives. This is inhumane, disgusting behaviour, and anyone who condones these actions needs to wake up.

Don't allow this genocide to carry on under our noses, don't allow innocent lives to become statistics, show your support and share their stories, whether that is donating money, sharing posts about what is happening, or simply staying educated, do not let Israel continue these actions in silence.

Links to learn more:

Links to support Palestine:

Google Doc of Humanitarian aids to support Gaza: