#High Volume Oxygen

[limitlessscion]

❛ Between a bison the size of a dog or a frog the size of a cow, who would win the fight? ❜

"Don't think a frog that size would even be able to breathe, so the bison I guess?"

[hayatheauthor]

The Anatomy of Passing Out: When, Why, and How to Write It

Passing out, or syncope, is a loss of consciousness that can play a pivotal role in storytelling, adding drama, suspense, or emotional weight to a scene. Whether it’s due to injury, fear, or exhaustion, the act of fainting can instantly shift the stakes in your story.

But how do you write it convincingly? How do you ensure it’s not overly dramatic or medically inaccurate? In this guide, I’ll walk you through the causes, stages, and aftermath of passing out. By the end, you’ll be able to craft a vivid, realistic fainting scene that enhances your narrative without feeling clichéd or contrived.

2. Common Causes of Passing Out

Characters faint for a variety of reasons, and understanding the common causes can help you decide when and why your character might lose consciousness. Below are the major categories that can lead to fainting, each with their own narrative implications.

Physical Causes

Blood Loss: A sudden drop in blood volume from a wound can cause fainting as the body struggles to maintain circulation and oxygen delivery to the brain.

Dehydration: When the body doesn’t have enough fluids, blood pressure can plummet, leading to dizziness and fainting.

Low Blood Pressure (Hypotension): Characters with chronic low blood pressure may faint after standing up too quickly, due to insufficient blood reaching the brain.

Intense Pain: The body can shut down in response to severe pain, leading to fainting as a protective mechanism.

Heatstroke: Extreme heat can cause the body to overheat, resulting in dehydration and loss of consciousness.

Psychological Causes

Emotional Trauma or Shock: Intense fear, grief, or surprise can trigger a fainting episode, as the brain becomes overwhelmed.

Panic Attacks: The hyperventilation and increased heart rate associated with anxiety attacks can deprive the brain of oxygen, causing a character to faint.

Fear-Induced Fainting (Vasovagal Syncope): This occurs when a character is so afraid that their body’s fight-or-flight response leads to fainting.

Environmental Causes

Lack of Oxygen: Situations like suffocation, high altitudes, or enclosed spaces with poor ventilation can deprive the brain of oxygen and cause fainting.

Poisoning or Toxins: Certain chemicals or gasses (e.g., carbon monoxide) can interfere with the body’s ability to transport oxygen, leading to unconsciousness.

3. The Stages of Passing Out

To write a realistic fainting scene, it’s important to understand the stages of syncope. Fainting is usually a process, and characters will likely experience several key warning signs before they fully lose consciousness.

Pre-Syncope (The Warning Signs)

Before losing consciousness, a character will typically go through a pre-syncope phase. This period can last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, and it’s full of physical indicators that something is wrong.

Light-Headedness and Dizziness: A feeling that the world is spinning, which can be exacerbated by movement.

Blurred or Tunnel Vision: The character may notice their vision narrowing or going dark at the edges.

Ringing in the Ears: Often accompanied by a feeling of pressure or muffled hearing.

Weakness in Limbs: The character may feel unsteady, like their legs can’t support them.

Sweating and Nausea: A sudden onset of cold sweats, clamminess, and nausea is common.

Rapid Heartbeat (Tachycardia): The heart races as it tries to maintain blood flow to the brain.

Syncope (The Loss of Consciousness)

When the character faints, the actual loss of consciousness happens quickly, often within seconds of the pre-syncope signs.

The Body Going Limp: The character will crumple to the ground, usually without the ability to break their fall.

Breathing: Breathing continues, but it may be shallow and rapid.

Pulse: While fainting, the heart rate can either slow down dramatically or remain rapid, depending on the cause.

Duration: Most fainting episodes last from a few seconds to a minute or two. Prolonged unconsciousness may indicate a more serious issue.

Post-Syncope (The Recovery)

After a character regains consciousness, they’ll typically feel groggy and disoriented. This phase can last several minutes.

Disorientation: The character may not immediately remember where they are or what happened.

Lingering Dizziness: Standing up too quickly after fainting can trigger another fainting spell.

Nausea and Headache: After waking up, the character might feel sick or develop a headache.

Weakness: Even after regaining consciousness, the body might feel weak or shaky for several hours.

4. The Physical Effects of Fainting

Fainting isn’t just about losing consciousness—there are physical consequences too. Depending on the circumstances, your character may suffer additional injuries from falling, especially if they hit something on the way down.

Impact on the Body

Falling Injuries: When someone faints, they usually drop straight to the ground, often hitting their head or body in the process. Characters may suffer cuts, bruises, or even broken bones.

Head Injuries: Falling and hitting their head on the floor or a nearby object can lead to concussions or more severe trauma.

Scrapes and Bruises: If your character faints on a rough surface or near furniture, they may sustain scrapes, bruises, or other minor injuries.

Physical Vulnerability

Uncontrolled Fall: The character’s body crumples or falls in a heap. Without the ability to brace themselves, they are at risk for further injuries.

Exposed While Unconscious: While fainted, the character is vulnerable to their surroundings. This could lead to danger in the form of attackers, environmental hazards, or secondary injuries from their immediate environment.

Signs to Look For While Unconscious

Shallow Breathing: The character's breathing will typically become shallow or irregular while they’re unconscious.

Pale or Flushed Skin: Depending on the cause of fainting, a character’s skin may become very pale or flushed.

Twitching or Muscle Spasms: In some cases, fainting can be accompanied by brief muscle spasms or jerking movements.

5. Writing Different Types of Fainting

There are different types of fainting, and each can serve a distinct narrative purpose. The way a character faints can help enhance the scene's tension or emotion.

Sudden Collapse

In this case, the character blacks out without any warning. This type of fainting is often caused by sudden physical trauma or exhaustion.

No Warning: The character simply drops, startling both themselves and those around them.

Used in High-Tension Scenes: For example, a character fighting in a battle may suddenly collapse from blood loss, raising the stakes instantly.

Slow and Gradual Fainting

This happens when a character feels themselves fading, usually due to emotional stress or exhaustion.

Internal Monologue: The character might have time to realize something is wrong and reflect on what’s happening before they lose consciousness.

Adds Suspense: The reader is aware that the character is fading but may not know when they’ll drop.

Dramatic Fainting

Some stories call for a more theatrical faint, especially in genres like historical fiction or period dramas.

Exaggerated Swooning: A character might faint from shock or fear, clutching their chest or forehead before collapsing.

Evokes a Specific Tone: This type of fainting works well for dramatic, soap-opera-like scenes where the fainting is part of the tension.

6. Aftermath: How Characters Feel After Waking Up

When your character wakes up from fainting, they’re not going to bounce back immediately. There are often lingering effects that last for minutes—or even hours.

Physical Recovery

Dizziness and Nausea: Characters might feel off-balance or sick to their stomach when they first come around.

Headaches: A headache is a common symptom post-fainting, especially if the character hits their head.

Body Aches: Muscle weakness or stiffness may persist, especially if the character fainted for a long period or in an awkward position.

Emotional and Mental Impact

Confusion: The character may not remember why they fainted or what happened leading up to the event.

Embarrassment: Depending on the situation, fainting can be humiliating, especially if it happened in front of others.

Fear: Characters who faint from emotional shock might be afraid of fainting again or of the situation that caused it.

7. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Writing a fainting scene can be tricky. If not handled properly, it can come across as melodramatic or unrealistic. Here are some key tips to ensure your fainting scenes are both believable and impactful.

Understand the Cause

First and foremost, ensure that the cause of fainting makes sense in the context of your story. Characters shouldn’t pass out randomly—there should always be a logical reason for it.

Foreshadow the Fainting: If your character is losing blood, suffering from dehydration, or undergoing extreme emotional stress, give subtle clues that they might pass out. Show their discomfort building before they collapse.

Avoid Overuse: Fainting should be reserved for moments of high stakes or significant plot shifts. Using it too often diminishes its impact.

Balance Realism with Drama

While you want your fainting scene to be dramatic, don’t overdo it. Excessively long or theatrical collapses can feel unrealistic.

Keep It Short: Fainting typically happens fast. Avoid dragging the loss of consciousness out for too long, as it can slow down the pacing of your story.

Don’t Always Save the Character in Time: In some cases, let the character hit the ground. This adds realism, especially if they’re fainting due to an injury or traumatic event.

Consider the Aftermath

Make sure to give attention to what happens after the character faints. This part is often overlooked, but it’s important for maintaining realism and continuity.

Lingering Effects: Mention the character’s disorientation, dizziness, or confusion upon waking up. It’s rare for someone to bounce back immediately after fainting.

Reactions of Others: If other characters are present, how do they react? Are they alarmed? Do they rush to help, or are they unsure how to respond?

Avoid Overly Romanticized Fainting

In some genres, fainting is used as a dramatic or romantic plot device, but this can feel outdated and unrealistic. Try to focus on the genuine physical or emotional toll fainting takes on a character.

Stay Away from Clichés: Avoid having your character faint simply to be saved by a love interest. If there’s a romantic element, make sure it’s woven naturally into the plot rather than feeling forced.

8. Common Misconceptions About Fainting

Fainting is often misrepresented in fiction, with exaggerated symptoms or unrealistic recoveries. Here are some common myths about fainting, and the truth behind them.

Myth 1: Fainting Always Comes Without Warning

While some fainting episodes are sudden, most people experience warning signs (lightheadedness, blurred vision) before passing out. This gives the character a chance to notice something is wrong before losing consciousness.

Myth 2: Fainting Is Dramatic and Slow

In reality, fainting happens quickly—usually within a few seconds of the first warning signs. Characters won’t have time for long speeches or dramatic gestures before collapsing.

Myth 3: Characters Instantly Bounce Back

Many stories show characters waking up and being perfectly fine after fainting, but this is rarely the case. Fainting usually leaves people disoriented, weak, or even nauseous for several minutes afterward.

Myth 4: Fainting Is Harmless

In some cases, fainting can indicate a serious medical issue, like heart problems or severe dehydration. If your character is fainting frequently, it should be addressed in the story as a sign of something more severe.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[satoruhour]

gojo is a prone bone enthusiast you can’t convince me otherwise 😤😤😤😤

a/n: i think it’s impossible for me to write smtg without a lil story. forgive me yall / 0.7k / @hyomagiri @jabamin @shotorus @satohruu ☆

warnings: fwb!gojo, sort of hate sex but they both have feelings, prone bone, unprotected sex, clit stimulation, pet names, praise, creampie / breeding kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

it’s filthy, the way gojo’s got you trapped under him so harshly and roughly, so in contrast with his candy sweet smile as he presented you with another bouquet of your favourite flowers — just another one of his escapades after completing a mission. in front of you, the blur of the flowers enter your vision, but you can hardly recall what colour combinations there were while being pounded into from behind.

“taking me s’well, fuck, baby,” gojo grunts as his body weight’s all pressed up on you: one hand on your lower back and triggering your arch while the other rests on the back of your neck — they hold you down, knees holding your plush thighs together while he watches your cunt stretch for him, “shit, angel, you sure you don’t want to make this a weekly thing?”

you’re moaning at the prospect of possibility getting his cock up your pussy every once a week, but you’re too prideful for that, claiming you hated him while getting soaking wet for him and letting him use you like a fuck toy in his office. his cushions smell like vanilla like you’ve always remembered, and there’s always your favourite piece of chocolate on his desk no matter when you come in, and his cock hits all the spots in you like it always does. maybe routine wouldn’t hurt, maybe gojo satoru wouldn’t mess with your feelings, not when he eats you out like your pussy was his oxygen and fucks you like he loves you.

“f—fuck, satoru—” your fingers dig into the fluffy cushion of the sofa, ass propping up just a little. with each thrust, his tip hits your cervix, kissing it barely just to send your eyes rolling back into your head. gojo moans at how tight you feel, spanning his hands over the expanse of your back and hovering over you.

“y-yeah? what is it, princess?” god, and these names he was calling you didn’t help one bit, angling his hips up into you and you preen, letting out something between a moan and a whine as your hips fuck back onto him.

“cock s’deep, ’toru, mmf…” the wooden structure of jujutsu high is old, terrible, so there’s no doubt the sounds of his pelvis slapping into the fat of your ass could permeate the walls, paired with the squelching slickness of your pussy and your mewls. you’re barely able to turn your body to see the man looming over you from behind, sweat sticking to his forehead, blindfold residing on his neck and ocean eyes trained on your side profile. he grunts softly when your eyes meet his and his hips stammer, switching to slow, grinding thrusts that cause your jaw to fall open. “sa— toru—! that— feels s’good…”

gojo tells himself not to cum when one of your hands wrap around the wrist next to your face, holding onto it for dear life as your body jerks from the deep, gradual thrusts he’s giving you. with this, he relishes in your pussy wrapping around him, the lewd drag of your sopping pussy lips spreading for him and sucking him in with each push of your ass on him; he briefly feels you play with your clit, rubbing impatiently as you held onto his arm.

“satoru, satoru, satoru— w’nna cum, ’m—” you’re squeezing his arm adorably, fingers twining with his that he’s the one who cums first. you were so cute, your hand closing around his as he squeezes your digits. gojo groans as he spills in you, shooting ribbons of cum deep into your cunt before he ignores the sensitivity of his cock and picks up the pace again. he knew you inside out, quite literally, fucking his cum back into you as your little pants pick up in volume again.

“oh my god— right the—” your eyes flutter close as your pussy squeezes his length, coating it with your cum and letting it drip down to his sofa and gojo thinks it’s one of the most beautiful sights he’s witnessed. below him, your mouth closes around his wrist and bites lightly for anchor, making his heart and dick jump at the look of your hooded lids and small smile. his hips move before he knows it, determined to breed you again and make you his.

“w’na go again…” you pant and kiss his skin, “...satoru.”

[cooliestghouliest]

THE MIDDLE BEDROOM

PAIRING: established Billy/Reader relationship, bff!Eddie is a Peeping Tom

TAGS and C/W’s: this is basically just smut (which means 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), pining undertones, oral (f!receiving), Billy's filthy mouth, SPIT, Eddie's a pervert but Billy's kinda setting him up so really Eddie is just advantageous, m!masturbation, unprotected PiV

WORD COUNT: 3.4k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. basically, i’m trying to revamp everything i’ve published in hopes that an inspiration bug crawls deep, deep inside me and just fucking explodes, leaving only creativity and motivation to replace all of my blood and oxygen. it’s almost 2024, who needs to bleed and breathe anyway??? please remember that likes are greatly appreciated, but comments and reblogs are what make the writer’s world go round. :-) <33

—

It happened at Rick Lipton's annual Halloween party. '86, baby.

There were many nameless faces wandering about the bungalow, all in varying states of sobriety. Eddie only recognized a handful of people, one of them being Billy Hargrove... and the other being you, Eddie's best friend, but also Hargrove's drop-dead, knock-the-fuck-out gorgeous girlfriend.

Eddie had overheard someone guess that you were dressed as a witch. Someone else guessed that you were dressed as Stevie Nicks. With a shrug, you'd answered, "Those are the same thing," like it was the most obvious certainty in the entire world.

You were in a sheer black off-the-shoulder maxi dress, the form-fitting fabric tight in all the right places. There was a long, gracious slit down the side that ran from hip to foot. When you moved in a certain way, Eddie could see that you were wearing black suede thigh-high boots, a little kitten heel clicking against the hardwood floors as you walked.

Right up to him.

"Hi, Eddie," you'd greeted with a smile, eyes wide and welcoming. You swirled the train of your dress a bit, swaying along to some Joni Mitchell song playing in the background. "Happy Halloween."

Eddie didn't get the chance to answer, though he was sure he'd have ended up stumbling over his words anyway, because you just looked so pretty tonight. He was only able to return the smile before Billy appeared beside you.

"Hey, man," Hargrove prompted, Eddie watching as the honey blonde rested lucky fingers on the small of your back. The other palm extended to clap Eddie on the shoulder a few times. "You bring it?"

"Yeah, it's just... uh..." Eddie dug his hand around in the front pockets of his jeans, then in the back pockets of his jeans, then eventually found what he was looking for in the pocket of his denim jacket, bypassing a broken button to reach for the little baggie in question.

As he was about to pull it out, Billy’s hand gripped his forearm, halting him. "Not here," Hargrove instructed. He stepped an inch closer to Eddie, voice lowering to just above a whisper. Eddie had to dip his head forward to try and hear the blonde over the music and commotion around them. "Come upstairs. Like fifteen minutes. Middle bedroom." At Eddie's confused expression (they were at a Halloween party thrown by Hawkins' most profitable drug dealer, for fuck's sake -- who the hell would care about a little coke?), Billy fashioned him a grin, stepping back. "Don't need everybody knowing my business and shit, ya know?"

Eddie guessed that was a decent enough explanation, so he shrugged the absurdity off. He'd always thought Billy was a little weird, anyway. And coming from Eddie Munson, the biggest fucking weirdo of all, that characterization spoke volumes.

After that, you and Billy disappeared. Eddie had followed the tail-end of your dress until you were lost in a sea of strangers, then decided to try and push the rest of the weed he had onto other partygoers, wanting to leave tonight with his current debt to Rick paid and his lunch box full of fresh goodies for the new month ahead.

It was exactly fifteen minutes later that Eddie began his ascent of the stairs to Rick's second floor. He weaved in and out of groping couples, stepped over sleeping Lettermen, and gave a tight-lipped smile to a group of girls that stumbled out of the bathroom and slammed right into him. He stepped to the side, giving them the right of way, before crossing the hallway to his destination: the middle bedroom.

The door was shut, so Eddie knocked. Waited a few seconds, then knocked again.

Still with no answer, he took a large step back, surveying the other doors around him to verify he hadn't gotten turned around and was in fact standing in front of the right room, which he was.

Eddie huffed a sigh. He glanced around the hallway again, checking to see if maybe Hargrove was just running late, but there was no blonde mullet in sight.

Figuring Billy must have been inside and was just... busy or something (actively ignoring him? suddenly gone deaf?), Eddie brought his hand to the knob to twist it and enter.

The room was mostly dark. Not exactly pitch black, thanks to a streetlight seen through the big bay window, but still dark enough that Eddie needed to blink rapidly several times to adjust his eyes to the new lighting.

His immediate thought was that Billy must have either forgotten to meet him up here or had ditched the party entirely and left the dealer packing with a now homeless dimebag of blow.

Off to the right, however, was a thick slab of pale-yellow light emanating from a partially closed door. It was the bathroom, which Eddie knew from sleeping in this very bedroom more than a handful of times since first meeting Rick Lipton a few years back.

And that’s when Eddie started to hear it.

Or, as he would soon come to find out, hear you.

He had at first mistaken the quick, soft breaths of air for sounds of pain or distress, which was why he'd begun inching towards the bathroom in the first place.

But now, standing in the shadow of the ajar door, he was able to peek inside. At the sight before him, Eddie felt his eyes widen, and a prickling warmth started to spread throughout his body.

Those were definitely not sounds of pain or distress.

Billy sat kneeled in front of where you were currently spread out on the bathroom counter. Your knees were hiked up towards your chest, your dress laying in a heap on the ground, and you were left only in a bright red bra. And those goddamn suede thigh-highs.

He should have walked away right then, he knew that. He was going to, really, but then you arched your back, your head falling lax behind you, and the fucking obscene moan you let out had Eddie biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted blood.

How was he supposed to leave now?

He couldn't help himself.

You were just... you.

Thoughtful, generous, creative. You went out of your way to ensure no one ever felt judged or left out; you were known to drop everything without debate in order to help anyone who really needed it; you let him host Hellfire in your basement when the club needed a new location in a pinch, and even helped him plot twists in his campaigns.

Truly, Eddie had a very hard time seeing what you saw in that prick Billy Hargrove, but that was something to ponder at a later point. Because right now, Eddie was getting to see you in a position he'd only ever dreamed of seeing you in.

When would he ever get this chance again?

Eddie refused to think too deeply into this, deciding to pretend he didn't have a moral compass for a bit. It was probably bad. Likely even made him a pervert, but he'd been called much worse, so he figured he'd just add this one to the list now, too.

He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to face either one of you again, but his feet just weren't working when his brain tried to tell them to move, and now his cock was starting to fill out the confines of his jeans in a way that had him seeking the relief of the doorframe, his hips acting of their own accord, finding a slow, rocking rhythm.

Billy had his palms splayed out on either side of your inner thighs, holding your legs open. Eddie quickly grew irritated that he couldn't see exactly what the blonde's tongue was doing. He thought that if he couldn't be the one with his own face buried against you, he wanted to at least have an unobstructed, close-up view.

He wanted to see Hargrove's lips wet with your slick, wanted to watch them wrap around your aching clit and suck until you tried to push him away. If Eddie could, he'd hold your arms down while Billy devoured you, wanting you to feel so much pleasure it was borderline painful.

He was pulled out of his fantasy by the sound of Billy's voice, raspy and teasing. "Love when you give me this sloppy fucking cunt," he said, the words themselves demeaning but his tone singing nothing but praises. Billy lowered his head back down, giving you a few long, loud licks.

Eddie knew he himself could be theatrical, but Billy Hargrove was dramatic in his own ways, and it did certainly seem like the blonde loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Apparently, eating pussy and its associated noises fell under this umbrella of Hargrove Histrionics.

Billy pulled his head back to spit several times on your well-loved cunt. Eddie didn't dare to blink as the other man brought two fingers to spread your lips and spit again, this time with your hardened nub as target. Both him and Billy watched intently as the saliva dripped slowly down your slit, past your empty hole, and leaked off of you entirely to darken an already present wet spot on Hargrove's blue jeans.

And fuck, you loved it.

With each assault of Billy's spit, you let out faint little gasps (fucking cute, Eddie had thought), body jolting at the contact, your eyes fluttering open and shut as the moisture filled in every curve of your core.

"So fucking messy, aren't you?" Billy taunted, his free hand moving to palm at his clothed length. Eddie was relieved to see Hargrove finally begin to touch himself, honestly impressed at the self-control the blonde had to disregard his pleasure and focus solely on yours. "Makes it feel so good when I finally fuck this thick cock inside you," he continued, unzipping his jeans as he stood. "You think this pussy's ready to soak me?"

Eddie felt like his skin was boiling. He wished he could eliminate some layers. Or all layers, preferably.

You were staring earnestly up at your boyfriend, a desperate pout on your face as you nodded in vigor. "Please, Billy," you begged, and Eddie couldn't take it any longer. He needed to fist his cock raw, having had enough of this grinding against the wall bullshit.

At the same time Billy dropped his jeans, Eddie did the same, pulling himself out of his boxer briefs. He muffled a groan of relief by biting down on the knuckles of his free hand, his other wrapping around the girth of his dick and just squeezing. He didn’t want to give in before Billy had gotten inside you.

The blonde sure was taking his sweet fucking time though, only wetting his length by sliding himself repeatedly between your lips. You were whining, and Eddie could tell you were trying to angle your hips in such a way that it would trip Billy up and he would slip inside. Good girl, get that fucking cock, Eddie thought, impatient and eager to cum, but not wanting to do so without first catching a glimpse at what you looked like stuffed and fucked full.

"Hmm, I dunno," Billy provoked, tapping his cock against your cunt with loud slaps. "Feels really good just like this, baby. Maybe I'll use the outside to fuck myself instead, cum all over this pretty little pussy, make an even bigger mess. You want that?"

You and Eddie both shook your heads at the same time.

You gave a grumble of annoyance (more of like a testy whimper, really) and brought a hand up to slap playfully at Billy's chest. "Fuck me, Billy," you demanded, your voice throaty and yearning. You dropped the hand at his chest to circle his cock, wrapping delicate fingers around his own and helping to stroke. "Need it inside."

"Oh, you need it, greedy girl?" It appeared he was going to listen to you, much to yours and Eddie's respite, because he lined himself up against your hole with one hand, the other moving to wrap around the nape of your neck. "I didn't know that. I gotta give my girl what she needs then. Can't have anyone thinking I don't take care of you."

Finally -- finally -- Eddie watched as Billy took one thrust to bury his cock inside you completely, the blonde releasing a loud, lewd moan. Eddie gave his own throbbing, sweat-slick length the same treatment, fucking into his fist from tip to base until he felt his tightening balls press against his twitching fingers.

You looked better stretched open than Eddie could have ever imagined -- a natural flush glowed on your skin, your bottom lip tugged tight between your upper teeth, your brows furrowed deep.

Your eyes rolled back as Billy began to move, a satisfied moan escaping your lips at the pace he was setting. The sound, contented yet desperate, was music to Eddie's ears. He wanted to record it and hear it on loop -- as a wake-up call, an afternoon pick-me-up, a bedtime lullaby.

Your hands moved to rest on either side of the surface of the sink below you, supporting your weight as Billy rocked into you with long, languid thrusts. Eddie tried to match Hargrove's pace with the stroke of his hand, envisioning it was his own cock giving you exactly what you needed.

You must have felt fucking good to be buried deep inside of, because Billy, always with something to say, was awfully quiet now.

He watched the other man's face through the reflection in the mirror, saw as Billy's baby blues fervently took in the sight underneath him, knowing he himself would be donning the same expression if positions were switched. Eddie knew Hargrove was admiring your perfect tits bouncing with the force of each thrust, knew he was lost in the dissipated doe-eyes that stared back up at him like he hung the fucking moon, when in reality he was just feeding your cunt some very well-deserved cock.

When your mouth dropped open unprompted, your pink tongue sticking out as far as it could go, that was the beginning of the end for Eddie. Both men knew exactly what you were asking for. Hargrove smirked approvingly at the sight before him, and he slowed the speed of his hips for better accuracy. He gathered as much saliva in his mouth as he could before leaning over you, parting his lips and letting gravity do its job.

Once your mouth was filled, Billy brought a hand to your jaw, forcing it shut. "Don't swallow," he instructed, his thrusts no longer slow and unhurried, but now posthaste and unrelenting.

Eddie could feel the familiar tingle in his lower abdomen, alerting him that his release was maybe a minute away. He fleetingly realized that he was going to have to very quickly clean his upcoming mess and get the hell out of the room before he was caught, but his attention was reeled back in when he heard a series of deep, breathless grunts.

"Okay, shit... spit it out now, baby," Billy was muttering, speech rushed, his head dipped to stare unwaveringly at where your bodies connected. "Oh fuck, spit on my fucking cock."

Eddie watched as you leaned yourself forward, angling your head down to release the spit you'd been holding in from your mouth, just adding to the noisy wetness between your legs.

And that did it. The visual — someone as soft and sweet as you doing something so filthy — had Eddie's toes curling in on themselves in his gym shoes, his hand pulsating around his cock to mimic a clenching cunt as he fucked himself into it. His release spilled out over his fist, dampening the ground below him and the bathroom doorframe. He saw stars.

Billy had followed Eddie right off the brink, muttering praises and obscenities interchangeably as you both came down from your highs. "Listen so well, dirty fucking girl. Always make me cum so hard, fuck, this pussy's so fucking full of me right now."

The sound of the quiet giggles urged out of you by Billy's tickling kisses on your neck were what brought Eddie back to the present reality. He wasn't back at home watching the hottest fucking porno he'd ever seen -- no, he was actually standing in a dimly lit bedroom, covered in his own cum, having just spied on his best friend while she got railed by her boyfriend.

Shit.

Eddie's moral compass came back with a vengeance. He cringed as he rubbed his sticky fingers on the inside of his band tee to clean them, not wanting anyone to catch a glimpse of crusty white as he made his getaway. He found a towel in a laundry basket and wiped away any remnants of his release from the wall and floor, then tossed it back into the hamper.

Not even able to glance back into the bathroom, his skin now heated from shame and embarrassment rather than arousal, Eddie buttoned up his jeans and hurried out of the room, ready to try and forget that all of that just happened.

About ten minutes later, he was perched against his van about a block from Rick's, where he'd parked. He was smoking a cigarette, having finally began to cool off and calm down. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could convince himself this was all a really vivid hallucination, and maybe he'd be able to compartmentalize his moment of perversion that way.

He just needed to stay away from the two of you for a little while.

But then, because of course...

"Munson!"

Eddie quietly groaned, taking a deep drag off his cigarette to quell his already rapidly growing nerves from just the sound of the other man's voice alone. He turned to face Billy, plastering what he hoped was an easygoing grin on his face.

"Hey, man," Eddie greeted, his voice surprisingly steady.

Billy held his hands up in a 'What the fuck?' kind of way, brows furrowed. "Thought we had a plan," the blonde replied, stopping just a foot away from the tall metalhead. One side of Hargrove's mouth lifted. He looked predatory. Eddie fought back a hard swallow. "Did you even come upstairs?"

"What..." Eddie's brain went blank at the question. Or was it an accusation? It definitely sounded like one, but Billy didn't seem mad. The blonde was just staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Y'know," Billy continued. "Because I told you to meet me in the middle bedroom? For the coke?" What had started as the slight of a smirk had turned into a full-blown grin on Hargrove's face. "You good, Munson? Lookin' a little spooked.”

To this, Eddie sobered his expression, shaking his head. "No, just like, busy night, that's all," Eddie answered lamely. Maybe Billy really didn't know. Maybe Eddie was just hyper-paranoid about having been caught that he was reading too deeply into this. After all, wouldn't Hargrove have been pissed to find out he'd been spying? Wouldn't he already have Eddie pinned against the van, spewing threats? "Lotsa deals. Kinda forgot about yours, my bad. Here, lemme get it..."

Eddie began digging around in his pockets, having forgotten again where the coke was. He blamed the alarms of anxiety going off in his brain (thoughts like fuck, he probably knows, which means she knows, and now she's gonna fucking hate me plaguing him).

But Billy said, "Don't worry about it, I'm good. Got my energy hit a little bit ago." The blonde then looked like he had remembered something, and began looking in his own pockets, "Shit, actually. Ya know what? I have something for you."

Eddie was sure the look of confusion on his face was readable. This whole night was turning out to be a fucking fever dream. He didn't think anything else could happen to make it any more surreal.

And then Billy was reaching his hand out to give Eddie something, that I-know-something-you-don't smirk present again, and Eddie took it without looking. He just wanted Billy to walk away so he could go crawl into the back of his van and smoke himself stupid to avoid any and all realizations and repercussions.

"See you ‘round," were Billy's parting words and Eddie just nodded dumbly, mute, and watched him go.

Once Hargrove was out of sight, Eddie opened his hand. At first, it just looked like an unassuming wad of fabric, maybe a sock or something, small compared to the size of his palm.

Eddie unraveled it, holding it out in front of him, and then very quickly tossed it inside his open passenger window, eyes darting around to make sure no one had seen what Billy Hargrove had just given him —

The matching pair of panties to your bright red bra.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

holding on {alex karev}

plot: you and alex aren't friends but he's the person that sits by your hospital bed day and night until you wake up.

character: alex karev (early seasons) x reader

The steady beeping of the various machines was something that Alex had grown tired of two days ago, the machine's volumes had been turned to 0 but his anxious eyes kept flickering to them every few seconds just to be sure. The background noise of the hospital was something he was used to and it was an oddly comforting sound. Now, the silence of being in the room with you had been nice at first but now that he was here, with you, waiting... just waiting... the silence was unnerving him.

He tapped his foot, checking the clock on the wall. Bailey should've been here by now, she promised him that she'd check on you every two hours. She was late. Anger surged through his body causing his heart to pound and his fists to clench.

"You're such an idiot," he could hear you scolding him in his mind, "if you just stopped dealing with your problems with sheer anger then maybe, maybe people would actually start to like you."

He scoffed.

You and him had hardly been friends. You and the rest of Bailey's interns were the best of friends, all living together in Mer's mom's house so why wasn't George or Izzie or Cristina or Mer here? Why was it Alex? That's all the four of them had been whispering about. Cristina asked Alex, Izzie asked Alex... hell, Bailey even asked Alex. Alex had ignored each of their questions and instead gave some snarky asshole comment with an eye roll. Alex didn't even know why he was here - why he'd purposefully demanded the week off to be by your bedside day and night sleeping on a camping bed with the scratchiest sheets in the world. He didn't know and yet, here he was.

You were annoying. You annoyed him. But since the news of the accident and since you'd been in a coma, Alex couldn't stop thinking about the way you laughed as you teased him. He couldn't get one specific moment out of his head.

You and Alex had been working on a case together - much to your dismay - and Alex had opened up slightly, letting you see that he was much more than what you previously thought.

"So... you're not just an asshole with the emotional range of a teaspoon, who knew?" You helped yourself to the bar stool next to Karev. Joe glanced at you, asking if you wanted your usual to which you nodded.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

There was silence for a few seconds before you tried again, "I know you have this hard 'I don't care' exterior," you started, "and I know it's probably because of some past trauma in your life, Karev - believe me we've all got some shit - but..."

"Are you gonna keep giving me a stupid high school girl pep talk or are you gonna shut up and drink?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, "Joe, another round please."

As Joe poured the two of you more drinks, Alex sighed and looked at you, "Thanks," he murmured quietly, "I'm not- I don't..." he cleared his throat, "I don't mean to be an asshole all the time... I don't really know... Social shit isn't really my thing."

"Now who's acting like an emotional high school girl?" You teased. Alex laughed, a genuine smile stretched onto his face. Yeah... maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

So after the accident, Alex stayed.

It was then Bailey strode in, chart in hand, "Karev," she said glancing up for a second, "you look like hell. Don't you think you should go home get a proper sleep? Take a damn shower?" She could see the worry in him, she could see how stressed out he was; the dark circles under his eyes, his nails chewed down. Alex might not even know it yet but he cared about you.

"I'm staying," he said with a nod standing to look over her shoulder at your chart, "Any updates?"

"You tell me, you're the one who's been here since she got admitted." Bailey moved to you, turning the volume up on the machines, checking your levels.

"Oxygen levels were a little low at 3am, managed to level them out... No issues since." He nodded, arms crossed with a hand rubbing at his jawline, "Why hasn't she woken up yet, Bailey? She should be-"

"Karev," Bailey said, voice strong, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, now."

"I don't-"

"Now, Karev. Let me do my damn job and stop hanging over me. Coffee."

With a few harsh words which made Bailey surprisingly laugh, Alex stormed out of your hospital room, storming past O'Malley and Stevens who had come to check in with Bailey on how you were doing.

Bailey leaned down closed to you, "If you die, god help us all... that boy..." she looked to the door where Alex had left from, "he'll be lost forever. So don't you dare, you hear me?"

The coffee machine was a minute's walk away from your room so Alex would know if anything were to happen to you, he would know but he kept checking over his shoulder anyway just in case. He was exhausted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank or even the last time he'd eaten. You had consumed him for the last two days; making sure that you were okay was his first priority.

He stopped at the coffee machine punching the button for a crappy black coffee that he wasn't going to drink anyway, "Come on," he grumbled as the cup dropped and the coffee began to pour in slowly, "Damn piece of crap machine, hurry the hell up!" He yelled suddenly, slamming his fist into the plastic front. Around him, people stared but he didn't care. When the coffee finally stopped, he pulled the cup out when he heard it.

"Code blue! I need a crash cart! Room 2203!" It was Bailey. It was you.

Boiling hot coffee splashed over the floor, the cup dropped and on the ground as Alex Karev took off running.

His heart pounded, usually the thrill was the thing he loved the most but this wasn't a thrill, no, this was dread. When he burst into your room, the first thing he heard was, "Clear!" and heard the noise of the defibrillator.

"What's going on?!" He yelled over the chaos.

"Get him outta here!" Bailey yelled, "Charge to 200! Get him outta here, O'Malley!"

George tried but a determined Alex was a strong Alex. He resisted George's grip, shoving him back every chance he tried to take him out. It got to the point that George gave up, "Dr Bailey!" He exclaimed, hopelessly as Alex barged to your bedside. Bailey couldn't do anything, she was busy trying to save your life, she couldn't deal with Karev as well so she let him be.

"Don't you dare die on me," Alex hissed, eyes flooding with tears, "don't you dare. Can't do that to me, (y/n). Can't have me sitting here waiting for two days to just die on me-" he looked to Bailey, "Save her... please."

Bailey's eyes met Alex's and she found a lump in her throat, "You hear him?" She asked you as the paddles charged, "don't you dare die on us, (y/n)." With one final shock, the monitor started to beep again, "Heart rate is coming back up," she said with a relieved sigh, "Thank the Lord. Levels are stabilising."

Alex collapsed into the chair at your bedside, hand clamped around yours, as his eyes closed, letting the relief wash over him. You were alive; you were stable.

"What- what caused it?"

Bailey shook her head, "Don't know, levels were fine but as soon as you left the room they started to drop so do me a favour, Karev," she looked pointedly at him, "don't leave this room again." Normally he would've bit back, said a comment about her forcing him out but instead, he just nodded falling back into his chair, hand still in yours, "I'll check every hour, okay? You page me immediately, got it?" Again, he nodded and then the room cleared out.

Alex didn't turn the monitors down, he needed to hear the steady beep to know that you were okay, you were alive and you were breathing. For the last three hours that he'd sat here, he had prayed to every god he could remember the name of - he didn't know if it counted but even started praying to some Greek Gods as well. Why have God in the title if it doesn't count? His hand was still firmly in yours.

Bailey had checked five times in the three hours, checking on you but also on him. She brought him a soda, a sandwich and a muffin and didn't leave until he'd drained half the can and eaten one of the sandwiches. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he'd started eating, he devoured the rest of meal once she'd left. You were still stable but you weren't awake yet. Bailey was optimistic but Alex wasn't. He was dreading the worst, expecting your levels to become unstable again but as he was dosing off, he felt your hand twitch in his.

He shot up, "(y/n)?" He asked staring at your hand and then at you and much to his relief, your eyes began to flutter open. He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Utter relief crashed over him, "You're awake," he grinned, "you're actually awake."

"A-Alex?" You croaked.

"Here," he said gently as he grabbed a plastic cup and straw and filled it with water from the jug on your bedside unit, "Drink up. How you feeling?"

"Sore."

"Multiple ruptured organs and a few broken bones'll do that to you," Alex teased with a smile. You noticed his hand was still in yours, warm and strong. He saw your eyes narrow at your joined hands and he was quick to pull his back despite everything inside him not wanting to, "I- I'm gonna page Bailey, you drink up." He helped you take the water and left. He was just outside, close enough to make sure that you were still safe - still alive.

It was as he left you looked around the room and you noticed the camping cot which was set up on the floor next to your bed. You frowned. Someone had been staying here. Was it... no, it couldn't have been Alex; Alex hated you.

Your thoughts were cut off by Bailey bursting into your room, "Oh thank the Lord," she grinned, "it's good to see you awake. You scared us." As Bailey checked you over, Alex returned to the seat next to you. Bailey saw your confused expression seeing him sat there, normal clothes not working, "Karev," she said, "go and get (y/n) a sandwich, will you? She's hungry." Alex went to argue, to tell Bailey she told him not to leave your room but Bailey's pointed look made him stop and nod. He left a second later giving you one last worried look, "She's fine now go."

You looked up at Bailey who sighed and looked down at you, "You had that boy scared to death, you know."

"Who? Alex?!"

Bailey nodded, "You're not the only one who's surprised. As soon as you were admitted he was here. It was his day off and he was here. Soon as you got outta surgery he was set up in your room. He hasn't left since Tuesday."

You looked down to the cot next to you, "He's been here the whole time?"

Bailey nodded, "I don't know what's going on between the two of you - if anything - but I'd say that there's something." Your frown deepened and Bailey smiled, "Just... be patient with him."

When Alex came back, Bailey gave you a secret nod with a knowing smile before she left promising to come check on you every hour and to not dare think about going back into a coma otherwise she would kill you. "I'm a doctor, I know how to save people but I know how to kill them too."

"Hey," Alex said as he placed a sandwich and soda on the unit beside your bed, "You okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself rather overwhelmed and touched by his actions. He - Alex Karev - had stayed by your side since the accident. What did that mean? What did Dr Bailey mean? You nodded quickly, "Yeah," you said softly, "just tired."

Alex puffed out a long breath as he sat in the seat next to your bed, "Yeah, you must be. Gave me- gave us all a fright."

Silence fell and the two of you fell into the comfort of the sounds of the hospital. You sipped at the soda Alex had brought before curiosity got the better of you, "Alex... why did you stay with me?"

You could've sworn his cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink but he rubbed his hands over his tired looking face so you couldn't have been sure, "Hell if I know," he muttered, "it's not like we're friends but... I didn't want you to be alone. You're the only one that's almost like a friend and... I dunno." He shrugged, "I don't really understand it myself." Maybe there was something deeper lurking under the surface but he didn't know. That was something you'd have to navigate together, "I know you'd have probably preferred Cristina or Mer-"

You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Thank you, Alex," you whispered, "for everything. Thank you." Now, this time you could see the tips of his ears go pink. You smiled, "Now when are you going to shower cause boy you are looking rough-"

"Shut up!" Alex rolled his eyes but he laughed with you and for once, it felt nice to joke around with him. It felt normal. You didn't know what was going to happen but you somehow knew that he would be beside you, figuring out this crazy journey together and somehow, that made it a little less scary.

[musicalsiphonophore]

FUN FACT TIME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, when you eat carbohydrates that cannot easily be broken down (by hydrolysis*) into glucose molecules, they don't get released into glucose molecules in your small intestine as would, for example, simpler sugars like sucrose that is only two monosaccharides (single sugars) long.

This means that these carbohydrates reach your large intestine not fully broken down. So, they tend to be fermented by gut bacteria instead. This has the lovely side effect of making one fart, as well as the genuinely lovely side effect of causing gut bacteria to (A) generally be healthier and (B) produce butanoic acid salts (known as butyrates), which are really important to regulate metabolism, and also produces SCFAs and idk what they do but Wikipedia makes it sound like they're good.

This is also why fibres (which is a broad term including things like cellulose*, so non-starch carbohydrates that aren't as easy to hydrolyse) are good for you - because they are a little bit tougher to digest, so they reach your large intestine where they are fermented by gut bacteria rather than simply instantly getting broken down into glucose the second they encounter a teeny bit of amylase.

But it gets even more interesting than that!

Starches that cannot be easily broken down are called Resistant Starches, right? Resistant starches include amylose. Amylose is a long straight chain of glucose molecules, which contrasts with the other type of starch, amylopectin, which has branches.

Because of its branching, amylopectin has a high surface area to volume ratio, so it is easier to digest. Amylose has a lower surface area to volume ratio so it is roughage and is trickier to digest, so it reaches the large intestine.

Also, in plant cells, starch is often stored in granules. What do we do when we cook food? The heat causes granules to expand, start leaking, or even burst completely, thus making our food easier to digest. It is harder to digest if you have to eat through the granule first before you can even START to break down the polymers. Cooking means that often times, the starch is Literally Right There, so it makes the food much easier to digest.

Anyway, stuff that is Really easy to digest, you get the sugar all at once, so it goes into storage or you get super energetic but it doesn't give you a good lasting amount of energy like slower-releasing starches do.

This all explains... like everything that people say about how you need to eat healthy. (Except for the stupid things like that you need to cut carbs.) It explains why fibre helps digestion, why more complex carbohydrates are often healthier than simple ones like sucrose, WHY WE COOK FOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT'S SO COOL

Explanations for those who are confused by terminology under the cut:

*cellulose is found in cell walls and is a carbohydrate that is really tough since it forms a lattice shape. It is the stuff that makes wood so strong, and also forms part of lignin AKA tree bark.

*Basically, carbohydrates are made of single sugars that bond together by condensation. Condensation reactions are when on the end of two monomers, there is an OH group and an OH group, and then one of the OHs gets removed and another H+ off of the other OH is removed. This means both monomers are then sharing the one oxygen left, and there is a water molecule produced hence the name. Hydrolysis is the inverse of this - when a water molecule is split into OH- and H+ and then it breaks apart a polymer.

[floridaboiler]

Things You Probably Never Knew About The Great Lakes.....

1. Lake Superior is actually not a lake at all, but an inland sea .

2. All of the four other Great Lakes, plus three more the size of Lake Erie, would  fit inside of Lake Superior.

3. Isle Royale is a massive island surrounded by Lake Superior. Within this island are several smaller lakes. Yes, that’s a lake on a lake.

4. Despite its massive size, Lake Superior is an  extremely young   formation by Earth’s standards (only 10,000 years old).

5. There is enough water in Lake Superior to  submerge all of North and South America in 1 foot of water.

6. Lake Superior contains 3 quadrillion gallons of water (3,000,000,000,000,000). All five of the Great Lakes combined contain 6 quadrillion gallons.

7. Contained within Lake Superior is a whopping 10% of the world’s fresh surface water.

8. It’s estimated there are about 100 million lake trout   in Lake Superior. That’s nearly one-fifth of the human population of North America!

9. There are small outlets through which water leaves Lake Superior. It takes two centuries for all the water in the lake to replace itself.

10. Lake Erie is the fourth-largest Great Lake in surface area, and the smallest in depth. It’s the 11th largest lake on the planet.

11. There is alleged to be a 30- to 40-foot-long “monster” in Lake Erie named Bessie. The earliest recorded sighting goes back as early as 1793.

12. Water in Lake Erie replaces itself   in only 2.6 years, which is notable considering the water in Lake Superior takes two centuries.

13. The original publication of Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax contained the line, “I hear things are just as bad up in Lake Erie.”Fourteen years later, the Ohio Sea Grant Program wrote to Seuss to make the case that conditions had improved. He removed the line.

14. Not only is lake Erie the smallest Great Lake when it comes to volume, but it’s surrounded by the most industry.Seventeen metropolitan areas, each with populations of more than 50,000, border the Lake Erie basin.

15. During the War of 1812, the U.S. beat the British in a naval battle calledthe Battle of Lake Erie, forcing them to abandon Detroit.

16. The shoreline of all the Great Lakes combined equals nearly 44% of the  circumference  of the planet.

17. If not for the the Straits of Mackinac, Lake Michigan and Lake Huron might be considered one lake.Hydrologically speaking, they have the same mean water level and are considered one lake.

18. The Keystone State  was one of the largest and most luxurious wooden steamships running during the Civil War.In 1861, it disappeared. In 2013, it was found 30 miles northeast of Harrisville under 175 feet of water.

19. Goderich Mine is the largest salt mine in the world. Part of it runs underneath Lake Huron, more than 500 meters underground.

20. Below Lake Huron, there are  9,000-year-old animal-herding structures   used by prehistoric people from when the water levels were significantly lower.

21. There are  massive sinkholes in Lake Huron that have high amounts of sulfur and low amounts of oxygen, almost replicating the conditions of Earth’s ancient oceans 3 million years ago. Unique ecosystems are contained within them.

22. Lake Huron is the second largest among the Great Lakes, and the  fifth largest in the world.

23.  In size, Lake Michigan ranks third among the Great Lakes, and sixth among all freshwater lakes in the world.

24. Lake Michigan is the only Great Lake that is entirely within the borders of the United States.

25. The largest fresh water sand dunes in the world line the shores of Lake Michigan.

26. Because water enters and exits Lake Michigan through the same path, it takes 77 years longer for the water to replace itself   than in Huron, despite their similarity in size and depth. (Lake Michigan: 99 years, Lake Huron: 22 years)

27. When the temperature of Lake Michigan is below freezing, this happens.

28. Within Lake Michigan there is a “triangle” with a similar reputation to the Bermuda Triangle, where a large amount of “strange disappearances” have occurred. There have also been alleged UFO sightings.

29. Singapore, Mich., is a ghost town on the shores of Lake Michigan that was buried under sand in 1871. Because of severe weather conditions and a lack of resources due to the need to rebuild after the great Chicago fire, the town was lost completely.

30. In the mid-19th century, Lake Michigan had a pirate problem. Their booty: timber. In fact, the demise of Singapore is due in large part to the rapidly deforested area surrounding the town.

31. Jim Dreyer  swam across Lake Michigan in 1998 (65 miles), and then in 2003, he swam the length of Lake Michigan (422 miles).

32. Lake Michigan was the location of the first recorded “Big Great Lakes disaster,” in which a steamer carrying 600 people collided with a schooner delivering timber to Chicago. Four hundred and fifty people died.

33. Lake Ontario is the smallest of the Great Lakes in surface area, and second smallest in depth. It’s the  14th largest lake   on the planet.

34. The province Ontario was  named after   the lake, and not vice versa.

35. In 1804, a Canadian warship, His Majesty’s Ship Speedy, sank in Lake Ontario. In 1990, wreck hunter Ed Burtt managed to find it.  Only, he isn’t allowed to recover any artifacts until a government-approved site to exhibit them is found. He’s still waiting.

36. Babe Ruth hit his  first major league home run   at Hanlan’s Point Stadium in Toronto. It landed in Lake Ontario and is believed to still be there.

37. A lake on Saturn’s moon Titan is named after Lake Ontario.

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

summary: hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn't fail to give you his absolute best.

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

warnings: heartbreak, lots of tears, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), praise kink, sucking fingers, female masturbation, fingering, oc is extremely wet and jk is rly rly hard for her <3, squirting, multiple orgasms, jk tells her off kinda and it's hot, pet names, raw and rough sex, the abandonment issues are heavy in one part, mention of a sex toy

note: hi, my loves. this was absolutely painful to write, but i know i made a good decision. unfortunately for those who are waiting for the next series—i'm sorry, but this will have another part. it's already so long and if i kept going, it'd have probably like 20k plus words and i don't want to take up your time. i think i can manage to post the last part THIS week, so look forward to this. one part of the happy ending done. <3 i love you, guys, i hope you like this. don't hesitate to let me know; i worked hard and i want validation skfjslkfjsklfs. enjoy, my loves. <3

A dead man for the fifth time, Jungkook finds the unfolding of the events quite ridiculous now. And he’s not surprised, how could he really be at this point, that there’s radio silence within the chambers of his heart. 

The food court is muted, the lights are ever still bright, but the corners of his eyes gain peculiar shadows that cling to the side of your face as you swirl your spoon in your hot soup. His phone is ringing and its obnoxious sound is but a vibration in his hand and the only thing that’s delaying him from sliding his thumb across his device is some sort of consent in your solemn, yet saddened features. He can see translucent threads lining your rounded lips that have sown your mouth shut, preventing you from speaking out your tender heart and it’s predominantly this thing, among the obvious other ones, that drives him to make a scene in front of all of these people crowded around him. 

If he has to, he will rip those wisps. Make it as painless as possible because whether he likes it or not, he needs you right now. Needs your word of advice, needs your consent in order to do what the entirety of his organs yearns to do. And if you say no, he’ll willingly turn his phone off and refuse to speak to his once-closest friend. 

Just for the sake of your mental health. Just to outrun fate and grasp her wrist to stop her from furthermore scarring your heart. 

You have enough of them and he has only one pair of lips to heal them. 

Lifting the spoon to your mouth, you keep your gaze on its silver coat and it unnerves him—the fact you won’t look at him, the fact that you so evidently don’t want to be in this situation. Your own boyfriend is chasing you around town, even though he transmitted waves of nothingness your way when he had you under his roof. He doesn’t fucking understand it. Doesn’t understand how he’s capable of doing such a thing and fury rises in his gut, soars high to his throat, which constricts around it so tightly that it forbids him from inhaling any oxygen into his lungs. And he fears that if he speaks, it’ll soak you. Make you even smaller than you are and he’ll hate himself for the rest of his life for it. 

However… 

He needs to talk to you. Time is pressing down on his shoulders once again and here and now, he’s too burdened, too fragile to bear it. His stoicism has long been fractured, its shards cracking cacophonously under the soles of his sneakers and… the singular tear rooting on his pale cheek hasn’t even dried up. 

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” Jungkook says, his voice a soft, deep murmur; a plea. His surroundings gain volume, little by little, the lack of air in his lungs causing his mind to spin. His body grows cold and, unwittingly, he bounces his leg underneath the table. “If you don’t want me to pick up this call, I won’t. It’s your decision.” 

He knows that whatever it is that will come out of your mouth and change the trajectory of his fury, he’ll protect you nonetheless. No matter what, no matter what it takes. He’ll unleash what’s been swarming in him for a long time in private sometime later if you ask for it—he’ll gladly tell his organs no and they’ll have to listen. That’s certainly not an issue. 

What will be an issue is if you remain quiet. He doesn’t know what will happen to him under that circumstance. He has very little trust in something that’s out of his grasp and he has  strong disliking for the looseness of it all. Doesn’t feel right. 

A quick, soft slurp of your soup. A lift of your weary eyes. A kick in his heart. “I don’t want to make any decision. If you want to pick up the call, you should. I don’t mind. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.” 

He must be dead because he’s staring at his own reincarnation. 

You’ve walked so far on your pathway of suffering that you reached the point that you don’t care anymore. Don’t care that there’s a risk Yoongi will see you or hear you. Don’t care about what’s going to happen when he does and about the events after. It’s as admirable as it is disturbing and a faint pulse begins to sound in his chest. Thrill nips at his skin; a sense of responsibility uncoiling within, linking to the surety of his instinct to protect you. To stand up for you. To make things right in a way, way different manner than he’s ever tried before and it’s those inclinations that drive his thumb to swipe across the screen. 

Though he doesn’t look at Yoongi. No, he looks at you, studying your features. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your words, he does and vehemently so, but this is a difficult situation that you’re both in and it would be only understandable if the gravity of it washed over you all of a sudden and you weren’t comfortable with this anymore. He wouldn’t hesitate to end the call right away. Fuck what Yoongi thinks. 

But nothing changes about your weariness. It’s a still pool of water, unmoving and utterly impenetrable, like the pond behind his cabin during cold, winter times. When this is over, he promises to get warm and dip his fingers in, permeate your skin with rosiness and coziness. Stall the change of seasons unfurling in you. 

And Jungkook pleats that promise into the palm of your hand as he takes it, his thumb against your head line. Watches you stuff your mouth full with noodles. His own stomach churns, the fury half parting, making a way for his hunger to suffuse his senses. He’s so happy you’re eating that all he can think about is how he’s going to make your life better with this one singular video call. 

He leaves you to it and focuses his gaze down on Yoongi. His once-close friend is driving in his car and despite the shit view he has of him, due to his service and the way Yoongi’s phone is angled, he can still see the way he’s swathed by murkiness. The purple marks under his eyes are a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and his hair is a mess, tufts of black strands sticking in different directions as if he had been on the verge of ripping his hair out. He has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other runs over his upper lip. Over and over, back and forth, waiting, patiently, for Jungkook’s attention. 

He starts speaking once he knows he has it. 

“Sorry to bother you, I didn’t know who else to call.” He sighs and explains that he’s calling because of you, the mention of your name causing his voice to crack. “I drove up to her apartment, but she’s not there. She told me she was going to her place when she… when she… left.” 

So he heard you loud and clear, and yet he didn’t have the decency to respond to you, make you know that you were heard. Jungkook looks at you and this time you look back at him, too. A tight, painful exchange of glances. He squeezes your hand, even as Yoongi continues. 

“She’s not picking up the phone. I’m worried about her—”

Jungkook is swift with his words. “You should’ve thought of that before you let her leave,” he snaps, his whole body tense, hanging yet again by the thread. He keeps his hold over your hand gentle, despite it all—despite the fact that his form yearns to explode. “You’re too reckless. Leave her alone.” 

Your eyes widen while Yoongi’s narrow, but he doesn’t regret what he said. He knows there’s utmost truth in them, something that should scramble his brain until he comprehends it. Yoongi’s mouth purses in a tight line and his fist clenches before he places it on the steering wheel with a thud. 

“Don’t talk to me like this. I don’t need this,” Yoongi mutters, pulling out his hyung card and while it angers Jungkook even more, he also thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit that has ever come out of his mouth. “I need to know where she is.” 

He gazes intently at you as he says, “It’s none of your business.” 

And those big eyes of yours round in a good emotion that he can’t really recognize and slowly, you swallow down your noodles. Speechless, he deduces. A tendril of adrenaline courses in him, strengthening his responsibility and protectiveness over you, kissing it ever so sweetly when you squeeze his hand. 

A validation. 

Jungkook could stay like this. He wouldn’t mind at all—it feels too nice. Feels like you’re his. And perhaps at this very moment you are. 

The feeling is so overwhelming that he doesn’t give two shits about the fact Yoongi is detonating on the other side of the screen. He keeps his eyes on you. 

“What the fuck do you mean it’s none of my business? Is she with you?” 

It’s at this moment that a proud smile curls Jungkook’s lips. And it’s joy that absorbs his organs, his heart beating loudly and clearly. Even the people around him seem happier in his peripheral vision. He thinks this night tops in the best days he’s ever had. 

Tension has grabbed a hold of you, too. But he will make it better. He’s got you. 

He continues with the truth and he’s not afraid of it. Not at all. 

“Yes, she’s safe with me.” 

Those words, most peculiarly, soothe Yoongi’s rage. Silence fills his car, one that forces Jungkook to flick his eyes to his phone because he truly can’t believe what’s happening. Yoongi runs his hand down his face and nods once, the murkiness loosening a fair bit before it pulps him. It’s now that he becomes small. A tiny boy, at the hands of his own repercussions. Displeased, but relieved. A strange, strange sight.

“Good,” Yoongi says and Jungkook’s stomach drops. “She should be with you. You’re better than me in ways I could never be. She doesn’t need me anymore.” 

Your mouth parts and a vexation of your own clutches you. Enough for you to drop your spoon and lift your hand, palm up. The adrenaline in Jungkook’s system thickens. “Give me the phone.” 

Yoongi's head turns to the screen at the sound of your irritated voice and Jungkook’s smile widens, handing you the device. He knows what you’re about to say will put an end to this difficult situation and he’s eager to hear it, eager for it to happen. 

“Careful, don’t make him crash his car,” Jungkook whispers, ever so smug, just for your ears, but on the other hand, he doesn’t care if it finds a way to your boyfriend’s as well. You gaze at him most solemnly, fleetingly, and he can’t read shit in your expression. He’s not troubled by it, however; he wants you to let loose in whatever form of your choosing, of your liking. You deserve it, to be boundless like that. It’s been a long time coming.

His phone in your hand is too large and he finds it so cute that it helps him relax. Without withdrawing his hand, he hunches over his soup, getting his utensils ready. 

And his first taste of his meal is as good as the first words you hurl at Yoongi. 

“Are you joking right now? Is that all you have to say after everything? You’re actually unbelievable,” you spit, shooting daggers at the screen, your brows furrowed, a lethal glare directed at him. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he hears him sigh. “I’d like you to know that it’s my decision that I’m with him. Not yours. You’re not in control of it and you never will be again. I’m with him because I want to be with him, not because you let me be with him or because you think it’s good.” 

Your voice rises in volume ever so slightly, respectful of your surroundings, but untethering your heart free nonetheless. A tortured pain coats it, despite the fact you’re holding yourself strong and it drives Jungkook to let go of his spoon, unable to eat when he feels your agony in all its raw immensity. You struck his awe and all he can do is watch you make order of your life. For your sake and also, most remarkably, for his. A beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love unable to be real turning away, slowly, from the dead end. 

“So, we’re over?” Yoongi asks, small—small voice. Jungkook has never heard it before and butterflies zap his stomach with the strongest electricity they could come across. 

Your face doesn’t change and you don’t hesitate to unleash your next words. “I think you should go see other people and heal from this mess. You’ve grown too attached to your own fucked up impressions and you need a reality check.” 

Such coldness, such brutality. Jungkook can’t breathe—finds it hard to believe this is happening right now, that angels are by his side, keeping his bloodstream flowing. He feels as though he’s dreaming again due to the speck of vagueness in your answer. Yes, you’ve told him to go see other people, but he’s also aware that Yoongi needs the raw truth on a silver platter. If there’s anything he hates with all his being, it’s the abyss of obscurities. It’s the space in his brain for him to make up for the emptiness of your words. 

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb fondling the crook between your thumb and your forefinger, giving you the little strength he possesses in him—the last of it, all he has. 

Are you breaking up with him or are you taking a break? 

Jungkook longs to know, perhaps he needs it, too, even though both options are more than merciful for such a wretched dreamer like him. A dreamer that has stumbled upon gold in a poor, poor world. 

“Honey, please.” Yoongi breaks into sobs and it’s now, now as Jungkook hears the sound of a raw emotion from such a detached person that he softens, his fury snuffed out in a blink of an eye, and he can’t feel his arms, nor his legs. He realizes, most strangely, that it’s his friend, one he spent the last ten years of his life with. The aftertaste of copper pools in his mouth again and his own eyes wet. Yours, too, your chin quivering the more you take in his devastated state. “I can’t do this without you. I–I don’t know how to.” 

Despite your tenderness, your words remain firm. “I think you’ve managed quite well these past few days. You’ve pushed me away, needed space. So go have it. I won’t suffer through it, though. I’ll do what I want, you should, too. You need to heal in the only way you know how. Alone.” 

Yoongi sniffles, taking long breaths to seemingly calm his shuddering lungs. And pity enfolds his heart, pity for his friend that he’s become such a wreck and that he’s a witness to it, more than the cause behind it. He puts the latter to the side, now is not the right time for it. 

He knows what will happen to him once he breaks the dam of self-blame. It’s not what you need right now and he will make sure to keep that dam of your own safe and stable. It’s his duty. 

“Will you wait for me?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook feels that question curl around his gut. With a light layer of sadness, he returns to his food, his stomach grumbling. 

You sigh, swiping your fingers under the skin beneath your lower lashes, perhaps so Yoongi doesn’t see your weakness. Jungkook watches you as he slurps on his noodles, nervous—terribly, terribly nervous. 

“I don’t know if I’m able to trust you like that again,” you conclude, taking a big breath and Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing so hard that you untangle your hand from his and slap his back. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” You end the phone call and gently lay down his phone, rubbing his back soothingly as Jungkook splutters. “Are you okay? What happened?”

What happened? You gave him life. Made a pathway for his dreams to come true. Gave him a leeway to walk upon this earth with no weight on his shoulders. Turned something inaccessible accessible. 

Love unreal becomes real, running headlong in the opposite direction of the dead end. 

The last of his aching coughs emit out of his throat and he swallows, lungs heaving with freedom and easy, easy breaths. The air is different, the oxygen much sweeter. You put his tall glass of water into his hand, encouraging him to drink, never letting go of him as Jungkook takes a big sip, the cold liquid washing away all of those dark ashes left from the fire of his fury. His vision blurs once he looks at you in this new, shifted reality and there’s a smile to his face, calmness surging through his body, exhilaration most needed twining around it. 

“You tell me,” Jungkook says, almost out of breath—out of his mind. “What just happened?” 

You go back to your soup, squeeze your fried egg open with your chopsticks. “I’m not letting him hurt me again. I don’t have to be strong and take it, do I?” With the yolk spilling in, you push the entirety of the egg white into your mouth, huffing in delight, rolling your eyes back and chewing, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. His own utensils go slack in his hand, watching you enjoy your food, his heart enlarging. But then you furrow your brows and stop chewing. “Fuck, it’s cold, but it’s so good.” You sigh and resume chewing, your eyes flicking across the table, your body bouncing excitedly in your seat. You act as though you didn’t just break your own boyfriend’s heart—as if you led a normal conversation with him, in which he was just checking up with you. Jungkook’s awe is so struck that he can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but watch you with all that love abounding in his being for you. And then you flick your eyes to his and the wrinkle between your brows deepens. “Why aren’t you eating? Is it too cold?” 

He calls your name, firmly. Leans back in his seat with a big sigh. Rubs his eyes with his fingers. “What just happened?” 

There’s simply no way this is real. 

You devour your noodles, swallowing spoonfuls of soup. “I ended things with him, Jungkook, and I’m not coming back to him.” 

His mouth dries, heart picks up speed. How are you saying this with such ease? Isn’t your heart split in two? Your devotion clung to his guy with every breath you took and back at his cabin, you wouldn’t let him play with you unless Yoongi was present. How come it seems like you’re anything but heartbroken right now? 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks in all honesty, confounded by your behavior. 

You push away your bowl, cradling your full belly. “Yes, I’m okay.” 

He doesn’t really believe you. Losing your appetite was proof enough. “Positive?” 

You look over to the side and your chin begins to quiver. There it is. Your hand flies to your face and you hide the rupture of your pretense behind it. The corners of your face, the only parts he gets to see, flush in red and Jungkook grabs your things with a heavy, sinking heart. Walks over to you and gives you his hand. 

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” 

The weeping clouds have migrated not just to your eyes but to his, too. The night is deep and Jungkook feels it, ardently, coming to rest beneath his skin, floating on its back upon the stream of his tears that he’s stifling. He’s holding your hand and your purse as he’s leading you to his place. You didn’t want to see the face of your apartment. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t stand anything that reminded you of Yoongi and you begged him to take you somewhere you’ve never been before. Jungkook only nodded, brushing away the tears that managed to escape. Thought he’d bring you to any place you’d ever ask, just as long as you stuck with him. 

He’s gained what he wanted for a long time, but at what cost? The two people he loves the most are broken. One, his dearest, he’s grasping tightly so she wouldn’t fly away. The other is becoming but a memory, ten years going down the drain—never to be seen again, never to be continued. 

He has you, but he lost Yoongi. And the realization hangs, heftily, over his clavicles, swinging back and forth, kicking into his chest. 

He can’t stand the sight of him either, however. How strange. 

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can’t help but rid you of the hideous flannel of his that you’re wearing, bunching it up in his fists and throwing it away to the corner of his bench on the side of his wall without you knowing. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his living room and he lets you skim your sight all around it, slipping his fingers under the hem of your tiny top, just touching you there. White walls, brown leather couch, a TV that takes up the most of the space alongside the kitchen with a plain dining area consisting of an old wooden, rectangular table with four chairs. A huge singular space of nothingness that has never felt home-like, not until you’ve stepped inside. 

Now, all of a sudden, it has colors. Vibrant, yet soft-toned with each inhale of his breath. You bring your oxymorons everywhere you go and they stay where you reside, even if you move someplace else. The evidence of it is in his very body. While he feels at his most fragile, he also senses himself to be strong. Strong enough to take care of you right at this moment, be there for you and give you anything you’d ever want. And while his eyes are still wet, cheeks bedewed by his softness, he also wants to break this place—self-blame creeping in, threatening to emerge from the hidden spots somewhere within the battlefield of his chest. 

This is his fault. Had he never said yes, you wouldn’t be in pain and neither would his friend be. But in that scenario, he wouldn’t know you existed. Wouldn’t have you. Would lead a forlorn life, with his paints and his alcohol. 

You would be happy with Yoongi. Radiant, glowy. With your glitters, your little dresses. Your nighttime robes and your little lingerie. 

Would you? Has he ruined your happiness? Has he ruined you? 

Jungkook turns you around to him. He needs to ask you; he needs to have the certainty, otherwise he won’t sleep tonight. Won’t even close his eyes—the thoughts would eat away his drowsiness. Leave only wakefulness in their wake. Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there, formulating his words, carefully. His hands clutch your shoulders. Your frail, slender shoulders. 

Yoongi devastated your appetite enough that you lost all your soft fleshiness. He took it away and he doesn’t even perceive it. It was clear to him by the way you pushed your plate away, when your emotions rushed through; you didn’t have to say a word. And although he grieves the personal loss, still this is something he’ll never forgive him for. 

“Would you have been happy if you never knew me?” he asks, subduedly, torment clawing at his vocal cords. “Would you have been happy with him?” 

A teardrop spills down your cheekbone, plopping onto the material of your top, soaking it. You furrow your brows, seem angry at his choice of words and he regrets them, enough that his mouth rounds in a tender emotion that he’s too weak to stifle back. And then you bunch up his T-shirt, just like you did earlier in the dressing room, and there’s a tendril of relief that maybe he didn’t fuck up so majestically. He wants to weep; holding them back pains him too much and that ease, that repose is all he wants. It’s not that he’s shy or unwilling to let out his feelings—it’s just that he’s putting yours above his, deeming them more important. He wants to be strong for you, someone you can lean on—and how can he do that for you when he’s crumbling on the inside? 

“How can you say that to me?” you ask in disbelief and Jungkook wants to rewind back the time. Wants to keep quiet and just hold you through this fateful night. He winces, looking away, his own chin quivering this time and he can’t—he can’t hold back. He possesses no strength. A tear trickles down his cheek, one full of agony, hot against his skin and he whimpers, he whimpers when you cradle his face in your hands, step on your tippy toes and press your lips against his. Your mouth is so warm and he’s shivering with cold; silky while his are ruined by the constant biting he did in the car. He is a ruination—how can you want him? He ruined your relationship. And now even his tears have stained your angelic, pure face. 

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” he admits and his chest hurts, lungs tight, body trembling in that persisting cold. “I’ve ruined your relationship. I’ve ruined your life. Yoongi’s. Caused so much pain, so much trauma. Only because I let my friends convince me into going out when I came back from the military.” 

The wrinkle between your brows smooths down and you pout, caressing his face. Jungkook can’t halt the rivulet of his liquid emotions. Not when he feels your love so awfully intensely, embracing him around and around, tightening, giving him a sense of safety. 

“Can I tell you something?” You take his hand in yours and Jungkook already misses your warm touch on his face. He nods. “Where’s your room?” 

He leads you there and you crawl onto his bed, patting the space beside you, curling on your side. He mirrors your position and you prop the side of your leg on his, intertwining your fingers with his on the bedding, moving his hand to your mouth. 

And your words seep into his fist. 

“We were together for five months and I never met his family. Never met his friends, except you. I never really thought about it in depth because he kept me busy, despite the fact all we did was fuck. It was enough for me, I guess, because I’d been alone for a long, long time before I met him. And I’m a bit of a loner myself so I didn’t mind that we spent all of our time in his apartment, fucking and watching movies. It wasn’t until I met you, Jungkook,” you pause, taking a big breath in, fondling his knuckles with your thumb, soothing him, soothing the drowsiness that is suddenly falling upon him like a blanket, waving off his tears, drying them. “That I realized it’s not really supposed to be like this in my life. I remember that night when he was out with you and I was in the bathroom. I thought about when was the last time he took me out and I shivered. I shivered, Jungkook. It was the first seed sown and I didn’t know. And when you came into my life, I spent my weekends out with you. You took me to your cabin, you took me out to dinner dates. Even today you took me to the mall. I realized it’s supposed to be like this. Yoongi never did that.” 

Your words tingle across his fist and he’s quick with his own. “But were you happy?” 

So are you. You don’t hesitate. “I thought I was, but the way I’m happy with you can’t compare to the way I thought I was happy with him.” 

The truth wafts in the air, sweetening it and another onrush of tears come out of his tear ducts. He leans in closer to you, nose to nose, sniffling, sobbing quietly and you kiss his hand. Over and over, breathing against his skin. Light opens in him as the truth unfolds—with the little time he had with you, he managed to make you happier. Not just happy, but happier.

“I had a lot of time to think about this. It wasn’t just today that he didn’t speak to me. He barely did throughout the week, but today was the worst of it all and I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much,” you continue and Jungkook knows how much it pains you, when Yoongi abandons you over and over, clawing his fingernails in your scars. He’s glad, brims completely with that gratefulness that it also rolls down his cheeks, mingling with his tears, that you were strong enough to put a stop to it—as hard as it was. “And you know what I think? Yoongi needs someone like that. Someone who’s a much bigger loner than I am. Someone who’s okay with staying home, with keeping things casual. He needs a friend and I’ll continue being that for him, but not in the way he wants. I’ll be there for him, but not as closely as he was used to, you know? It has to be a process. I can’t just disappear out of his life. I don’t have the heart to do that.” 

Extending his arm, Jungkook invites you to rest your head against his bicep—only because he yearns to touch you. Without untangling your intertwinement, you lay against him, breathing in his scent and Jungkook wraps the same arm around your shoulders, cocooning you in. Body to body, his lips against your forehead. You look up at him and he looks down at you, a profound exchange of glances. The reality shifts once more, the energy deepens, filling it with something beyond affection and love—fate thickening the air, intense, earnest and impassioned. And submitting to it, Jungkook raises your chin and kisses you, deeply, slipping his tongue inside just briefly. Kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, hides himself in that crook, breathing with you and nothing else.

A brand new reality. 

He can’t help but think about how smart you are. How admirable, how good. How well you handled everything, how well you made an order out of your life and ultimately out of Yoongi’s, too. Like Jungkook will take care of you, you will take care of Yoongi—not leaving him on his own with his shattered heart and mental health. He just hopes that sometime soon, he will be able to have a part in it, too. It’s his utmost wish. No matter how upset he was with him, how strongly he disliked him in certain moments, it’s still a person he loves, a person he spent the last ten years of his life with. A family, almost. 

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Jungkook whispers, squeezing you against his body, drawing you closer until your lungs and his gain that singular synchronization. Your leg straddles his torso and he grows greedy, needing you even closer. Needing to get underneath your skin. 

“I’ll try my best to make it happen,” you whisper back, running your fingers through his hair. The light that shines in your eyes faintly illuminates his shadowy room and it’s precisely the one he longed to see. Something tells him it’s here to stay and it drives his thumb to caress your wet lashes, the skin beneath your eyes, your rose-kissed cheek. 

Jungkook trusts you. You’re such a badass that you will succeed in anything you set yourself out to do. And he tells you. Asks you if you want to take a bath. Thinks it will distract your heart from what it knows, from what it’s used to. Teach it something new—something you will connect only with him.

And your reaction enlarges his heart to the point that it breaks his ribcage. Your eyes widen, its light erupting, blinding him, and you gasp, lifting your whole body and grabbing his shirt in your fists. He chuckles in endearment. 

“You have a bathtub?” 

And your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of it once he carries you to his bathroom and sets you down. He kisses the back of your head, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer to the bathtub, reaching over to lift the tap and let hot water pour down. You both need it after such an emotionally-exhausting day and Jungkook is eager to get in with you. 

“Stay here. Don’t strip. I’ll get your candle,” Jungkook says, lowly, squeezing your hips once and caressing your bum as he turns around and heads to the kitchen. 

He wants to be the one who takes off your clothes. Plans to do something with you he hasn’t done in a long while, something he deems you deserve after everything you’ve been through. He grabs your mango-scented candle, your bag of cheese balls, a lighter and a chair and returns to you. 

You’re crouching by the bathtub, your hand flowing in the hot water, its steam curling, tenderly, your hair cascading down your back. Jungkook pats the back of your head to announce that he’s come back and you smile up at him, your eyes big and twinkling, so magnificent that he grows weak in the knees, butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach. 

Lighting up your candle, you watch as he does it, each three knots flaring up to life and suffusing the air with a balmy, tropical scent. He sets it down on the chair and, helping you stand up to your feet, he doesn’t waste a second. His fingers hook under the hem of your top and fling it out. And because he knows you’ve never bared yourself like this before him, he hides your nakedness by pressing you against his chest, your soft breasts a pleasure, his digits sliding beneath your leggings and dragging them down your hips, looking over your shoulder. You shimmy out of them, moving your hips ever so delightfully and before he knows it, he’s on his knees—kissing the apex of your thighs as he takes your feet out of the pant legs. And he thinks he could stay here all his life. 

Jungkook looks up at you as he removes your socks, kissing your knee without breaking the gaze, and he hopes that you can sense his love for you in it, the unyielding stability that he will cling to you with his body and soul—simply, with his entire being. 

Rising slowly, he kisses his pathway up, leaving behind the translucent evidence of that love. Your mound, which makes you giggle, a celestial symphony to his ears, your full tummy where he hopes your invisible rose tattoos still are, both sides of your ribs, the middle of your breasts, your sternum, your collarbones, your throat, your chin—up and up until his lips find yours. And he devours them. With such vigor that you hum into his mouth, your hands reaching for his shirt again. 

Oh, you want him to get in as well. Very well. 

He wanted to be the witness to your relaxation, but if it’s your desire that he shares it with you—by all means. He lets you take off his shirt, lifting his arms for you, and you’re quick to allow your hands to discover the parts they don’t know. His mole beneath his left pec that he caught you staring at shortly after that turn of events at the cabin. You press your mouth against it, unravel your love for it there by grazing your teeth against it before you lick it over with your tongue, going as far as marking the spot right beside it. Jungkook sinks his fingers in your hair, reveling in it, tummy tingling, holding you like that as you do what you please. Your own digits descend to his pants, setting him free from them and when you get on your knees just like him, his cock tightens in your face. 

And he dies, angels know for how many times today, when you rub your face in this intimate part of him, his heart bursting.

Not now—he can’t let you do that now. He wants your muscles to relax first before he can strain them all over again, in a much different way. 

“My sweetie,” he starts, sighing, rubbing your scalp. He takes you by the back of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your armpit, and drags you up. A healthy, radiant flush adorns you and he’s glad for the paleness to be gone. Glad his body is the cause of it. It makes his heart happy. “Not now. Let’s get in the tub.” 

Your stiffened nipples brush against his bare chest and he almost doubles over, loving the feeling of it. The sigh that leaves your mouth, so akin to his, too. 

“But you’re hard,” you whisper, tugging down his boxers until his cock springs free and you immediately wrap your small hand around it, squeezing him lightly. 

He can’t help but to grunt, the faint pleasure dizzying. He missed your hand, missed your touch. Haven’t had it in so long. It fits so well in your fist and he believes, in all seriousness, that it belongs to you. It’s yours. 

He brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. His brain malfunctions a little bit, the pleasure you’re giving him zapping his dominance. “You like holding me like this?” 

You fondle his tip with your thumb and he hisses, sparks of electricity coursing down his body and he hums at the aftershocks. So good. He feels his arousal drip for you; feels himself lengthening in your hand. You nod, watching it happen, and while it feels nice to be looked at like that, he wants your eyes on him. He cradles your face in one hand, making you look at him, and he pecks you. At the contact, you finally nod your head. Jungkook envelops his palm around your fist and guides you to squeeze him harder, groaning onto your mouth. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises and embraces you, hiding himself in the crook of your neck again, inhaling you. Petrichor, mango, your personal scent. It’s all he wants to breathe in for the rest of his life. It’s what heaven must smell like. Actually, heaven must be what he’s hugging. 

You whimper and for it Jungkook tightens his hold around you. Skin to skin. He’ll never get over it. “I love being good for you.” 

He hums his approval, following the cascade of your hair down your back with his palm, rooting at your bum, grasping the flesh. “You’re the best girl. Let’s get you clean.” 

The loss of contact aches and he can see it even on your face, an adorable pout forming on your mouth. Helping you get in the bathtub, you wait until he joins you and it’s only then that you sit down, unsure of how both of you are going to fit in such a small space like this. Knees in between his, you exchange a few giggles in the awkwardness of it all before Jungkook kisses them and leads you to lean back against him, your spine against his chest, your body getting lost in his. 

Turning off the tap, the water is scorching but pleasant, his muscles relaxing, the very little remnants of the fight of his self-blame tearing apart at last. It must be as enjoyable for you because once you settle in and you take in the heat, the effect of the candle, the dimmed light and the soft shower of rain pittering against the windows, you let loose completely, your head slack against his sternum, breathing steadily, eyes fluttering closed. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, your breasts pressed against them, and he loves the feeling of your raw femininity in his hands, in such a nonsexual context. His arousal might be alive and longing for you, but that feeling, somehow, overweighs it in a way he’s unable to understand. 

He doesn’t mind; he could stay like this. 

And both of you do for some time, feeling each other’s top halves of bodies, resting, thinking of nothing, until you tip your chin and, puckering your lips, you ask for a kiss. Arch your back until your breasts bounce free from his hold. His cock twitches against your back from the sight and you smirk. 

Sly little girl. He cages them once again, though this time quite differently. One hand grabs the flesh at the base, the other sneaks to your chin, your other breast nudged in the crook of his elbow. His finger traces the lines of your lips, flattened now, kissing it every once in a while. And as if it was a signal for you to open up when he stalls his movement in the middle, you open up for him. And the feeling of your tongue, the suction of your lips, the sound of it all—it drives him to head down the path of absolute madness. 

He might have just found his ultimate weakness. 

Jungkook adds a second finger in, when you angle your body, so he can have a good view of it, your head propped against the bathtub wall, lidded eyes fixed on him. 

So much for relaxing. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, swiftly, causing your brows to knit in confusion. It humors him, but you’re not getting your way that easily. 

“You should relax,” he scolds in a teasing manner, not meaning a word of it. “You’ve had a long day of shopping.” 

You laugh through your nose, a soft smile gracing your lips and for a split second, Jungkook wonders if he didn’t ruin the moment again by altering the reality again, bringing back the memory of what’s happened. If he didn’t invite in your guilt, perhaps. You’re here with him, about to be made love to, while the person you still love is dealing with brokenness on the other side of the city. 

And he tells you in the form of a kiss sunk into your cheek, drawing your body closer to him, cradling the back of your neck, squishing you against him. It causes you to turn your body to the side, slightly, and Jungkook hikes you higher, letting you lean your face against his cheek like that, pecking you over and over again. There isn’t enough body of water to overspill from the tub, but your shifting caused small waves to lap at your body and Jungkook finds himself transfixed by the sight of it. It seems as though the ripples are worshiping your body and an inkling to do the same, to do better, rises in him—as well as the impulse to tell you with words this time. 

He should verbally communicate with you. Just to be safe. 

“Did I remind you of it again?” 

Your fingertips follow the valleys of his abdomen, half dipped in the water. 

“Remind me of what?” you say and there’s a striking gentleness to your voice, some kind of blissfulness that feels terribly foreign to him. “Of my freedom?” 

A bearable tightness clutches his chest, interlaced, most heartily, with the simplicity of his shock. Freedom. With his directions, you set yourself free. It should be something to perhaps honor and rejoice over—so why is there still a morsel of pity swarming in him? He needs you to tell him. 

A streamlet of tears blurs his vision. Because his clinginess to you intensifies with each move forward, for the most part. Because he feels bad for his friend, for the lesser. 

“Why do I feel so bad for him?” Jungkook questions, pressing you harder against him until there isn’t any more space to push you into. 

You plop your body onto his. Chest to chest. Tummy to tummy. His cock, a bit soft now, against your femininity. Nonsexually, in all its beauty. You drag your thumbs under his waterline, collecting his essence of pain. His heart constricts. 

“My freedom is his,” you say, still holding him like that—both palms on his cheeks. “We’d be stuck in a circle like this. We’d go round and round until one of us would burst and end things eventually. He’d never fully heal in this environment. He’d never look past his own insecurities, not when I’d continue to enjoy myself with you the way I always did.” 

He thinks the merry go round had already begun the moment he and Yoongi made up and tried again. And considering the last thing he said to him on the phone today, there’s nothing left to do but to accept it. 

Your freedom is his. Those words ring in his headspace, settling there. By unbuckling yourself from the seat of that ride, you did the same for him. And while you got off, Yoongi still remains seated. 

For now. 

He’ll get out of there. Jungkook believes in him. 

“I’m meant to be with you,” you say and his heart goes wild, violently, under your forearm. For you. You’ve said it. You’ve made it official. Brought it into this new reality and Jungkook could weep again—and he does. Touched by his emotions, you kiss his tears, sighing against them. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Have been the moment I looked into your eyes the very first time.” 

Your bare, boundless truth drives him to reveal his, too. Such power you have, such strength. 

“You know I have feelings for you, right?” he murmurs, an allusion to the way you wept together in the dressing room, brushing your hair back, feeling his tenderness radiating off of his eyes, immensely. How easy it is, to tell you something groundbreaking like that, even as absurdly as he did. “Don’t let go of me. Don’t let go of those feelings. Keep them safe.” 

Your own tears pool in your waterline and you nod, a smile glinting upon your lips. So you knew, felt the love like he did, enkindled by your mutual release. He wasn’t wrong. His heart pounds and for the first time upon this trajectory, this doesn’t feel unreal. It feels real. Alive, possible, full of life. 

“I do, too. Held them in for so long. Never admitted it to myself for his sake. But that’s over now. I’ll keep it safe. All of you, Jungkook.” 

You love him. 

His sobs gather in his sternum, his lungs too small to capture them in place. 

You love him. And it’s real. 

Gripping your hair, he kisses you, deeply. And both streams of tears turn into one river—and both of you can’t halt the hunger creeping in. The hunger for more, for your love to burst at last and absorb your reality. Tongues mingling, tasting something new. Teeth clashing, lips tingling. Breaths hard and ragged. Jungkook can’t take it. Can’t hold back his body from lifting off of the rounded wall of the tub, the water sloshing and splashing all around. 

And then you say something that grazes his madness ever so unmercifully. 

“Put it in.” 

He groans, biting your bottom lip, fingertips making dents on your small waist. Horny girl, asking for something you can’t handle. He swears, his arousal awakening yet again in full speed, taking over him wholly. “I haven’t stretched you out yet.” 

You grind your femininity against his tightening cock and he’s done for, feeling your pulse. “Stretch me out like this.” 

He squeezes your ass hard, making you moan onto his mouth, in effort to make you listen to him and submit to his better knowing. “It’ll hurt, sweetheart.” 

Your breath wafts over him as you close your lips over his, sucking. “I can take it.” 

Such a stark contrast to the words you uttered in the dressing room. His madness heightens. So much that he moans into your lip lock, dipping you in the water to make you laugh, clutching onto him as you yelp, your adorable laughter vibrating through the bathroom, bouncing off of the walls and sneaking, in the long run, into the chambers of his heart, coming to live there.  

This is happiness. 

And the vibrations are too, too much for him to handle. So unusual, so beautiful. 

“Hold onto me,” Jungkook commands as he wraps your legs around his torso tighter and rises, stepping out of the bathtub and reaching for a towel in his cabinet while his other hand holds you steady by his forearm under your bum like a child. 

Leaving you to your own strength for a second, he wraps the large fabric around you both, bunching the ends in his fist on your back, exiting out of the bathroom and laying you down onto his bed. Your hair sprawls on his bedding and he thinks you look like an angel, maddened just the same by something beyond lust, by something way purer. He kisses your lips, fleetingly, and begins to focus on your neck, unfurling his love there. He sucks your wet skin, licking it all over, scattering his hard kisses there—the ones that drive you wild, moaning loudly and bravely, deservingly so. And he marks this victorious day there with pretty, pretty colors of red and purple. Doesn’t stop. Not until you beg him, writhing underneath him, excited and eager. 

“Please, Jungkook, take me.” 

Such sweet, innocent words. He listens, cooing, dragging you further up on the bed, so he can lie on top of you and take his hard kisses further down, marking all the places where your invisible tattoos are, bringing them to life all over again. Above both of your nipples, especially on the right one, where that frilly rose was, covering the peak. And he feels you melt, feels you soak his lower abdomen when he sucks on that nub, flicking his tongue, making you cry out so beautifully, so desperately that his arousal for you rigidifies. And when he looks at his artwork, fists propped on either side of you like his knees, it steals all of his breath. 

“You look so beautiful like this. All mine.” 

All his, wet with the last drops of water, with the pearls of his saliva, with your essence coating your folds. Adorned with red tattoos. He has his own on his arm and hand, except on his chest and he thinks the one he gave you make up for it. Thinks they’re his as much as they’re yours and it causes his length to twitch against his stomach, so terribly needy for you. 

“And you look beautiful like this. All hard for me,” you mimic his words and he grows feral, even more so when you continue. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” You take him into your hand again, but he pins both of your wrists down, above your head. And the smile you grace him with—it makes him yearn to make love to you like this. Bound, while the rest of you would remain the quite opposite. 

He growls, kissing you. “All yours. All yours for you to take and come around. All yours, my sweetheart. Always has been.” He kisses you harder and you whimper. Pulls away just to swirl his tongue around yours, open mouth and all, before closing his lips down again in a profound, warm and homely lock. “Spread your legs for me. I’m gonna get you ready for it.” 

He does it himself, folding you in half, the glistening of your folds visible even in the slight lack of light in the room. Oh, he can’t have you like this. Reaching behind himself, he turns on his bedside lamp, bathing you in a soft, yellow light that suits you the most. You’re holding your legs apart for him and he places wet kisses on the back of your thigh, ravagedly, to reward you for it, trailing them down until he’s face to face with your drenched princess parts. And it’s a groan of relief that emits out of him when he’s this close to you, hands pushing your knees down, spreading you even more to gratify his hunger. 

He’s starving. Terribly starving. 

And he rolls his eyes back when he takes the entirety of you into his mouth, tongue dragging upon your slit, up and down, drinking your dew, penetrating only a little bit just to tease you, just to mess around with your madness. And when he flattens his tongue against your swollen clit, you cry out. Surprise him when you grip his hair, enough to cause him to flick his eyes to you. Your mouth is parted, but grinning nonetheless, your own eyes heavily lidded, emitting light and joy and Jungkook simply decides to make this experience better for you. 

He lifts your hips in the air and devours you, lapping at your clit over and over again, letting you see what he’s doing to you without taking his eyes off of you, nose pressed against your shiny mound. You whisper your vulgarities and he’d let it pass if he didn’t consider this a holy, spiritual occurrence. He withdraws and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the way your slick trickles down your clit and your mound, rooting in the squishy part of your lower tummy. He hums, delighting in the sight. 

“Be good,” he scolds, smiling down at you and your grin widens. You nod your head, your hands still crossed above you without his to hold them down. Scratch his words—you’re already the best girl. He licks up the trickle of your essence trailing down your clit, making you writhe again. “Feel how wet you are for me.” 

Carefully, you skim your palm down your soaked belly, gasping, until your fingers reach your nub, the concoction of his saliva and your arousal seeping into your skin. He encourages you with noises of approval to keep going, bending you even more in half, your back leaning against his thighs, the pads of your fingers circling your center, eyes wide at the discovery, able to see just how celestially aroused you are for him. So beautiful. He bites onto the flesh upon the side of your thigh, only because he can’t help it, soothing down the sting with his tongue. And he hums at the sound of your moans, at the sound of your slipperiness when you drag your fingers down to your clit and stop there. 

“Hm, yes, sweetheart, rub that pretty clit for me,” he murmurs and his chest explodes at the principle that he’s able to say that to you. That he doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. That he can do whatever he pleases with you without any consequences to reap. That he’s free. You must be thinking about this, too, but in a different way, because you hesitate. He’ll destroy that dubiety. It won’t show its face again—as long as he lives on this earth. “You can do it, my love. You’re free.” 

The reassurance washes over you and rids you of that fleeting negativity. He understands this is new for the both of you—there’s some still getting used to, so it’s completely normal. He’ll try his hardest to make this as much of an easy ride for you as he can. It’s his duty. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he continues, adding your name, softly. “You’re here with me and you’re safe.” 

Jungkook leans over and kisses you. You nod into the kiss and he returns to his position, catching you rubbing your clit, slowly, with two fingers, the other spread on your folds. And both of you moan simultaneously. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, enthralled, making way for the sound of your slick to overpower the atmosphere. “That’s my good girl. Make yourself feel good for me.” 

You whimper his name, buckling your hips in his hold, squeezing your eyes shut and Jungkook can see the waves of pressure charging your tender body. Now is the time for his participation. 

He sinks his middle finger inside, making your eyes pop open and stare him down, just for you to submerge yourself under the surface of that sea of lust and let your irises whisk back. Your walls clench around him and he waits until you speed up your circles to join his other finger, biting his lip to push back his desire to sink himself inside you. He tries to pay little attention to the way he drips for you. 

But then you use the rest of your fingers to bring yourself to your climax and Jungkook takes it as a sign. Another finger in, he curls them, fucking you the way you like. Fast, grazing your sweet little spot that beckons your sweat out of your pores and when your pussy drools even more for him, he adds another. You gasp and he knows exactly how you’re feeling, how good this is for you. 

“You feel so full, sweetheart, don’t you?” he coos, jackhammering his hand harder and you drench it, completely. He flattens his fingers, allowing you to see the thick sheen and you mewl, a litany of his name spilling along. “You’re so wet. So horny for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna come?” 

You scream your agreement, squirming, strumming your fingers harder and this is it for him. He changes direction. Fucks his fingers up and down and your toes curl, chest heaving heavily and you just keep on screaming. A delightful sound. 

“Come for me, then. Like the best girl you are.” 

You clench around him. So much that he can barely move his fingers, sunk in so deeply. He just flexes them, drawing out your orgasm and you give it to him. 

And you’re wet all over again. Sprinkled by pearls upon pearls of your pleasure. He is, too, and it worsens his desperation for you. 

You’re panting, but he’s not done with you. Setting you down, he laps up the violent evidence of your orgasm, making you twitch in overstimulation and he eases the pressure of his tongue for you. Sucking on your folds, he decides to mark you there. Just below your hip bone, too. Such intimate places. Perfect for a temporary keepsake like this. 

Hovering above you, he circles his tongue tinged with your taste around yours, forcing you to moan again. And he kisses you softly. “You deserved that orgasm.” 

You whine, red all over, and Jungkook understands you need more. He pulls away, clutches himself to line up at your entrance, but you stop him. 

“I want you.” 

He smirks, longs to hear you be more specific. “How?” 

You huff. So adorable. “In my mouth.” 

He chuckles. Should’ve asked where, but he’s at your service—he’s willing to give you anything you want. “All right, but just for a little bit, okay?” You nod, vehemently, and he pats your cheek. “On your knees.” 

Oh, he’ll never tire of the view of your submissiveness, of your hunger for such a private part of him. He makes a mess for you on the towel, dripping more than he ever has, and he holds himself at the base, grabbing your jaw in his hand. Brutality, the one he’s obsessed with, swims past your irises when you gaze up at him. A feral animal, an angel in hiding—he’d love to embellish you with the sticky traces of his fixation, but he shouldn’t, no matter how much he craves it. He can’t stain you, not today. Can’t ruin the holiness. He’ll let you play with him before he seals it for all eternity. 

Tomorrow he will. Smear you with it until it’s all your pores know. 

Jungkook traces the lines of your mouth with the tip of his length, just like he did with his finger in the bathtub, and you hum, liking it. He can vividly see your yearning to rub your face against him again and he lets you, encourages you in fact, pulling you closer until you nuzzle your nose against his girth, his skin caressing your cheek, and you kiss him all over. Place your hands over his and suck him inside your mouth, drinking his precum. Only to withdraw right away, sit back on your legs without lifting your hands, and look up at him with the vastness of your overbearing innocence and love. 

“You’re mine,” you purr, fucking him with your fist. 

Jungkook nods, just once. Doesn’t even feel his butterflies anymore, too numbed by you, by the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s right, my love.” 

You suck in a breath, biting your lip hard as if it took all of your energy not to make him come at this very instant. And you lengthen your spine, asking for a kiss again, and he bends at the waist, kissing you nastily, pushing your head back to his cock, inciting you to do what you truly crave to. 

And you take him so well, your cheeks hollow, and he’s unabashed, free to let out his male noises, whimpering for you, panting heavily as you bob your head, slurping him, spitting on him. You toy with his tip, tugging at his length, colliding into his fist and it isn’t until you rub your face against his balls that it becomes his undoing. He stalls his orgasm, strains to do so, just to please you and he pries your hands away from his length, lets you focus on his sack. The least he could do to last. But then you grab it into your fist, sucking his balls, one by one, into your mouth, even try to take both of them at once and that’s it. He can’t breathe, his heart wringing painfully with all the love that brims in him for you. No one has ever done that to him. 

You flick your tongue against them, your other hand wrapping around his tip again, tugging and he nears dangerously close to the bursting of his orgasm. 

“That’s enough.” 

He draws you away from his cock, using all of his strength, and pins you down. A splutter of your giggles waft in the air, your chin wet with your spit and he moves his mouth so rapidly against yours that you struggle to kiss him back, growing calm all of a sudden, as if overcome with the gravity of it all. 

He looks at you for a long while. Puffy, red mouth, that he craves to bite onto—and he does. Darkened eyes, full of freedom and exhilaration. Neck, chest, tummy and the rest of the delicious parts of you scattered with hickeys, with his own personal keepsakes. He loves you so much that he becomes frustrated, needing to let it out somehow. All of his muscles tense and he clenches his grip on your wrists. 

“You want me to die? Is that what you want?” he hisses, speaking of the sloppy blowjob you gave him, gliding his wet cock across your seashell. You lose a breath, drowsy eyes fluttering, spreading your legs for him. No wonder you’re tired—you gave it your all. He sinks his teeth hard into his bottom lip, his frustration rising, brows knitted. “You can’t play with me like that. I was seconds away from coming all over your pretty face.” 

“I wanted you to,” you say, loud and clear, and Jungkook is hot all over. 

Turning you over to your side, he squeezes the flesh of your bum until it hurts as a punishment, knowing you’re not ready for the full thing. It’s too soon. Your wincing breaks into a low, alluring moan and it fills him with adrenaline. And then you smile at him, light flashing in your countenance. You’re anything but punished; you’re pleased. 

Looks like you need another form of punishment. 

Fuck it, fuck all spiritual aspects of this. The angels in heaven need to look away for now and cover their ears. He’s going to make love to you in a way they’ve never witnessed before and it’s good that they never will. 

“What did you say?” Jungkook feignedly questions, pinning you back down and burying himself in your heat. Having stretched you out well enough, he gives you his half right away, but he doesn’t stop there, not when you lift your chest off of the mattress, not when you lose yourself in the sudden fullness and the music of your mutual moans. You grip him so tight that he forgets, for a split moment, what he’s punishing you for. 

You stammer, seemingly forgetting, too. And when his mound kisses yours, your words falter altogether—a crescendo into silence. Eyes wide, unblinking, taking him most courageously. Jungkook hums, immensely proud of you, slowly pounding you into the mattress with hard strokes. 

And when he gives you a particularly unmerciful one, you scream, shaking all over in his hands. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s what you get,” he purrs, grinding his hips, loving the way he toys with your senses, your peaked nubs digging into his chest, and you can’t catch your breath, your whole body tense. “Too deep?” 

You nod. “Too deep, baby, I can’t take it, fuck. It’s too much.” 

Cooing, he kisses you. The pet name, your tightness—he’s losing his mind and it’s your fault. Your wonderful, wonderful fault. You don’t even let him pull out, you keep him caged in, your walls fluttering against him and he whimpers, shaking like you, unable to continue kissing you. 

“Relax, my love, or you’re really gonna kill me,” he croaks out, ascending to heavenly places where they don’t, in most certainty, don’t want to see him. Sitting back on his feet, he thumbs your clit, helping you calm down. “Good girl. Feels good, stuffed full like this? My thumb rubbing your sweet little clit, hm?” 

It is a miracle, the way he knows your body and knows what to do with it because your walls loosen, enabling him to fuck you, sloppily, your slick squeaking along with your quickening breaths. You scream out your yeses, driving him to give you his all. 

“Just like that,” he whispers, approving, his balls tightening already, the pressure in his lower tummy becoming bigger. 

You deserve the full thing, though. Jungkook places your knee on his shoulder. And with each stroke, his mound stimulates your clit, getting you nice and fast to his level. 

He cradles your blissed-out face, the heel of his palm putting pressure on your throat. And onto that expression of elation, he uncoils his love for you, brutally fucking you until your whole body ripples beneath him. 

“Whose are you, huh?” he moans, driving into you, rearranging your guts. Sweat drips off of his forehead. “Whose pretty girl are you?” 

Your own sounds of pleasure rise in pitch and volume and he senses, he knows you’re about to come for him. 

“Yours, Jungkook, yours,” you choke out and he’s so proud of you that he hums, his balls slapping against your bum, and he kisses you, giving you his tongue. You suck on it, getting him right there to the edge of his orgasm. 

“Fuck, such a good girl. All mine. You know that I love you, right?” 

And the once reappearing absurdity of his choice of words pushes over that edge and you squeeze him, squeeze him hard, milking his cum out of you and he growls into your mouth. You take over each and every one of his senses, making them yours, and he fucks his cum into you, his mouth smacking against yours, as you whisper your I love you’s and he swallows them down. 

Heaven or something beyond. You created it and he wants to spend the rest of his life there. 

Panting, he kisses your jaw, marking you there for the last time. Unbelief grasping him that he finds himself in such a place glazed with love. “You love me?” 

You whimper, shuddering all over, your orgasm still seizing you. “I love you so fucking much.” 

He licks into your mouth, ending your release. “My best girl. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. You’re never getting out of my sight again.” 

Jungkook lets go of your wrists. They must be cramping, tingling and he massages them in the air, sitting back, his length still inside your homely heat. Your eyes wet again, sobs break out of your mouth and he shushes you most affectionately, his heart twinging. He lifts you and sits you down on his lap, hugging you close to his chest. Skin to skin. You cling to him with everything in you and he holds you together, so you don’t fall apart. 

“You’re my savior. My healer,” you wail, gripping his hair. As if your breaking wasn’t enough, your words hit him hard and his vision soaks along with yours. You’ve never told him that before—never told him the roles he has in your life. He appreciates them so much, holds them dear to his heart. Never wants to forget them. “Don’t ever leave me, please. I beg you.” 

It’s him who now breaks. Right there on your shoulder, beneath the waterfall of your hair. 

“I could never. You’re my life. You’re my everything. How could I ever leave you?” 

You sob harder, lifting your head, and the sight of your rawness makes him fall even more in love with you. Jungkook smooths down your hair and wipes away your tears. Kisses you, deeply, and lingers there. And along with the kiss, you and him exchange your last I love you’s for the night. 

Tub drained, candle snuffed out, cheese balls devoured, the rain finishing like that chapter of your life—Jungkook feels himself entering a brand new one with you, one where Yoongi isn’t present, as he dresses you in his clothes. For panties, he slinks your legs into his boxers, keeping them warm with a pair of his own joggers. Then, he tugs his hoodie down your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves. Smirks at the way his clothes fit you well. As if they were your own. At the way he matches with you. 

He overflows with a thrumming life. 

A brand new chapter filled with myriads of different, ecstatic possibilities. And you seal them to completion, when tucked in bed, lying on his chest, you sleepily utter the first prospect that you want to bring to life.

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?” 

His breath hitches in his throat. He never thought he’d be returning there so soon, especially not with you. His mouth quirks up, body suffused with a foreign excitement, and right away he deduces the reason why you want to go there. 

“You really want that dildo, don’t you?” 

You merely laugh through your nose. 

Oh, he’s calling in sick tomorrow. Will take you there first thing in the morning. Will do absolutely anything for you. 

“I’ll fuck you hard with it until you completely drench it, then. Sleep for now, so we can get to tomorrow.” 

You kiss his clothed chest. Nuzzle your face in it. Whisper your thank you. Jungkook pretends he didn’t just get hard all over again. 

“Good night,” you say. 

He pecks your hair. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[lavenderspence]

unexplained sadness | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | Word Count: 2.5K

Content warning: pre-established relationship, depression, mental health struggles, mentions of therapy, angst, supportive!aaron

Summary: you've struggled to find a way out from under the darkness for years, but you were thankful he offered the final push you needed.

A/N: I drafted this a few days, contemplating if I should even post it. it's very self-indulgent. I wrote it at a time when I wasn't able to understand my own feelings, and im still not sure how. I think this is the realest my writing has been, but i do think I'm posting this with the most vulnerability as well. I want you all to remember, just in case you're struggling - you're amazing, you're enough and I believe in you. Life is crazy, but it will get better, allow yourself to be patient, and most importantly, take the greatest, most gentle care of yourself 💕

You looked around, well aware of the amount of relief that should be flooding your body right now. It usually did at the end of a case, where another monster was put to rot in a cage much appropriate for its’ sins. 

But even knowing what you should be feeling, the simple truth was - you weren’t feeling anything at all, and you hadn’t for a while. 

And even when you did feel something, you could never explain it. It was a mess, where many emotions fought a battle, but in the end, all it came down to was an endless void where the darkness and despair of the unexplained won out.

The only thing you could feel at that moment was the pressure of the vest compressing against your chest. It stole the little amount of oxygen in your lungs in favor of an overwhelming amount of hidden sadness. 

Even with the sun high up in the sky and the warmth it was supposed to spread all over your skin, you felt cold - no warmth actually penetrated the top layer of your skin. And the chatter - EMTs, police officers, and outlookers, you couldn’t process anything at all. 

It was like you were standing there, like a statue, a headstone to remind everyone of your presence once upon a time, but not anymore. Physically, you were alive and aware, but mentally, you’ve been fighting a battle you could confidently admit you were losing. 

Your thoughts were deeply wrapped in a cobweb of confusion and melancholy, a never-ending cycle that couldn’t stop repeating itself. It felt like you didn’t exist outside the realm of your own despair. Each day the shadows around you persisted in their pursuit of you, dragging in with them this empty feeling, designed to leave you feeling like a loner. 

The string holding you tethered to the person you’d been before was tinning each day as the distance between you grew bigger and bigger. You no longer even felt her presence at all. For weeks you’ve fought a silent battle against your own mind, and even your body sometimes. 

You tried to hide behind a mask of fake smiles and nights spent around the people you trusted most, hoping you’d feel better, but you never did. You only felt this state you were in, as it gained speed and grew in volume. 

But there was a certain pair of eyes that saw the subtle changes in you, straight into a place even you couldn’t see. Warm chocolate, sometimes shining amber in the sun - somehow strict but also oh so soft. 

You thought you hid it well, but you could never hide yourself from him, and you should have known. 

Your hotel room was dark and quiet, safe for the gentle light and sound that came from the TV. A movie was playing, an early 2000s song in the background. The duvet felt heavy over your body, and you longed to kick it off in an effort to feel less trapped, but you couldn’t find the strength to. It was like your whole body was paralyzed in a fatal position with your muscles locked and your eyes open but unseeing. 

Case after case came, and each day it got harder. You had to try and perfect a mask you were getting tired of wearing, tired of hiding behind. You couldn’t skip work, lest you wanted to feel like more of a failure than you already did sometimes. 

You felt scared to admit to your struggles, half unsure what your struggles were to begin with, half unwilling to unload on others. You were willing to suffer and fight this on your own until you either had nothing left to fight against or no strength left to fight at all.

Your mind was working overtime, half empty and dark, half full and constantly spinning, you didn’t even process the foreign sound at first. Only it wasn’t so foreign - a series of gentle raps or someone’s knuckles against the door. Knocking. They were just enough to alert you of a newcoming presence but not disturb you or others in any way. 

You didn’t move a muscle. Even when two more knocks followed, even more gentle than the first, all you could do was blink. Even with the soft call of your name that came seconds later, you couldn’t find the strength to answer or even get up. You couldn’t even twitch. 

You stood there frozen in place, in time. Frozen between the walls of a prison of your own mind’s making. 

The knocks stopped, as did the voice calling out your name, maybe finally resigned to the fact you weren’t answering at all. 

Giving up on you the way you’d given up on yourself. 

You would be surprised if you didn’t feel a tiny bit of relief at being left on your own. Too bad the relief didn’t actually last long - just seconds after the lock beeped, signaling it was unlocked, and the door was slowly opening, bathing the room in the hallway light. 

Even with the small, hesitant steps this person took, you were instantly able to tell by the sounds of his feet hitting the wooden floor who it was. 

“Did you know it’s actually illegal to break into someone’s space?” Your voice came out raspy from misuse. You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed since you made it to your room, but if you had to guess, probably several hours had gone by.

“I do know that actually, it’s criminal law 101.” He retorted before you felt the mattress dip close to your feet, “You missed dinner.” He mussed.

A part of you couldn’t handle having a conversation with him, not right now. Not in the complete darkness, and the quiet stretched between you both. 

“I wasn’t hungry.” You answered simply. You waited for him to say something, and you waited and waited, and he wasn’t saying anything. It was like he was looking for the right words to use, so as not to offend you, or set you off. But you wouldn’t feel any of it if he did - just as the night was dark outside and so was your mind. 

“Just spit it out, Hotch.” You finally used a part of his name, unintentionally closing the distance the smallest bit even when you tried to stay away. Maybe subconsciously you knew you could trust him, if a little.  

“You’re not doing well.” 

You didn’t even hesitate. “Wow, way to show you aren't actually a gentleman.”

“I’m not trying to...” You could almost see him shaking his head, so in tune with his reactions from years of working alongside him, “I’m worried about you.” It left him in a whisper, like he was afraid to admit it. 

“I’m okay, there’s no need.” You denied it like it was your biggest defense against his accusations. Except they weren’t that, genuine worry dripped along with his words, but you had a hard time accepting it. You couldn’t, didn’t want to. Being vulnerable, especially in front of him, could cost you a lot, and with the way you’ve been living, you couldn’t afford it.

Even when deep in your heart you trusted him with everything, even yourself. 

You felt him place his hand on the duvet, enclasping his palm around your calf. “You were okay five weeks ago, and you haven’t been since then. I’ve been watching you wear a mark and barely holding yourself from falling apart. I don’t think ‘okay’ applies right now.” 

“I thought we promised not to profile each other.” You muttered brokenly, feeling parts of the mask he was talking about cracking in places. It was like having him so close, peeling your outer layers slowly, and leaving you exposed, finally making your emotional reactions coincide with your lack of understanding. It was like he was exposing all of you both to himself and you too. 

“Not at the expense of suffering in silence, we didn’t.” He answered with conviction, no hesitation. He was making it apparent your wellbeing was more important to him than any promise he might have made to you or others. He was letting you know he was prioritizing your health over everything else. 

He understood you even without you having to say anything. Just by watching you try to swim to the surface of the ocean and still being pushed by the crashing waves, he could already feel that you were struggling. 

He could see you were self-isolating, even when you were being surrounded by people. He picked up on the signs in the subtle subject changes you made whenever someone asked anything about you. You were unwilling to share, even though you loved sharing any little detail about your interest, allowing others to do the same. 

You let Garcia talk about her software and cute animals and allowed Reid to share any little fact with you he could. But even when you listened, it wasn’t hard to see you really weren’t. Staring into spaces or faking an interest, even though he knew you would be interested in the first place, had there not been anything amis to begin with. 

And slowly piece after piece had started falling together, like a puzzle started, yet left abandoned. 

In the darkness of the hotel room, miles away from your home and mere doors down from the rest of your team, a piece deep inside you started longing for the understanding he was offering. It started building up with worry over the reality of the words you knew you needed to say but were too scared to. It started wishing for a new slate, where the overwhelming amount of confusion and empty darkness no longer followed you like a shadow. 

It slowly started coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t enough to fight this on your own and that maybe you needed help to do so.

For the first time in weeks, months, who knew, maybe even years, you wanted to talk about it. You wanted to admit to your state of mind where reality got mangled with your deepest darkest thoughts imaginable, where self-doubt and the feeling of worthlessness took over. Where giving up sounded so much better than trying out again. Where any positivity was instantly turned into negativity whether you liked it or not. 

For the first time you craved being helped, you wanted to understand your own struggles and get better. You wanted to thrive in the life you were living instead of settling for simply existing. You wanted to talk, and you wanted to tell him all that. 

You rolled your lips between your teeth before you bit down until you tasted blood. One of your hands barely made it out from underneath the warmth of the duvet before you grabbed into the bedding with a tight fist. 

“I don’t think I’m doing okay, Aaron.” You whispered into the darkness. The bed dipped and groaned as he moved closer, settling just centimeters away from your cocoon this time. You were so busy looking over the skyline that you didn’t even see his hand move until you felt his warm palm overtop your skin. He held onto you, trying to prompt you into releasing the bedding, tapping his fingers in a gentle manner. 

He was offering you comfort without really saying or doing anything. He was letting you try and put your thoughts together before you entrusted him with the truth. 

“One minute I’m good, and the next it feels like I lose all touch with my own self and my feelings - It’s all empty, or an overwhelming amount of sadness I couldn’t begin to even understand. I can’t even grasp what prompts this sudden change. I’ve tried fighting it for so long, years maybe, and each time it comes back, I’m left feeling more hopeless than the last.” You explained in a small voice. 

A wave of relief, if small, rocked your whole body. There was something freeling about saying it out loud, ignoring the fear of admitting that had followed you for years. 

“Have you ever told anyone about it?” His voice was just another shadow in the room. A timbre so calm, quiet, and soothing that you knew he was listening with no reservations and no judgments. Just a pure need to help.

You went to shake your head, but remembered you were both still looking towards the window. “I’ve always played it off as a joke. I’ve never let it sound like I really mean it. Not like I do right now.” It was one of the many truths you’d admitted to that night. Even when you played it off, you knew deep inside it was a small cry for help you didn’t want to. You were unwilling to take the right steps in order to get the help you needed. 

“Why joke about it?” You thought about it for a second, trying to clear out the fog of the past.

“I guess…” Your fingers clenched underneath his own. “I guess I just wanted to see if anyone cared enough to ask if I was serious. They didn’t.” Realistically, you knew you shouldn’t wait on other people or expect them to see something amiss before you looked for help. But a part deep enough inside you wanted the reassurance that someone loved you enough to notice.

“But you want to get help?” He mumbled, still tapping his finger against your own.

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. You owed yourself that much, and all the help possible you could get.

“Okay.” He exhaled in relief, “As soon as we get back, we’ll start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. You felt his hand squeeze your own in reassurance. You turned your palm up, enveloped his own hand, and gave him one back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

A few minutes of looking at the starless sky passed before he prompted you to move, if just enough to walk into the bathroom and wash your face - and you did. When you came back, he’d made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard, legs stretched on the mattress. 

He spent the night sleeping in yesterday’s clothes, trying to make sure you were doing okay and weren’t left feeling lonely. 

You knew there was a long path ahead of you - the path to self-understanding and acceptance of your own flaws and struggles, as well as the changes you may need to adapt to moving forward. Something you were undoubtedly going to have a hard time with. Where you’d need to fight against the days when you questioned whether it was worth it. Where you’d slowly have to come to terms with the fact that as long as you were making yourself happy and keeping yourself afloat, there wasn’t anything worth more. 

The path to recovery was never supposed to be easy or linear, but you had him to thank for being the final push. You had to be thankful for each minute of the time he gave you. And each grain of love he showed you in the process. 

You needed the help - for yourself, your past, your present, and your future self. And for every second you spent failing to understand the person you were and the feelings you held onto.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[its-avalon-08]

Hello! I loved the seb vettel breathe baby breathe fic! can u make one where seb and y/n are dating and they gte into a really wierd silent flight. they have been super distant for two months now. y/n works as a engineer in ferrari whilst seb is in redbull. they just lost the spark. seb gives one word replies and everything is wrong. one day y/n is sobbing silently in the kitchen and seb comes running. y/n and seb confront eachother. make it majot angst happy ending. thanks!

silence is the killer (sv5)

message from anon - "Hi! Sorry can u change the kitchen to balcony? I want it to overlook the sunset and stuff. sorry for the inconvenience"

The private jet hummed with an oppressive silence. Y/N stared out the window, the clouds mimicking the turmoil in her stomach. Two months. Two excruciating months of strained conversations, stolen glances that held a universe of unspoken hurt, and a gnawing sense of distance that had grown between her and Sebastian. It felt like they were on a high-speed train hurtling towards a destination neither of them wanted.

Earlier, as Sebastian zipped up his duffel bag, a question tumbled out of Y/N, a question that felt heavier than it should have been. "Going out tonight?"

"Party," he replied, his voice clipped. A pang shot through her. He hadn't bothered to invite her. It wasn't like him. They used to spend every spare moment together, decompressing after the pressure of the races, sharing stolen kisses in the motorhome, whispering dreams and secrets under starlit skies.

Their careers had always been demanding, both chasing the ultimate prize in Formula One. But this felt different. The spark seemed to have sputtered out, replaced by a cold, empty space where laughter and warmth used to reside. Every attempt at conversation was met with a one-word reply from Sebastian, punctuated by long, heavy silences that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. It felt like she was talking to a stranger wearing his familiar face, a ghost of the man she'd fallen in love with.

The silence was shattered by a ping from Y/N's phone. A message from Kimi, their teammate at Ferrari. "Big congrats on the promotion, Y/N! You deserve it!" Her heart swelled with a mixture of pride and a deep, gnawing sadness. A promotion – a culmination of years of hard work, a testament to her dedication and talent. Maybe this was a new beginning, a chance for a fresh start in her career, even if her personal life was crumbling around her like a sandcastle under the relentless tide.

Just then, Sebastian spoke, his voice laced with a hint of confusion, a stark contrast to his usual stoicism. "Promotion? How come I didn't know about this?"

Y/N's smile evaporated faster than champagne bubbles. "I told you," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. The words felt heavy on her tongue, a constant reminder of the conversations that never happened, the silences that spoke volumes.

Sebastian's brow furrowed. "What? When?"

"Weeks ago," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "When you were...busy." The last word dripped with a bittersweet irony, a painful reminder of the long nights he spent training, strategizing, anything but spending time with her.

A flicker of something – regret, maybe, or realization – crossed Sebastian's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He blinked rapidly, a sheen appearing in his eyes that mirrored the cityscape lights reflecting in the car windows. Y/N saw it, the vulnerability beneath his stoic facade, a vulnerability that chipped away at the wall of resentment she'd built around her heart. But a bigger part of her was numb. The silence returned, heavier than before, a suffocating blanket that wrapped itself around them, stealing the oxygen from the conversation, leaving only the raw, exposed nerve of their fading connection.

The plane touched down with a soft thud, a jarring contrast to the turmoil within. They disembarked, the familiar routine of retrieving luggage a stark contrast to the turmoil within. Now, they sat in a car, Sebastian driving, the cityscape blurring past the window. Neither of them made a move to break the silence. It was a heavy silence, pregnant with unspoken questions, hurt feelings, and the fading embers of a love that might have been saved, if only they'd spoken sooner, if only they'd fought for what they had. The question hung in the air, a silent accusation: how did we get here?

seb's pov :

Frustration gnawed at me. The silence was suffocating, a tangible entity pressing down on us. Y/N stared out the window, her face a mask of what I could only imagine was hurt. The guilt gnawed at me, a dull ache in my gut.

The truth was, I didn't know how we'd gotten here. Everything seemed to be happening at breakneck speed – championships to defend, sponsors to meet, endless travel. Somewhere along the way, the laughter had died, the late-night talks dwindled, and the space between us had grown wider.

Pulling into the usual spot, I killed the engine. "Lunch?" I asked, the question heavy on my tongue. Y/N shook her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

"No thanks, Seb. I have a mountain of paperwork to catch up on."

The dismissal stung. Back in the day, she'd have insisted we grab a sandwich, stolen a moment together amidst the chaos. Now, it felt like every interaction had to be negotiated.

I watched her disappear into the building, my gaze falling on Lewis strolling next to her, a playful jab at her shoulder eliciting a short laugh. It was the first real laugh I'd heard from her in weeks. A strange mix of jealousy and relief bubbled up inside me. Relief that she wasn't perpetually shrouded in sadness, but jealousy that it was someone else who'd managed to coax a smile out of her.

The rest of the week was a blur of meetings and debriefs. There were stolen glances across the paddock, a brush of fingers that sent a jolt down my spine, and the lingering scent of her perfume in the air after she'd left for the day. Every night, she leaned in, a ghost of a kiss landing on my cheek before she disappeared into her room. It felt like a plea, a silent attempt to bridge the growing chasm between us.

One evening, I found myself drawn back to our room after dinner. Y/N sat on the balcony, her phone clasped in her hands, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. My heart ached. I knew then that the distance wasn't just the result of our hectic schedules. It was something deeper, something I couldn't quite grasp.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the balcony. "Hey," I croaked out, my voice thick with emotion. Y/N startled, quickly wiping away the tear.

She turned to me, a flicker of hope sparking in her eyes before fading just as quickly. "Seb," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

We stood there for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The silence stretched on, threatening to swallow us whole. But this time, something was different. This time, I wouldn't let it. I had to know. I had to fight for what we had, even if I didn't know where to begin.

The dam broke. Y/N's shoulders started shaking, a choked sob escaping her lips. Before I could react, she spun around, burying her face in her hands. Her body wracked with silent tears, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the quiet night.

My heart shattered in my chest. I rushed to her side, panic clawing at my throat. "Baby," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. Tentatively, I reached out, my hand hovering over her shoulder.

She flinched at first, then leaned back against me, the floodgates finally opening. Tears streamed down her face, hot and silent. My own vision blurred as a wave of guilt and regret washed over me. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, the scent of her shampoo a familiar comfort amidst the storm.

"Y/N," I choked out, my voice raw. "I'm so sorry. So incredibly sorry."

She didn't speak, just clung tighter, her sobs muffling against my chest. In that moment, the silence that had plagued us for weeks was a distant memory. The only sound that mattered was the ragged rhythm of her breathing, the steady beat of my own heart echoing the frantic rhythm of a race.

Holding her felt like holding onto the last shred of something precious. It was a desperate attempt to rewind time, to claw back the moments we'd let slip away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her sobs subsided into hiccups. She pulled back slightly, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. Her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, held a vulnerability that tore at my soul.

"My heart hurts, Seb," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It hurts so fucking much, how did we get here seb? When did everything go wrong?."

The words struck me like a physical blow. The weight of her pain was a tangible thing, pressing down on me. I cupped her face in my calloused hands, forcing myself to meet her gaze.

"Mine too," I confessed, tears tracing warm paths down my own cheeks. "More than you'll ever know. Please lets just talk about it, don't give up on us baby please don't.."

The unspoken apology hung in the air, a silent promise to mend what we'd broken. We stood there for a long time, two souls battered by the storm, seeking solace in the wreckage. The path ahead was uncertain, but in that moment, we were together. And for now, that was enough.

We clung to each other, the world fading away into a blur of moonlight and the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Slowly, Y/N disentangled herself from the embrace, wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand.

"Talk to me, Seb," she said, her voice hoarse, but laced with a newfound determination. "What's going on?"

Shame washed over me. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed to hear those words. To finally break the silence that had choked the life out of our relationship.

"I... I don't know," I stammered, my voice thick with emotion. "The pressure, it's been building. The championship fight, the sponsors, everything just feels so overwhelming." My voice cracked, a sob escaping my lips. "I just... I shut down. Pushed everyone away, especially you."

Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Y/N didn't flinch. Instead, she took my hand, her touch a beacon in the storm. Gently, she brushed away a tear that traced a path down my cheek.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. "Let it out."

And I did. The words tumbled out in a torrent, a jumbled mess of anxieties and insecurities. The fear of failure, the weight of expectations, the constant feeling of being on the edge. I spoke of the loneliness that had gnawed at me despite being surrounded by people, the way I'd convinced myself pushing her away was somehow protecting her.

The entire time, Y/N sat beside me, a silent pillar of strength. She listened with a patience I didn't deserve, wiping away every tear that escaped, her touch a soothing balm on my raw emotions.

By the time I finished, I was drained, emotionally spent. I looked at her, bracing myself for the inevitable storm, for the anger and hurt I knew I deserved.

But all I saw in her eyes was understanding. A soft smile played on her lips, laced with a hint of sadness. "It's not your fault," she said, her voice gentle. "This sport, it gets inside you, twists and contorts everything until all you see is the finish line."

Relief washed over me, warm and unexpected. "You... you understand?"

She nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Of course I do. We're in this together, remember?" Her voice hitched slightly. "But you can't keep bottling things up, Seb. Talk to me. Let me in."

The words were a revelation. The realization that pushing her away had only served to push us further apart settled in my stomach like a lead weight.

"I will," I promised, my voice thick with emotion. "I'll try my best to communicate."

We sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy in the air. But this time, it was a different kind of silence. A hopeful one, filled with the promise of a new beginning.

As the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, painting the sky in a kaleidoscope of pinks and oranges, I knew we had a long way to go. But for the first time in weeks, I felt a spark of hope flicker within me. We were broken, yes, but not beyond repair. And with Y/N by my side, I was ready to face the challenges ahead, together.

We sat on the cool floor of the balcony, the city lights twinkling below like scattered diamonds. The weight of the confession had lifted, replaced by a fragile hope. The silence, this time, was filled with a tentative peace, an unspoken promise to rebuild. Y/N leaned against me while I played with her hair.

"So," I began, my voice rough from crying, "tell me about this promotion. You barely mentioned it."

Y/N chuckled, a fragile sound. "It all happened so fast. They needed someone to fill a senior role, and apparently, my name came up."

I couldn't help but feel a pang of something akin to jealousy. "Why didn't you tell me? We should've celebrated!" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, the memory of Kimi's congratulatory text a fresh sting.

Y/N's smile faltered slightly. "I tried, Seb. But you were always so… distant. Lost in your own world."

Her words hit a nerve, a stark reminder of my own failings. Shame burned in my gut. "I'm so sorry. I was a complete idiot."

Y/N reached out, her fingers brushing against mine. "It's okay. Just promise you'll listen now." Her voice held a note of playful challenge.

I squeezed her hand, the warmth seeping into my cold fingers. "Always."

We talked for hours, catching up on the lost weeks. I learned about her anxieties about the new role, the pressure to deliver, the long nights spent buried in technical manuals. She listened patiently as I recounted the grueling training sessions, the never-ending strategy meetings, the suffocating pressure to win.

"And those parties?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Stress relief, or just a way to avoid me?"

I winced. "Neither, honestly. Just… a way to escape for a while. I shouldn't have shut you out."

"Well, maybe next time, you could invite me to escape with you," she said, her eyes twinkling with a playful glint.

A relieved laugh escaped my lips. "Deal. But only if you promise to keep me grounded."

"Always," she replied, mimicking my earlier words before leaning in and planting a soft kiss on my lips. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like a spark igniting a long-dormant fire.

"But seriously, Seb," Y/N continued, her voice turning serious. "Are you taking care of yourself? Eating properly? Getting enough sleep?"

The concern in her voice washed over me. "I… I try," I admitted sheepishly. Travel, training, and the constant mental strain often took a toll on my well-being.

She shook her head playfully. "Trying isn't enough. Promise me you'll make an effort. For yourself, and for me."

Looking into her eyes, the love and worry shining back at me, I knew I couldn't refuse. "I promise my love," I said, my voice filled with newfound determination.

The night bled into morning, the city lights giving way to the soft glow of dawn. We still had a mountain of issues to navigate, the road to recovery wouldn't be easy. But with open communication, a newfound understanding, and the unwavering presence of the woman I loved by my side, I knew we could face anything, together.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Y/N asked, her voice gentle as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The air hung heavy with unspoken thoughts, and I knew she could sense my hesitation.

"It's stupid, really," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"Nothing's stupid if it's bothering you," she insisted, her touch a soothing balm on my conscience. Taking a deep breath, I met her eyes.

"Seeing you laugh with the other drivers," I admitted, shame creeping into my voice. "It felt… strange. Like you were a world away."

Y/N's brow furrowed in understanding. "Oh, Seb," she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of sadness.

"I know it's ridiculous," I continued, my voice defensive. "We're competitive, all of us. But seeing you smile… it just reminded me of how distant we'd become. When Kimi texted you about the promotion, I damn near wanted to strange him. All those time I declined lunch and Lewis came over and made you smile, I haven't hated myself more."

A small smile played on Y/N's lips. "Jealous of Lewis getting a laugh out of me?" she teased playfully.

"Maybe a little," I admitted sheepishly. "But mostly, I just missed seeing you happy, and having it be because of me."

The raw vulnerability in my voice seemed to soften her even further. She reached out, her thumb gently stroking a tear that traced a path down my cheek.

"We were both drowning, Seb," she said, her voice soft. "The pressure, the distance… it took its toll on both of us. But seeing them smile, seeing you smile, that's not a bad thing. It just means we know how to find joy, even when things are tough."

Her words resonated with me. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Perhaps seeing her connect with others wasn't a sign of her drifting away, but a testament to her strength, her resilience.

"I guess I just…" I fumbled for the right words. "I just want to be the reason behind your smile."

Y/N's smile widened, brighter than the sunrise painting the horizon. "You are, Seb," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "You always have been, and I hope you always will be."

She leaned in then, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss filled with forgiveness, a promise for a new beginning, and a reminder of the love that had weathered the storm. We might have been bruised, but we were far from broken. And as we sat there, bathed in the golden light of dawn, a new chapter in our love story began.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ avaspeaks - anon ur such a star <3 i hope u enjoy this ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

Do you know why dogs do that little exhausted sigh when they lie down even when they haven't really done anything that particular day?

I, too, make exhausted little sighs when I flop down and am suddenly extremely comfy!

But, okay, here's what super interesting. I didn't want to just give you a flippant answer, so I started looking up if sighing is a behavior in other species than humans. Because it's always worth keeping an eye out for accidental anthropomorphism. Turns out? The science on sighing is fascinating. Stay tuned for intense nerding out, and maybe a bit more of an answer.

First off, we gotta know what a sigh is.

"The sigh is a deep augmented breath with distinct neurobiological, physiological, and psychological properties that distinguish it from a normal eupneic breath. Sighs are typically triggered by a normal eupneic breath and are followed by a respiratory pause, which is referred to as 'postsigh apnea.'"

In non-jargon, that definition means sighs are a deep breath with a different pattern to it than normal, easy, regular breathing. "Augmented breaths" are frequently used as a synonym for "sighs", and the best definition I found is that "they comprise prolonged inspiration and increased tidal volume followed by a respiratory pause and several seconds of faster breathing. So a longer than normal inhale where you take in more air than normal, then an exhale, and then pause before breathing in again. Oh hey, look, I found a graph!

The graph is super well labeled, but just to be clear: each cycle of the red line is a normal breath, where what's being tracked is the movement of the chest wall. The part where the vertical blue bar is, that's the cycle with a sigh. The red line spikes really high (during inspiration, or breathing in) at that blue patch, and for longer than the normal period of a breath. See how it's almost like two inhales on top of each other - a normal slope and then another upward spike? That's the "augmentation" of the normal breath, almost a double inhale without breathing out in-between. Then, after the red line drops (on the exhale) there's a flat bit. That's the respiratory pause, which the period after the sigh where you wait before you inhale again.

Apparently people have been tracking sighing scientific for like, over 100 years. The first record of it in academic literature was in 1919. And we know some really cool stuff. All humans sigh spontaneously. Even babies sigh! They do it every few minutes, whereas it's less frequent but still pretty regular in adults: one study found about once every five minutes, or twelve sighs an hour.

Okay, but why do we sigh? We only sort of know, because there's a bunch of different things that have to be studied to answer that question. The direct physiological aspect of it is the most well known at this point. You've got lots of little sacs lining your lungs, called alveoli, that facilitate gas transfer from the air you breathe into your blood. They make sure oxygen goes in and carbon dioxide gets breathed out. But sometimes they collapse and deflate, which prevents them from doing their job. When you do a big sigh, the air quantity in your lungs ends up being double that of normal, which inflates them again. So sighing is a way of doing lung maintenance, in a sense.

But there's so much more going on when you sigh than just that! This is the stuff researchers are still working on. They've got some pretty solid conclusions to start, but they're very emphatic that there's a ton more to learn.

Basically, the main hypothesis right now is that sighing functions as a "reset" for your internal state when it's out of balance. People sigh more when they're acutely anxious or stressed, are anticipating a negative outcome like a shock or seeing a negative image, or have chronic anxiety, PTSD, or panic disorders. Higher sigh frequency is also associated with pain: people with chronic low back pain sigh more, and how much they do correlates with how high their pain rating is at the time!

Another aspect of sighing is that it's frequently associated with periods of relief. Studies have noted that people sigh when they're able to relax following tension, like if they're interrupted while trying to do something really mentally taxing, when they finish a task that took a lot of attention for a long time, or if a negative stimulus stops/goes away. The reason behind that is actually thought to be why people sigh so much when they're upset or in pain: sighing doesn't just signal relief, but actually cause it! Some studies have found that people experience a temporary reduction in muscle tension right after a spontaneous sigh. (Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to also happen when you sigh on purpose.)

Sighing is also thought to facilitate behavioral and emotional transitions. The frequency at which someone sighs changes even just when they transition from sitting to lying down. People frequently sigh right before they fall asleep or start to wake up. One study found that people sigh more frequently when they go from a situation of being unable to anticipate what's next to a situation where they know what the outcome will be - regardless of if that outcome is going to be negative or positive! That led the researchers to hypothesize that sighing functions as an emotional reset from states of high internal arousal (a word which here means "the state of feeling awake, activated, and highly reactive to stimuli.") So sighing might not just bring relief when something really intense ends, but it might also help people prepare for upcoming stress.

Basically, researchers think that sighing may contribute to what they call "psychophysiological flexibility." That means that sighing helps keep someone in a physiological and emotional state that matches the situation they're in, and helps the body and mind adapt quickly when something changes. They noted that these types of transitions may involve "anticipatory, activation or recovery responses." In other words: they think spontaneous sighing is relevant not only when you're worried about encountering a leopard in the bush, but when you have to hide from the leopard you tripped over, and then also when you're calming down after the leopard got bored and left.

There's a whole bunch of research left to do about how exactly spontaneous sighs do what they do, but there's also a whole other aspect of the behavior that hasn't really been studied yet: their social function! In humans audible sighing is a salient social signal. (The researchers said the part of the paper addressing this that it is a "lay belief" that sighs have a "communicative function to convey emotions," which makes the whole thing feel like it was written by aliens observing humans from afar). But they did note that sighs for social communications may be totally different from other types of sighs, since the exhalation is often very exaggerated and doesn't always occur in tandem with that "augmented" inhale pattern that spontaneous sighs have.

Okay. So. I've been a nerd forever, but what about doggo sighs? Why do they occur? Obviously, the research doesn't give us a direct answer. The majority of the behavioral / situational research on sighing has been done on people, not animals. But it's pretty well documented lots of animals sigh (it might even be all mammals, I just don't have a citation for that). And some of the studies that have been done on animals indicated that they, too, sigh in relief when negative situations end or unpleasant stimuli go away.

Let's go back to my joke at the beginning of this book I've written. My first instinct was to be like "who doesn't sigh in relaxation when they finally get a chance to rest their bones?" That totally matches what's in the research: getting a chance to rest after activity is often both a behavioral transition and an emotional one, and if there's any physical discomfort being experienced, physical rest is often is a relief.

It seems fairly probable that dogs sigh when they lay down for at least one of those reasons. I can't prove that hypothesis, but it tracks with what the science says so far. The situation you described meets the main identified criteria for sighing: there's the physical transition of laying down, the behavioral/emotional transition of being ready for a period of low/no activity, and the possible relief of pain or discomfort that comes with laying down. We don't have any any evidence (that I was able to find) of species that sigh for other reasons, or sigh in situations that don't meet those criteria. We don't know for sure that this is accurate - this isn't fact, simply my educated guess. But since sighing seems to help muscles relax and relief discomfort, it seems reasonable to me that a good old sigh after the relief of laying down would make the transition to a resting state feel even better.

Sources:

Effects of the hippocampus on the motor expression of augmented breaths

Brainstem activity, apnea, and death during seizures induced by intrahippocampal kainic acid in anaesthetized rats

The Integrative Role of the Sigh in Psychology, Physiology, Pathology, and Neurobiology

Sigh rate during emotional transitions: More evidence for a sigh of relief

The psychophysiology of the sigh: I: The sigh from the physiological perspective

The psychophysiology of the sigh: II: The sigh from the psychological perspective

Affect Arousal

UCLA and Stanford researchers pinpoint origin of sighing reflex in the brain

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #7 The Summons

Imagine dis…

It is always Danny being summoned by cultists, John Constantine, enemies…etc to the mortal plane that starts a beautiful meeting and adventure between the two fandoms. But what if Danny pulled an uno reverse this time, and shenanigans and misunderstandings ensue?

Danny is getting tired of all types of summoning around the Infinite realms, being King and immortal quickly gets boring after a few couple centuries. As well as the fact he is getting annoyed at the summoning that he kept getting himself into. The monologue is getting less creative and less creative by the day, he was sure that all villain monologues are either copyrighted or even ripped off from the same book and source, as they are either A. offering their world for his liking B. making him do something, or even C. kill a certain someone, and you wouldn’t believe the number of times he was summoned for the sole purpose of killing either Batman or Superman from the dubbed both liked and least liked dimension for Danny. Liked as they have real live aliens in that dimension as well so far begun the exciting one in this dimension, Least because the majority of the uncomfortable summoning's are from that dimension and the majority of the so-called heroes are either messing up the timeline which comes to the headache of both Danny and Clockwork as well kept jumping through the dimensions of their universe.

Today he sat on his throne with all of his eldritch glory when he felt that feeling of being summoned, now when being summoned is like a very annoying ring that you have on this phone on volume that kept on ringing until you answer it. Sighing at his current life, the number of times he summoned in that dimension to the point he can already feel and identify the same ringtone for that dimension. In a spur of a moment as well an ungodly amount of pettiness at that moment for all the times he has summoned as well the headache he and his mentor received he pulled an uno reverse on the heroes and prepared himself to get back at them.

…

Superman, Constantine, Batman, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin interfered with yet another cult dedicated to freeing the tyrant Pariah Dark. From what little information they have gathered through the relics and scrolls, Constantine stated that this Pariah Dark will make most of their world-ending fights look like a kid’s squabble due to the vast powers of the Pariah Dark stating that if he wishes though he can destroy this universe in a flick of his hand.

This cult, however, is on a large scale seeing that they were led in a wild goose chase while the other members prepare the runes, sigils, and sacrifices for the necessary ritual.

They managed to stop the cultists from killing their supposed sacrifices when the runes suddenly glowed green, blinding them completely.

The moment they gained consciousness they immediately knew that there is something wrong.

Looking around they noticed that they have been teleported to some sort of forest but looking up to determine the time of the day made them pause.

The sky is painted with endless toxic Lazarus green, and all of the heroes are now on high alert as they assess the situation. They either dimensioned hopped again or they have been dragged by the cultists and transported to wherever this Tyrant ruler is.

Constantine kept reassuring himself that it would be the former but the amount of death magic that flows through the air like oxygen made him think the worse.

Superman tried to fly upwards to have a better view around them but found out that he couldn’t use any of his powers.

As they were navigating this new and dangerous territory Batman kept grilling Constantine for information as every bit of information is now precious as they need to find their way home. Despite Batman drilling for any information that he knew, he knew nothing more other than the following facts.

Pariah Dark is a tyrant that ruled the Infinite realms. Using both fear and his unlimited power to control and dictate the Infinite Realms.

The Infinite Realms have also known as the Ghost zone, in all of the limitless universes and other histories. The Ghost Zone occurs at every feasible and non-feasible moment in time, which means that no matter where or when you are in the Ghost Zone, you are everywhere and every when because it all exists at the same time.

Without the Infinite Realms then there would be the end of their world and reality as they know it.

The residents here are told to be the most powerful ghosts in existence as Deadman could not even measure up to their strengths.

Suddenly the group heard a loud commotion and quickly hid by climbing up the trees for a better view.

There they see a group of large flaming black armored people that covered their entire body and face except for their glowing green eyes. Two of them caught their attention, the larger one has a purple flame surrounding his helmet, carrying a flaming sword as he rides a menacing black horse that has bat-like wings while the other one has a blue flame on top of his head pointing an electrified sword towards the cultists that were teleported differently from them.

From where they at, they were able to hear about the black armored knights that mortals are trespassing around the Infinite Realms. All of the cultists are now screaming and trying to fight off the knights that tried to restrain them, in the end, they were dragged and caged in a metal cage that is connected to a chariot of the skeleton of horses.

They were brought out of their stupor when they heard the continued screaming and begging’s of the cultist in a distant direction and when they heard a child’s giggle below them.

Looking down below them they saw a small child. The child could not be more than 6 with gravity-defying white hair, Lazarus green eyes wearing a simple white cuffed sleeve with brown pants and black shoes.

He pointed at them for being a mortal and looked at them with awe and proceeded to exaggerate the fact that mortals are in the Infinite Realms.

Nightwing being the friendliest face alongside Superman asked who and where they were. The child proceeded to introduce himself as Danny and tell them that they are in the Infinite Realms and that they are trespassing in the land of the dead, being without the High King’s order.

Danny kept gushing at the fact they are living heroes, as well as proceeded to act like a naïve child that will spill information with a few sweet words.

The kid kept asking Nightwing what it’s like to be alive and to eat food that doesn’t attack you.

Of course, that made the heroes grimace seeing that they were reminded that they were in fact in the land of the dead.

Danny next floated towards Superman and excitedly asked about his culture and language as a Kryptonian alien race.

As the ghost child kept asking Superman some questions nobody saw Constantine pale at the moment, they saw the child. As a dark magical user, he can sense the amount of death magic towards a thing or someone. The moment the child appeared in front of them the man Constantine tried to calm his nerves down seeing the abundant concentrated death magic that clings to the child like some parasite.

Batman tried to ask more relevant questions but Danny flew towards Red Hood and Robin exclaiming that they need a doctor, putting on a frown on his face. Batman’s questions kept growing when they heard a siren that seems to echo throughout the realms and the only thing the kid, Danny, said Oh no.

Looking in the direction where Danny looked, they saw a large army of flaming flying horses with black armored knights each of which look like a black sword as the largest one that they have seen before leads them towards their direction the moment they locked eyes on them.

Without thinking of the consequence Red Hood picked up the dead child and proceeded to retreat alongside the rest of the Bat clan, Superman and Constantine.

…

Danny was enjoying this, the soul-whore man was just a bonus. The fact that he owns this poor man’s soul just out of pettiness for tripling the amount of his paperwork for selling his soul to different deities. Once he dies, he is going to embarrass this man to the point he wished he was in hell.

His plan was simple, make them scared at the act of the High King being mad at them. Make them see the horrors of the Infinite Realms and send them home, simple right?

He was about to give them one last scare when he heard an alarm that blared throughout the realms. He just knew that Fright Knight had just pulled the alarm. For the spirit of Halloween, he is serious and zealous about his job. The fact he had forgotten to write a note might be on him.

He was just about to turn around when Red Hood picked him up and carried him like a sack of potatoes. Now in any political sense Red Hood is committing treason, he kept trying to wiggle out of the man’s arms, unable to phase out due to the man’s nature as one of his subjects.

He may be petty but he didn’t mean on making them commit treason, he can do that on his own to piss off the Observants, thank you very much.

Now Danny is panicking about how this prank had railed off course due to his luck.

…

The team of super mortals is now running away from the army approaching them. Using the forest where they have landed to conceal themselves as they think of a way to escape the army of the dead.

Suddenly a green swirling portal opened in front of them, they were about to change direction but Constantine exclaimed loudly that, that portal is the same one that brought them here. So, by that logic that portal will lead them back to their universe.

When they returned to the dark warehouse before they were transported only then they noticed the extra baggage that Red Hood may have brought with him. In fear, Constantine asked why would he bring a ghost child who has extremely protective ghost parents that will hunt them down the moment they realize that he is gone.

Jason argued that ever since Danny appeared the pits quieted down to the moment the ghost child appeared as if he was never been dunked on the Lazarus pits.

As they were arguing Red Robin noticed Danny that he looked worried and kept looking around as if to look for another portal.

…

Newsflash, he was looking for a way to escape the heroes undetected to create his portal.

…

Red Robin was about to ask what was bothering him when all of the heroes present suddenly saw a green outline of a crown and a cape coming from Danny.

Danny asked nervously why were they looking at him funny.

Constantine dropped his cigarette and paled several shades whiter in fear, to the point he was paper.

Batman is now on the verge of a breakdown as well. In a span of a few minutes, they traveled to the land of the dead and saw some ghostly knights and children, and Jason adopting strays in his way. Apparently in the argument the two have and the action, Jason had done in a matter of minutes, his son Jason decided to adopt a ghost child which in return Constantine replied that it is not possible seeing that ghost children in general have protective parents that may hunt us down now that ghost child has a highlight and outline of a crown and cape.

Seeing his look and reaction of Constantine when looked at Danny due to the green highlight outline, Batman demands Constantine's answers as to why and what could be worse news other than Danny’s ghostly parents hunting them down for unintentionally kidnapping their child.

Constantine replied in a small and shaky voice that they didn’t just kidnap an ordinary ghost child, they kidnapped the Crowned Prince of the Infinite Realms.

…

Danny was sure that the cat is out of the bag, but when the sad trench coat man whispered Crowned Prince instead of High King. He can turn this whole situation turn around in his favor, now if only the spandex-wearing men stop harassing him on his so-called “Father-King.”

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so don’t forget to tag me though.

[transgenderer]

The crocodile icefish or white-blooded fish comprise a family (Channichthyidae) of notothenioidfish found in the Southern Ocean around Antarctica. They are the only known vertebrates to lack hemoglobin in their blood as adults.[2]

Although they do not manufacture hemoglobin, remnants of hemoglobin genes can be found in their genome. The hemoglobin protein is made of two subunits (alpha and beta). In 15 of the 16 icefish species, the beta subunit gene has been completely deleted and the alpha subunit gene has been partially deleted.[13] One icefish species, Neopagetopsis ionah, has a more complete, but still nonfunctional, hemoglobin gene.[14]

Red blood cells (RBCs) are usually absent, and if present, are rare and defunct.[15] Oxygen is dissolved in the plasma and transported throughout the body without the hemoglobin protein. The fish can live without hemoglobin via low metabolic rates and the high solubility of oxygen in water at the low temperatures of their environment (the solubility of a gas tends to increase as temperature decreases).[2] However, the oxygen-carrying capacity of icefish blood is less than 10% that of their relatives with hemoglobin.[16]

Myoglobin, the oxygen-binding protein used in muscles, is absent from all icefish skeletal muscles. In 10 species, myoglobin is found in the heart muscle, specifically ventricles.[17] Loss of myoglobin gene expression in icefish heart ventricles has occurred at least four separate times.[2][18]

To compensate for the absence of hemoglobin, icefish have larger blood vessels (including capillaries), greater blood volumes (four-fold those of other fish), larger hearts, and greater cardiac outputs (five-fold greater) compared to other fish.[2] Their hearts lack coronary arteries, and the ventricle muscles are very spongy, enabling them to absorb oxygen directly from the blood they pump.[19] Their hearts, large blood vessels and low-viscosity (RBC-free) blood are specialized to carry out very high flow rates at low pressures.[20] This helps to reduce the problems caused by the lack of hemoglobin.

The Southern Ocean is an atypical environment. To begin with, the Southern Ocean has been characterized by extremely cold but stable temperatures for the past 10-14 million years.[26] These cold temperatures, which allow for higher water oxygen content, combined with a high degree of vertical mixing in these waters, means oxygen availability in Antarctic waters is unusually high. The loss of hemoglobin and myoglobin would have negative consequences in warmer environments.[12] The stability in temperature is also "lucky", as strong fluctuations in temperature would create a more stressful environment that would likely weed out individuals with deleterious mutations. Although most research suggests that the loss of hemoglobin in icefish was a neutral or maladaptive trait that arose due to a random evolutionary event,[27] some researchers have also suggested that the loss of hemoglobin might be tied to a necessary adaptation for the icefish.[27] Most animals require iron for hemoglobin production, and iron is often limited in ocean environments.[28] Through hemoglobin loss, icefish may minimize their iron requirements. This minimization could have aided the icefish survival 8.5 million years ago when Arctic diversity plummeted dramatically.[27]

???

[adaginy]

The Big Guide to Humans: Home Planet

Humans come from a small, rocky planet, called Terra or Earth or some other translation of "dirt," where they lived on the land surface despite the planet being mostly covered (area and volume) by water. They do, however, measure temperature in a scale based approximately on the freezing and boiling points of water (at their average atmospheric pressure), set to 0 and 100. As with "years" (see lifespan and development), your local human can probably tell you the conversion to local measurements, if the knowledge is not in your local storage and the numbers are not being converted automatically by your translation dock. The planet's rotational axis is tilted relative to its orbital plane, resulting in "seasons," a predictable progression of local temperatures between local lows to local highs and back over the course of an orbit, despite its nearly round trajectory. This is in addition to the smaller temperature changes of the day/night cycle. Terran weather temperatures range from -90, below the freezing point of radon, to 60, nearly the boiling point of bromine, though humans mostly live where the weather over the course of a year ranges between -20 to 45.

Humans infamously breathe oxygen, but Terra's atmosphere is actually mostly nitrogen. The 23% oxygen concentration is enough for fires to sustain easily, assuming fuel and initial ignition, but low enough that fires smother nearly immediately when fully covered. Terra's rotation and heat from Sol combine to cause a predictable pattern of convection known as prevailing winds. Winds are often strong enough to move light objects without causing damage, not uncommonly strong enough to make it difficult for humans to move against it, or stronger, and sometimes strong enough to cause damage to buildings. This is in addition to regional threats of "extreme" winds, most notably tornadoes (fast-moving, localized funnels of winds strong enough rip buildings apart and fling heavy objects) and cyclones (weaker than a tornado, but traveling slowly and raining so copiously that shelters are also damaged by water).

Having such copious rain that buildings are damaged can happen outside of a cyclone, as well. While humans can swim surprisingly well for a non-liquid-dwelling species, this water has usually picked up so many contaminants that it is capable of overwhelming a human's immune system if it enters their body via their mouth or damaged skin.

Alternately, little or no water may fall on an area that does not usually experience water scarcity. The resulting "drought" kills plants and animals that cannot be moved. This is less predictable, but takes multiple years to come into effect. A vegetated area facing drought, however, is at particular risk for a wild fire, a fire that becomes too large and fast-moving to be smothered. Areas as big as residential ships can burned before the fire runs out of fuel or is able to be drenched.

Terra's planetary surface is made up of several pieces of "crust" floating on top of its liquid center. At the edges of these pieces, or at cracks in the pieces, huge pieces of crust can be forced upward or buckle under the pressure. Done slowly, so slowly no one notices, this produces mountains. Done quickly, it produces "earth quakes." Some earth quakes can only be sensed by sensors, but others cause buildings to shake apart. Humans know where these edges are and, instead of not building there, they design buildings that are able to resist being shaken. If the locus of the shaking is near or under the ocean, it can cause a fast-moving, towering wave called a "tsunami." An average tsunami is capable of obliterating buildings when it reaches shore, and then sucking any survivors into the ocean when it recedes (with strength far past even the best human swimmers). As with earth quakes, humans design buildings to survive being struck by this wall of water. The same edges and cracks also produce volcanoes, places where the earth's liquid center oozes or bursts out of the ground. This liquid will be at temperatures of 700 or more, above the melting temperature of radium and on past the the melting temperature of gold. It can cause fires when it touches things in addition to being so heavy and/or voluminous that it covers items in its path. Humans generally do not build very close to volcanoes that are frequently or explosively active. However, if a volcano is only likely to erupt once or twice within a human lifespan, or tends to ooze rather than burst, they will simply use several sensors to know when it will happen so they can get out of the way. Because they all originate in the same geological source, it is common to have two of these crack-based issues at once and not unusual to have all three.

Sometimes, rain falls in tiny frozen pieces, covering the ground in a layer of ice chips. Sometimes it falls in large rocks of ice, breaking and shattering what it strikes. Sometimes the temperature is anomalously hot or cold in places where the wildlife and human dwellings are not adapted to those temperatures. Sometimes massive sparks of electricity shoot from the sky to the ground. Sometimes the side of a mountain — or the ice chips piled on the side of the mountain — will fall off and slide down, burying and crushing everything in the way. Sometimes erosion under the surface will cause the surface to give way, leaving a hole in the ground big enough to swallow a person or a building. Sometimes the liquid inside Terra doesn't burst through the surface, but super-heats water until it does. While none of these features are unique to Terra, even among inhabited planets, it is uncommon for an inhabited planet to have so many of these features and it is nearly unique among humans to choose to live in afflicted areas. It can be helpful to understand, when one is wondering why humans and other life from their planet are "like that," that life only evolved on Terra once* and then experienced a burst of population up to and beyond local carrying capacities. Every species, including the plants, shares a common ancestor, and every creature that was ever born (hatched, sprouted, divided, etc) faced immediate competition from other, similar creatures. The ability to run faster, eat weirder, live hardier, spread farther provided an immediate benefit. Furthermore, in addition to the horrors described in this chapter of this guide, in Terra's planetary history there are multiple near-extinction-level events — new chemosynthetic species producing upheavals in the atmospheric gas balance, an asteroid strike, massive volcanic eruptions choking the air with ash and blocking energy from Sol — that further pressed evolution. Terra, truly, has earned its reputation as a death world — but less so for the life that has formed there.

*there is a long-standing idea that cephalopods may have originated separately, but this is really only taken seriously by the Chiparsen, who used to colonize via panspermia. While the Unified Government no longer accepts this as a valid territorial claim, the Chiparsen still hope to prove relation in order to put forth a diplomatic demand that Terrans remove cephalopods from their diet.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words to use instead of air/wind?

Air—the mixture of invisible odorless tasteless gases (such as nitrogen and oxygen) that surrounds the earth

Wind—a natural movement of air of any velocity

Airflow - a flow of air; especially: the motion of air (as around parts of an airplane in flight) relative to the surface of a body immersed in it

Airstream - a current of air

Billow - to bulge or swell out (as through action of the wind)

Blast - a violent gust of wind

Blow - an instance of air moving with speed or force; a blowing of wind especially when strong or violent

Bluster - a violent boisterous blowing

Breath - a slight breeze; air inhaled and exhaled in breathing

Breeze - a light gentle wind

Buran - a northeasterly wind of gale force in Russia and central Asia usually identified with sandstorms in summer and blizzards in winter

Chinook - a warm moist southwest wind of the coast from Oregon northward; a warm dry wind that descends the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains

Current - the part of a fluid body (such as air or water) moving continuously in a certain direction

Cyclone - a storm or system of winds that rotates about a center of low atmospheric pressure, advances at a speed of 20 to 30 miles (about 30 to 50 kilometers) an hour, and often brings heavy rain

Draft - a current of air in a closed-in space

Eddy - a current of water or air running contrary to the main current; especially: a circular current

Flatus - gas generated in the stomach or bowels

Flurry - a gust of wind

Gale - a strong current of air

Gas - a fluid (such as air) that has neither independent shape nor volume but tends to expand indefinitely

Gust - a sudden brief rush of wind

Headwind - a wind having the opposite general direction to a course of movement (as of an aircraft)

Mistral - a strong cold dry northerly wind of southern France

Northeaster - a strong northeast wind

Norther - a strong north wind

Northwester - a strong northwest wind

Puff - an act or instance of puffing; whiff

Respiration - the movement of air or dissolved gases into and out of the lungs

Scud - a gust of wind

Sigh - the sound of gently moving or escaping air

Slipstream - a stream of fluid (such as air or water) driven aft by a propeller

Southeaster - a strong southeast wind

Southwester - a strong southwest wind

Squall - a sudden violent wind often with rain or snow

Storm - wind having a speed of 64 to 72 miles (103 to 117 kilometers) per hour

Stream - any body of flowing fluid (such as water or gas)

Tailwind - a wind having the same general direction as a course of movement (as of an aircraft)

Tempest - a violent storm; a disturbance of the atmosphere accompanied by wind and often by precipitation (as rain or snow)

Tornado - a violent destructive whirling wind accompanied by a funnel-shaped cloud that progresses in a narrow path over the land

Updraft - an upward movement of gas (such as air)

Uprush - an upward rush (as of gas or liquid)

Vapor - a substance in the gaseous state as distinguished from the liquid or solid state

Ventilation - circulation of air

Waft - a slight breeze; puff

Westerly - a wind from the west

Whiff - a quick puff or slight gust especially of air, odor, gas, smoke, or spray

Whirlwind - a small rotating windstorm of limited extent

Williwaw - a sudden violent wind

Windblast - a gust of wind

Windflaw - a gust of wind

Windstorm - a storm marked by high wind with little or no precipitation

Zephyr - a breeze from the west

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[farfromstrange]

6 Totally Random Matt Murdock Headcanons that keep me up at night

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Just some Matty headcanons today!

Warnings: Mentions of Smut! 18+ MINORS DNI! (Not proofread)

A/n: I was planning on writing a fic, but then I found this in my drafts and thought I would finish it. Yes, I did write those at three in the morning every time I woke up. That's...that's not unhealthy at all or anything.

1. Volume

Matt is a very vocal person in bed. I'm not talking full-on screaming though.

While there are times he is quiet to hear your breathy moans and whines as he’s pounding into you and he hears you begging for “More, more, more…” as soon as he feels you around his cock, it’s game over for him. He loses that tiny bit of self-control. He grunts and groans, and sometimes, when he feels particularly in the mood, he whines and whimpers because you treat him so well.

Don't even get me started on when he goes down on you. He will moan just from the taste of you, and then some more when your hands tangle in his hair, causing the slightest amount of pain. He thrives off of it.

He wants to show you how good you make him feel, not just the other way around, and ever since he has noticed that you like it when he makes noise, he makes sure to moan every so often when you're fucking or making love or simply enjoying each other's bodies in all the ways possible. He trusts you enough to do it, to let himself go and surrender himself, and you reward him for being a good boy.

2. Eating...

We have established that Matt Murdock is the King Of Eating Pussy. The love for giving oral runs deep, not just in his desire to please and never take anything in return. Not just because he wants to make you feel good. It's literal torture on his sensitive senses when he doesn't get to drown between your legs at least once.

It's his form of worshipping you, of praying to you in a highly blasphemous context when he thinks about the things you have moaned, but he would do it time and time again. He loves it. The taste alone gets him high and then it's all he focuses on. It calms him.

I truly believe that hearing your heartbeat, the blood rushing in the veins of your thighs, and the taste of your arousal mixed with pheromones do something to him that lets out some sort of animal whenever he smells you. And then he just needs to have you or he will go crazy. It's the same with your natural scent.

Matt Murdock gets off on the mere taste of his partner’s arousal. He can taste it in the air. He makes sure to make you come on his tongue at least once when you’re getting intimate, and not just as foreplay. He does it before, during, and after, depending on his and your mood. He knows what buttons to press, how hard to suck on your clit and he knows how to slide his tongue inside of you and fuck you with it until you’re shaking. He will keep your thighs spread wide and hold you down, but let you wrap your legs around his head and clench around him because he loves the momentary loss of oxygen.

3. Consent.

He will only ever touch you when he knows that you want it. He won’t fuck you when you’re not in the right mental state because he doesn’t want to take advantage of you. He makes sure to ask and communicate and when your answers are not clear, he stops the scene. He can hear it in your heartbeat and he would never cross that line, not even when he is horny and full of adrenaline in the middle of the night.

He would ask you for permission to fuck you when you're asleep, maybe, so he won't have to wake you when he comes home late from patrol, but even then he needs vocal confirmation beforehand to know he won't cross a line. So every night when he leaves, he asks if you'd still be okay with it, and after learning that he would be anything but mad when you say no, you give him the most honest answer.

4. Cuddles

When he has a bad day, he wants nothing more than to be held by you. Either he is the little spoon or, and that happens the most often, he places his head in your chest as you entangle your limbs with his and hold him close, raking your nails through his hair.

He relaxes when you massage his scalp, but he also enjoys your touch on his tense shoulders, and that's when he likes to be pampered like a little princess. Pampering, in this case, is cuddles. He wants all the cuddles you can give him.

It's nights like these that he realizes how in love he is with you, and how safe he feels when he's in your arms. But God forbid anyone finds that out. He will not admit that he enjoys being pampered by you because that would make him seem vulnerable, and we all know our dear Matthew, don't we?

5. Concerts

This came to me randomly, but since he has sensitive hearing, it would be hard for him to go to concerts with you. However, he will make sure to follow along to the venue, drop you off, and then I'm certain he would find a rooftop somewhere further in the distance, put some earbuds in to protect his sensitive ears, and he would listen.

He would filter your voice out of the crowd and imagine himself dancing to the music with you. He loves how excited you get when your favorite artist is playing. He knows you're aware of what he's doing, and you make sure to whisper, "Thank you," under your breath.

Listening to you have fun at a concert would also broaden Matt's horizons when it comes to music, and you would catch him playing your Playlist at home while cooking one day, humming along.

One of these days, you will find a way to take him there with you, but until then, he makes sure you at least know he's listening while you're having the time of your life.

6. Neck-holding

This doesn't need an explanation, but I will give it to you anyway.

Matt loves holding your neck, sexually and non-sexually. He loves feeling your pulse, the way you respond to him, and he loves how much closer you get whenever he does it.

He'd be like, "Come here, sweetheart." And you would jump into his lap, cuddling into him, while he holds you with one arm around the rest of your body, the other wrapping gently around your neck.

And in bed, you guys probably know how it would go.

Do you guys want a Part 2? Maybe some angst?