#Trigger warning f slur

[floralgraveyard]

"thou art fageth" -me, 2024

[hauntedjellyfishtraveler]

I asked my mum if love is unconditional

She said it should be

I played it off as a hypothetical

Some random tangent from ethic class

But I think back to how she talks about

The T***ys and the R***ds and the F*gs

The terrible woke masses

Did you ever truly love me mum?

Or did you love the version of me with pigtails who idolised you and thought you a paragon of love and kindness?

I don't know if I love you

I don't know if I want to

You're my mum

But you're so so so mean

And you don't even know how much you hurt me

[somelazyassartist]

you could draw the first faggy guy that comes to mind. fagging it up, mayhaps?

I was so so tempted to draw Edward but. Jocasta my favorite fictional fag forever and ever 💜💜💜💜💜💜

(sorry I. Still have a bit of a cold and drawing is hard right now lol)

[jocasta-nightstrider]

We Think We Know You

We Think We Know You

We Think We Know You

[animutate]

[bxnyi]

They make my head ache because they never shut up.

[jovialcloudqueenisnotonfire]

@adhd-languages​ and i had an exchange in the tags about the whole “faggot comes from gays being rolled in carpets and set on fire” thing being an urban legend(which it is!). the story goes that the bundle of sticks thing slowly became the british slang for cigarette (which is true) which then in turn led to the carpet burning thing as a reference to cigarettes (which is not true). this also doesn’t make much sense historically because fag as a slur is an american thing and we don’t call cigarettes fags, meanwhile the british do call them that and it isn’t a slur there (implying the two meanings are unrelated). 

the actual origin is much less sensational. collecting firewood (a bundle of sticks) used to be a way old women would make money and thus became a derogatory term for elderly poor women, which in turn became a derogatory term for gay men. lots of historical examples of misogyny being redirected towards gay men bcs of them being viewed as more feminine and thus inferior (nancy, sissy, queen, fairy, etc.)

interestingly enough, the word was associated with burning people at the stake, because burning requires firewood, but it never denoted the person being punished. it also never really was about gay people then either (bcs burning at the stake was for heretics and witches), and its usage as a gay slur in america is way wayyyy later than when it was used in europe. sort of a never the twain shall meet situation 

also, while there is the british slang “fagging” meaning schoolboys performing menial tasks for upperclassmen (with the implication of sexual favors), the word still stems from the bundle of sticks thing because its menial labor. the gayness was implied and thus it never became a slur in british english. 

so they are all stemming from the same thing, but the bundle of sticks --> cigarette --> gay slur pipeline is not correct. more so, they all branch out from “bundle of sticks”

[analogadreams]

if you use the f slur in any capacity at all, please get off my page ✨

there is no excuse to using any slur at all and i stand by this

[januaryembrs]

FIGHT TALK | Eddie Munson x Sunshine!Reader

Request: Hi! Can I request a Drabble with the character Eddie Munson, with the prompt “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”. Imagine that Eddie being protective and acting as a bodyguard to the reader who is being bullied a lot, he feels sorry and guard her.

description: Eddie is not very happy when he finds his darling girlfriend stashed in the AV room after her first fight

word count: 1.1k

trigger warnings: swears, blood, mention of the f slur, broken nose? very quick dirty thought from Eds (it’s Eddie what can I say)

main masterlist

authors note: eddie x sunshine reader is about to be a thing around this neck of the woods since my beloved @palacearcaderadiostation demands more 💗

“He’s gonna fucking kill us,” Dustin held his hat scrunched tightly in his hands, as if he were in church or in mourning. “I never even got to say goodbye to Tews, my mom’s gonna be crushed,”

“Are you shitting me, he’s gonna make us wish we were dead,” Mike rubbed a hand over his tired face, “Do you remember what he did to Tommy H when he shook her soda can and it exploded in her face? My mom said the Hagen’s had to take him to a specialist in Chicago to get his nose fixed.”

Dustin paled even more, as Lucas returned with a sweat on his brow, the older boy hot on his heels.

“Move! Move out of my way- Out of my way,” Eddie cursed, shoving the other students hard enough they shot him dirty looks over their shoulders. Not that he cared, he had a sneer of his own as he looked down at the three boys that seemed to quiver in their place under his sable gaze, “Where is she?”

“Eddie, please understand- We tried to tell her-” Dustin spluttered as Mike seemed to biting the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from doing the same. Eddie simply put his hand in the kids face, glaring at him hard enough to silence him immediately.

The three of them would rather face the Wyvern they’d fought in their last campaign head on than have to deal with their dungeon master like this.

“Where is she, Henderson?” He growled, and the boys could do nothing but point to the AV room they’d stashed her in to keep her from the other student’s nosy gaze. Eddie didn’t need any other instruction, he was at the door in seconds, bursting through into the small, darkened room, his eyes falling on the girl sat on the table, legs swinging back and forth happily as if she wasn’t sporting a black eye and a bloodied nose. His breath hitched, his chest constricting tightly as he watched her own gaze flick to his. “Oh, baby,”

“Eds! Did you see? Did they tell you what I did?” She asked, her lips pulling into a smile as her boyfriend came closer, his hands grabbing the sides of her face, thumbs stroking over her cheeks.

“Mother of Christ, what did those shits do to you?” He snapped angrily, though his eyes were wide, the sadness written clear over them. Waving him off, she held onto his wrists with split knuckles, another factor that had him nearly clutching his pearls in aghast.

“It wasn’t their fault Eds, David Johnson was picking on Dustin for his lisp and calling them all-” She stopped, her nose scrunching in disgust when she thought of the word they’d used.

“Gay?” Eddie asked, to which she shook her head, though his eyes were quick to notice how the movement tugged on her split nose, “The other one?”

“The F one,” She muttered, hating that she even had to say it, “I dunno, I can take it when they say it about me. I just couldn’t stand to hear that about them, they’re good kids,”

He felt his expression soften, watching as she fiddled with her sleeve, another thing that had fallen casualty to her heroics as a thin tear trailed up her arm.

“You are just the bravest maiden there is, huh?” He asked, his chest butterflying when she looked up at him with the same happy smile she always had when he spoke like they were in one of his games, “And oh, your teeth! Those beautiful teeth, are they okay? Did they survive the warfare? Let me see,” Within seconds he had puckered her cheeks with one hand effortlessly, his other thumb lifting her lips up and down as if giving her an oral exam.

Her giggles vibrated on his palm that rested on throat as she tried to pull away from his grip, only partially succeeding as he took his finger out but held her still.

“-ds” She mumbled through her pursed lips, feeling him loosen on her jaw for just a moment before he gave her a gentle peck, careful not to bump her nose. Trying to pull away to tend to her ailments, he was stopped when he felt her fingers loop through his belt, tugging him forward for another longer kiss, her pretty lilac nails brushing against his tummy.

Chuckling as he pulled away, his hand moving from her jaw to cup her cheek sweetly, his eyes seemed to zero in on the cut on the bridge of her nose, the skin around it mottling into a bruise. He couldn’t miss the way it seemed to welt with fresh blood, the sight of it worrying him despite it being no bigger than his nail.

“You are just in luck, brave maiden, your medic has arrived prepared,” She smiled wryly as he dug through his bag until his face lit up as he brushed against the packet, “Ah, ha!”

Pulling out two from his collection, he held the bandaids up to her face so she could see for herself.

“Dangermouse or Ducktales?” He asked, the two brightly coloured cartoons staring back at her as she pointed to the three little ducklings.

“Ducktales, please,” She said, watching him peel the paper from the back, gently sticking it over the bridge of her sore nose, “I bet you do this for all your patients,”

“Only the most valiant of warriors,” He murmured, pecking the tip of her nose with soft eyes, “That’s just because you’re my favourite,”

She giggled again, as he picked up her scraped hand delicately, scanning over the small cuts attentively. Putting his hand to his mouth, he fake retched, covering his eyes in horror.

“Oh God,” He gasped, turning away from the sight, “Oh, god. I think we’re gonna have to amputate,”

Shoving him on his chest, she snickered at his dramatics, her fingers already scabbing over from their minor wounds. “Quit playin’. I was very brave today,”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, baby,” He said, giving her knuckles some tender kisses, not caring it seemed gross seeing as she was bleeding. “Did you get him good at least, honey?”

She perked up even more, eyes alight with a sick little delight he hadn’t seen in her before. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t have his boxers stirring.

“I split his lip, would have gotten his nose too if he hadn’t jumped on me,” She said, and Eddie couldn’t help the raucous laugh that left his throat.

Pressing more kisses to her hairline he smiled, down at her from her place still sat atop the table. “Don’t worry, you’re on the bench in round two, Balboa. I’ll give him something to cry about,” He smirked at her, his nose brushing against hers sweetly, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”

Taglists:

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

[st4rfckerz]

October 25th - Asphyxia

His Prize (bluecollar!anakin)

word count: 0.7k

warnings: unprotected sex, choking, arm kink

a/n: abrupt ending because i didn’t know how to end it 😛 also pretend this was already posted on the 25th because i forgot to post

You find yourself in your and Anakin's shared room, on all fours, with Anakin behind you, pounding away. His long, hard day at the factory has left him pent up, and he's taking out his frustration on your willing body. Anakin tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head back harshly. The sudden movement makes you gasp, your back arching as he yanks you closer.

As soon as Anakin came home for the day, he was feeling frustrated and pent up. He couldn't concentrate on anything else, his mind filled with thoughts of his favorite girl. When entering the house he practically threw his keys onto the nearby table while gunning it to the bedroom.

“Takin’ me so well aren’t you?” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, causing you to cry out in ecstasy. “Always right where I need you.”

Your brain has turned to mush, and all you can focus on is the feeling of Anakin's thick cock stretching you open. “So full, Ani,” you moan, your words slurring slightly. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can't help but clench around him, desperate for more.

Anakin growls, his hand tightening in your hair. He drives into you harder, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. His hand comes down hard on your ass, the stinging sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight baby.” He continues to thrust inside you, his pace relentless. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and cries of ecstasy.

Anakin unexpectedly pulls you up with his bicep around your neck, putting you in a full nelson as he jackhammers into you. Your body trembles with each powerful thrust, and you can't help but clench around him more tightly. He notices, a low growl escaping his lips.

“Oh f-fuck!” Your moans grow louder and more insistent as Anakin continues to pound into you. The wetness between your legs increases, your body responding to his abrupt actions.

“That's it, baby, let me hear you,” Anakin encourages, his voice low and gravelly. He slows down his movements, his cock still buried deep inside you, teasing you with the promise of cumming.

You whimper a string of pathetic little ‘no’s’, your fingernails digging into Anakin's arm as he slows down his thrusts. The feeling of his thick arm around your throat is so intense, and you're on the verge of losing control. Your body shakes with need, and you can't help but plead with him to continue. Anakin's grip on your neck tightens, and he leans in close to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Beg for it,” he demands. “I wanna hear you tell me how bad you need it.”

You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out are incoherent moans and whimpers. Your mind is consumed by the all-encompassing arousal, making it impossible to form a proper sentence. You can only cling to him, your nails bite deeper into his arm, and you can feel the pressure building inside you, threatening to explode at any moment.

“Poor baby,” Anakin chuckles darkly, amused by your inability to speak. “Too drunk on my cock to speak hm?” He picks up his pace again, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor. The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room, mingling with your desperate moans. Your body arches into his, your muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“I'm cumming!” you cry out, your voice strained with the effort of holding back. Anakin's body tenses, and with a powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you. His cum spills into you, filling you up as your own orgasm washes over you. The sensation of his release triggers your own, and you come undone, your body shaking with the intensity of your climax.

Anakin gently lays you down on the bed, your legs still trembling from the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. He opens your legs, revealing the mess you both made, his cum dripping out of you. “Look at that,” he says, his voice filled with satisfaction. “We really know how to make a mess don’t we?” Anakin's cocky grin and the way he's admiring his handiwork make you feel like a prize, a trophy for him to show off.

[sissy-butch]

Saying a slur is different than calling someone a slur tho. Like I should be able to post "I love faggots" without someone losing their shit at me. If you don't identify with that word then I'm not talking about you when I post that. Yes you should be mindful of who wants to be called what words but you can very much say words without calling the reader that word.

I will never in a million years understand the "don't you dare tag my post with #tw slur you are tearing this community apart" mentality. To not call someone something they don't want to be called is like kindergarten tier manners. If someone came up to me and called me a jap and I said "don't say that to me" and their response was "don't you know anything about reclamation? it's been reclaimed" well I certainly didn't reclaim it. You did.

[hyukaslvr]

strong enough | J. Jungkook (3)

<series masterlist

pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

genre/tags: idol! Jungkook, idol! reader, idiot exes to lovers, slow burn ; k-drama feels (our beloved summer but not at the same time), angst, drama, fluff, smut

warnings: foul/explicit language, alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters, panic attacks, reader is harsh towards Jungkook, Jungkook is a meanie!, mentions of old abuse (major trigger warning!!), talk about blood and wounds

w.c: TBD

series summary: you and Jungkook have too many personal problems, during and after your relationship and it keeps getting brought up. you both had tried multiple times to ignore the fact you were both struggling mentally and physically due to your workplace, but you always run back to each other. maybe one day, one day you'll get back to each other, with all your problems handled, maybe not. all you want is for him to shine like he always does, all he wants is you.

a/n at very bottom!

To my love, my forever. You will soon find out the reason why I am the way am I. Give me some time, my love, I will express everything and more to you. Soon, you’ll have everything once I am able to love and care for myself the way I want to do to you. You deserve everything and more than what I could ever give you, and I will be there for you always. I may never give you this, I may never allow you to read this. But just know, you mean so much to me. Even if I’m a pain in the ass, or if I piss you off, you will always be the person who helped me want to change for the better. I know it may seem like i’m leaving you behind, but pushing you away is the best way for me and you to be able to find ourselves. Once we are settled and ready, I will never let you go, ever again. Mark my words, use them against me, but I know that once you let me in, I’ll never leave your side ever again. You’re my one and only, forever. You are my future, my light, the person who drags me to be right. You mean so much to me and more. But for now, let me go to become the one that deserves your love and wellbeing. Take care of yourself, Jungkook, you will do many good things in life, with or without me.

“i think you should give it to him,” one of your members slur out, making your already wobbly head tilt up to her as she hiccups for the 5th time that same hour, you sighed and your head pounded as your squinted tightly to look at her, “seriously! i think he would want closure that way,”

Jungkook definitely did. he knew that when you wrote letters, you meant every little thing. he knew something happened between you and your ex, his name is like a slap in the face to you, and he could always notice.

his hands started to shake as he continued to read your note, he didn’t know how you came all the way to his house just to ring the door bell and drop it off. he was even shocked to notice his name in your handwriting on the top of the note. he wasn’t mad about it, he was just so, so sad. his eyes burned as another drop fell onto his lap. Jungkook knew it was for the best, but why does it hurt so bad and why does he feel like he’ll never get better while you do?

Jungkook didn’t want to think that way, but he did. he always did, he hurts to see you go but hurts even more to see you shine without him. he kept all your little notes in a box, he was really considering giving it back to you since it was at some of your most vulnerable times. he wouldn’t want to keep these just in case he snoops through them, like he’s doing right now as he was putting the other note in there along with the tons of others.

one of them wrote a song that you made about him, him never leaving you and the way you love him. it breaks his heart more, knowing that you’re no longer around, and that he just keeps fucking up.

when you wake up the next morning, your hungover member told you about a box she found outside the door step with your name on it, your ears ring as you stand in front of the box sitting on your bed, biting the inside of your cheek because this was Jungkook’s box. it had a polaroid of the two of you with shots in your hands on his balcony last summer. it was his favorite picture of you both and wanted to keep it with all the letters you even written him.

you pace around your room for like and hour, biting your lip and running your hand through your hair to calm yourself down. it finally felt like you guys were officially over, no matter how many times you’ve broken up. when you opened it finally, there was a new one, one you definitely didn’t write. you don’t even remember going to his house and giving him the one you were gonna keep for your sake.

it was Jungkook’s hand writing, you knew it from the back of your palm, literally as you have a tattoo that he gave you himself. it read,

forever

and looking at it makes you sick. you felt like crap anytime you thought of him, what you had put him through, all the stuff he doesn’t know about you. you knew him so well, but did he actually even know you, truly? it made you want to cry, the tears lining your waterline and you fight the urge.

you give yourself time before opening up his letter, preparing yourself for the worst or to cry. when you start reading it, you felt like he was there with you. it felt as if he was pacing around your room, looking you dead in the eyes and telling you everything you’ve been wanting to hear, but at the wrong time.

I miss you a lot, I know I say that a lot, but it’s true. I’m glad you wrote me this, I’m glad you’re trying to find ways to open up to me, I’m glad you love me. You are my everything, I want what’s best for you, and if it’s not me then so be it. You deserve the whole fucking world, and I hope you know I tried so hard to give it to you. Maybe, in the long run, we can be happy together. Maybe we can be able to know each other truly, I always wanted to. I believe in right person, wrong time, because you’ll forever be my person, even if i’m not in the picture. I love you, ______, I always will.

you wanted to sob, you didn’t even know what to do. you had dropped the note off not expecting anything back, but getting everything back? even a letter from him, confessing how much he loves and cares for you. you didn’t know how to feel, if it was closure or not. to you, yours was supposed to be. his, his was a love letter, you’ll never let go of it.

you had one more promotion for you group, and you had to prepare in so many ways. you had to practice tons, and practing handling your emotions until you’re a zombie to what you truly feel, you couldn’t handle being around Jungkook for long. it’s crazy, how much you used to look at him thinking you’d never do anything to hurt him, yet you’re over here making him suffer because you are in your head. it tears at the deepest parts of you, and it makes you feel so much at once.

so when it came to the event, you felt your knees lock when you saw him sitting with his team. he looked breathtaking, and it sucks that you can’t look at him for long before you cry because he looks too good. Jungkook always looked good, but whenever you wanted to ignore him, it’s like he knows and wants to look that fine. you gulp hard because walking to over your assigned seats, a couple seats back behind them but at an angle to a way that you can see every part of Jungkook, his hands and thighs especially.

ones that put you through hell, sent you to another universe is what he would of said and has said before, smoking off your balcony as you sat on his lap with your legs shaking trying to not fall off. he laughed as he smacked your thighs, watching them shake more as you practically whine in soreness.

he took another puff off his cig before putting it down on his designated ash tray, but even knowing you didn’t smoke, he kissed you hard, forcing the hot smoke into your mouth and through your pipes, allowing him to do anything to you because you were obsessed with everything he did.

“fucked you out, huh, princess?” he said against your ear as he gave you a second to breathe, making you almost choke as his hand started to move down and between your thighs, giving them a squeeze before going deep between them to touch you where you shook the most.

let’s just say, the memory had your legs close tightly together. the thought of how much have gave you that night, it made you miss him even more for just taking care of you like he said he would. you could feel it starting to stick against your skin, immediately wanting to go to the bathroom.

you thought you were stable enough to walk down the stairs in front of all the idols and fans including, instead you almost dropped face first into the steps instead someone’s hand wrapped around your waist and around the inside of your thigh, gripping it hard as they held you from falling to your death infront of thousands of people.

“your shoes too big for you, baby?”

you really thought you were going crazy, that his presence was just teasing you. but as your eyes dragged themselves down to the hand around the inside of your thigh, you weren’t going crazy. the tattoos proving who the man really was and how his thumb was very close to your throbbing clit. you shivered before quicking bowing at him once you leave his grip and speed walking towards the exit.

the moment you got alone in a hallway, you looked around before pulling out your phone to text your leader where you were going to be, the bathroom, before you hear a door open behind you. you go to put your phone away, but a tight grip around your waist turns you towards the person, your phone falling on to the floor and your mouth to open up, perfect for the attacker to kiss you hard.

another hand grabs your hair and you immediately knew who it was based on the way he was holding you. he knew, and knew it was because of him. that’s all your thought about when his lips were softly against yours, until you felt his hands creeping up. he just knew how to distract you from the facts and knows how to get you to enjoy his attack.

“can we talk soon, princess?” he whispers lowly in your ear once he pulls away from your now desperate lips trying to reach his. you whimper at the nickname, one that just rolls off his tongue in such a degrading way, he grabs your chin softly, turning your face to face him. his eyes invited yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more you felt entranced by him.

“talk about what?” you sighed into his hold, which he notices and gives you your favorite smile in the whole world. it hard to ignore his hands gripping your waist, your hands clinging onto his dress shirt as he holds you, you didn’t expect to be in this position.

“we will talk later tonight, i’ll pick you up?”

“how, with what car-”

“i’ll figure it out, anything for you,” he presses his forehead against yours, making your eyes squeeze shut as he lets out a little chuckle because of your reaction to his proximity being so close to you, you could almost feel his breath against your lips. “you know i’ll do whatever i need to do to see you, i will figure out a way to see you later tonight, bunny, i promise,” he kisses your nose softly before letting you go without your even realizing he picked up your phone for you, a smile across his face as you nodded your head for him.

Jungkook didn’t give you a time, or a place to when he was going to pick you up. before you left the event, you had asked him what he was planning on doing with you and he just told you that you’ll have to wait and find out. Jungkook knew how to make you worry about what could happen. what should you even wear? is he taking me somewhere to eat? it’s kinda late for that-

doink

something just hit your window as you were pulling your pants up, you almost tripped in shock but managed to pull them up and fix yourself before going to your window. there he was, the man of your dreams, the love of your life, standing down there searching for more rocks to toss at your window.

you cracked your dorm room window open, not even wanting to question how he managed to get over the brick wall to get into the dorms, and he smiles when he sees your head peaking from the bottom of the window. he pats his hands on his thighs while you watch him with curiosity.

“get down here bunny, we have a lot to do tonight,” he stood up straight, hands put in his pockets as he stared off at you. you would of jumped right there into his arms after that nickname, you almost whined before nodding your head like an idiot and shutting your window.

you managed to sneak out, grabbed your shoes at the front and headed out from the back blind spot and running to where Jungkook stood, his hands tucked in his pockets to stay warm. his left arm raised so you could wrap your arm around it, a habit of the both of you. you just ignored the bad feelings and wrapped your arm around his, feeling his arm tighten around yours as you both started to walk to the car.

“you gonna tell me where we’re going, Jeon?” you tilt your head, your left knee against his center console as your left side rested on his passenger seat. his hand slid up to your knee, leaving you in shock as he gripped it in warning.

“stop asking questions, baby,” he tapped his finger on your knee, not even bothering to look your way. you huffed as you closed your eyes, trying to ignore his thumb moving against your thigh now, his hand resting against it too.

“Jungkook, you know we can be doing this again. i know you remember what happened last time,” you warned, your head felt like it was spinning, none of this felt real. Jungkook bit his lip ring in thought, he just wanted to talk to you and apologize. he always wants to talk to you even if he’s been rude.

“______, what do you think i’m going to do to you tonight?” he spoke deeply, it sent waves through your spine, and down to your poor kitty. it’s crazy, what this big eyed man can do to you with only his hand on your thigh while he speaks to you like your his.

“i- i don’t know, what are you asking me? i’m just confused why you’re doing this-”

“what do you want me to do to you tonight, baby? is there something else bothering you that only i can fix?” his hand rubs your inner thigh, occasionally softly squeezing the skin closest to where you needed help the most. “i’ll do whatever you want me to do to you, you just have to speak up, darling. is that okay? can you do that for me, princess?”

you almost moaned, gasping at his eagerness to help you with whatever you want, and you knew he meant that. “Jungkook, we can’t be doing thing again, as much as we want to-”

“fuck that and fuck no contact, we were doing good as fuck the last time we were friends. can we not be friends, baby?”

“that’s why! you keep calling me my favorites, you can’t do that to me..” you whined, you wanted to hide away as he giggled at how you whined. when the car slowly starts to come to a stop, you got reminded that the whole time you were talking to him, getting teased by him, he was driving. “Jungkook… where are we?”

“let me help you out and show you,” he smiled, and you just knew that you had to trust him, why? because he’s Jeon Jungkook, why wouldn’t you trust the love of your life?

when he open your door, hand already reaching for his as he helped you out of the car, the smell of salt hit your face in a whiff, making you smile at the moment you had at this beach with Jungkook. but why here? why did he want to talk here?

you didn’t trust your voice, watching his open his back door to grab a blanket and cigs, which you thought he quit, with a lighter and a flashlight. you didn’t say a word as you hugged onto his arm as he walked to a specific place, your guys place. the place where he gave you head for the very first time, you found sand up there for at least a day after that.

“do you trust me, sugar?” Jungkook asked you, tugging you to sit next to him on the blanket over the cold sand at the dark lonely beach. it’s like he knew what you were worried about, could you trust him again? it’s not like he broke your trust, it’s about you trusting yourself around him. if anything besides talking happens tonight, and you guys become exactly what you were afraid of becoming, you won’t know what to do with yourself.

it’s a bit selfish you thought, as his hand rested against your shoulder as you snuggled against his neck, breathing in only Jungkook and a little bit of salt. you loved this, but it couldn’t get any farther than this. just small, and slight, touches and sometimes kisses, only at certain times. the sound of the waves crashing tingled your ears, debating if you should listen to his heartbeat or not.

“do you know why i want you out here with me tonight, baby?” his voice vibrated your cheek as he spoke, his fingers gliding against the thin fabric of your long sleeved shirt. you hummed, you felt him swallow before you moved your head to face him.

“i wouldn’t have asked you that a million times in the car, Jungkook,” he smiles when your eyes finally reach his. he used to ask you, what did you see when you looked into his eyes? you usually just laughed it off or ignored the question, but now you think you know the questions answer. Home. in other words, Jungkook was your confort, the one you would go to, the one who makes you feel the safest, the one who keeps you feeling warm. Jungkook was your favorite.

Jungkook leans in, you can almost feel his breath against the wind, you almost forget where you are when you look deeply into his eyes. he leans so close to you that you could almost kiss him. you feel his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer- and closer to him, until your hovering above him.

you looked down at him, his hand sliding down your waist and on to your thigh to swing your leg over his body. he’s got you now, almost spread wide for him as his eyes glazed your entire body, making your shiver.

“let’s that about why you were so wet when i caught you from eating shit in front of everyone today, huh? or maybe… why you’re so wet right now, was it from the car ride? you just couldn’t wait, hm? baby?” he smacked your thigh, and you almost whimper at his words, “sit down on me, love. you know you want to. i’ll do anything you want me to, just let me in this one or more times and you won’t regret it this time,”

oh boy, you were in for a ride. baby, princess, sugar, darling, bunny, love. hearing that one burned, deeply in two places. your poor heart as you feel his hands grip your sides, and your poor throbbing cunt that it about to get slammed onto his hard on resting below you. either or, you know you’re safe and whatever happens can be dealt with. why? because you’re with Jeon Jungkook, why wouldn’t it be fine?

a/n: holy shit, this took forever and i sincerely apologize!! i love how this episode turned out and i will give you guys a slight warning! spicy scenes are coming up and I’m not backing down from this. it will be the dirtiest, most greatest- yeah! anyways, thank you for your patience, i love you all🥹

taglist: @loumin908 @heartjiminie @cuntessaiii @parkinglot-nights @minsoa97kor @jkgirlfr @lavendersugarplum @gaebestie @whoa-jo @kp0pficdump @yunholuv @skzthinker @shwkoqp18 @veemegatron @kaiparkerwifes @alextgef @nerdycheol @nightappple @nlr1606 @chl0buggy

if your tag isn’t gray, please fix your settings so i can tag you next time love!

[izjeon]

N. S. F. W.

hero!hawks x assistant!reader

genres: fanfic, smut, [p with a sprinkle of plot], drabble series

word count: 1.2k

warnings: MINORS GET OUT!!! dub-con (both aren’t sober), afab/f!reader, tiny mention of drugs, implied infidelity, hawks & his heat problems, mirror sex, marking, unprotected sex, unrealistic sex, overstimulation [would it be my fic if there wasn’t any], copious amounts of cum, cervix fucking [shameful i know], heavy breeding kink, a lot of creampies, and implied impregnation [that will be dealt with in the otherother drabbles because we do not condone mistakes guys!!].

series masterlist: N.S.F.W

+a/n: one day, i’ll have a fic without creampies… one day 😔.

++ “look at you, little dove… you were fucking made for me.”

drabble one - ‘forgetting something?’

hero!hawks that ends up finding assistant!reader in a nightclub and engages in certain inappropriate acts with them, accidentally triggering his heat. one sniff of the club’s air and he realises you’re ovulating… and, of course, he ends up fucking you dumb in the club’s bathroom, breeding you like tomorrow doesn’t exist.

but… he’s forgetting something.

𖥻 not safe for work

keigo didn’t remember.

he didn’t remember how you’d found each other in this club— the hero and his assistant, both high on ecstasy. he didn’t remember how it was the way you were grinding on him that triggered his heat that wasn’t due for another 2 weeks. he didn’t remember how it took only one sniff of your fertile body before he was dragging you away to the bathroom and fucking you like you were his.

but that didn’t matter.

“h-hawks!” you cried out, slapping a hand onto the tiny bathroom’s mirror to steady yourself against his constant and desperate pounding. your pleads and moans only seemed to drive him further into his mania, fucking his cum deeper into your stuffed cunt.

you could feel his cum sloshing around your womb already.

panting, he let his eyes drop away from you in the mirror and fall to the vivid evidence of your breeding.

it was so crude. how your creaming cunt swallowed his cock as he drove into you and how it clung to him as he drove out of you, moaning lewd squelches; how his seed spluttered out of your pussy with every thrust; how you both sloppily joined together as one.

“oh god.”

it was everything to hawks.

the hero’s clouded vision dragged up your body to the base of your neck. obviously, you were unmarked. he didn’t even think you knew about marking or any his quirk’s shit. but still, mind shrouded in primal instinct, keigo felt a unbearable ache in his gums. it was a tempting burn, it dragged him towards your virgin skin.

somewhere behind the heat in his mind, he was on his knees— begging himself to not do it; to not forget what he was already forgetting.

but hawks was never one to listen.

his mouth clamped down on your skin, canines breaking through your claimed flesh, and he marked you.

unaware of the consequences behind his actions, he slurred a moan on your tainted skin and his drooping eyes beamed up at yours in the mirror with a drunken smile.

naturally, a wail tore out of your throat at the stabbing sensation burning your neck, and your body fell forward, away from the mad man. but keigo was quick to cross a hand over your chest and drag you back down his cock, loving the way your cunt swallowed him whole. the way he slipped back into your overflowing cunt distracted you from the sting of his marking. drunk on the lewd way he fucked the shit out of you, you gurgled a string of unintelligible moans, pushing your ass back against his pelvis.

“oh, fuck,” you keened.

as quick as he was to pull you back to him, desperate keigo snapped back into your cunt, battering your soft cervix. lost in overstimulation, you heard his groans behind the wet, obscene sounds of your stuffed, drooling cunt, filled to the brim with hawks’ virile cum, and his soaked, slapping balls, soaked with the remnants of both of your previous orgasms.

“n-no, ‘s too much,” you sobbed. your knees were buckling, body struggling to endure hawks’ pounding, and your vision blurred with hot tears, clit throbbing with overstimulation. desperate, keigo ripped his hand away from the sink to hoist you back up on his dick, slamming deeper into your pussy.

his heat would never let him pull out.

his lips had barely left his bruising mark before you heard him snap a guttural groan, “you can take it.”

removing his hand from your chest, he grabbed your face, smushing your cheeks together, and forced you to look at him. at this angle, heat-oppressed keigo could finally see his full effect on you, not obstructed by the smudges on the mirror anymore. streaks of mascara stained your cheeks, your lips were swollen and a bruised red, and your pussy clung to him like there was no tomorrow.

he groaned, “look at you, little dove… you were fucking made for me.”

his lips met yours with desperation. you melted into the kiss of the national hero, chasing his tongue. you could feel his thrusts became more sloppy than they already were, and he could feel his final climax tightening around his mind. slapping a hand onto your clit, his fingers wrestled with your erect clit, tweaking and smushing the throbbing bud into your fourth orgasm.

“g-gah,” you keened.

your lips parted, a silent cry leaving your raw throat, as the overstimulation washed over you in a chill. fucked out of your mind, you shook in his arms, cunt creaming and quivering around his pistoning cock.

hawks relished in the way your ovulating pussy clamped around him. his thrusts got more sloppier, desperate. his fat tip pushed through your battered cervix. the feeling of your soft walls strangling him left keigo with no other choice but to breed you.

his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his thrusts stuttered, and his moan broke into a wail.

“i-im c-cumming,” he cried.

you keened,

and, once again, keigo flooded your ripe womb with his thick, white cum, fucking through your cervix like a mad man. you doubled over, cumming once more on his spraying cock. “oh my god~,” you slurred, clenching harder on the hero breeding you. he cried out, collapsing onto your back, shuddering at how your walls wrenched him for his cum. he was forced to halt his thrusts as your cervix, too, tightened around his cock, mercilessly milking him for all he had.

still shuddering with his violent climax, hawks dropped his head to your bruising neck and inhaled the intoxicating scent of his mark, ghosting kisses across your skin. his ears wallowed in the sound of your whimpers above the muted sound of the club’s songs. it calmed him: his breathing slowed and his grip on the sink loosened, washing the mania away from his mind.

although your pied cunt still quivered around his softening cock, your body stuttered as it tried to regulate its ruined conditions. ruined for any other man, your cunt had been battered into the shape of hawks and your womb was stained with keigo takami’s name.

your eyes drifted away from the empty bowl of the sink to the mirror, and fell on the blonde bush of hair cowering in the side of your neck. the fuck had sobered you up, but you wished it hadn’t. the number 2 hero had his dick inside of you. your boss had his dick inside of you. “fuck,” you thought.

you winced.

somebody had to say something.

“h-hawks—?” you started, but you were cut off by the foreign sound of a notification that definitely didn’t come from your phone. it was his.

ping!

another ping, and keigo finally finished out his phone from his ruined joggers. his sticky fingers skidded over the screen, almost failing to input his passcode, before the white background of imessages blinded him, drawing a grumble from the hero. his clouded vision cleared, and he saw the message.

“eh...?” he squinted at the message. the hero wasn’t heat-sober enough to recall the context behind the message.

cock still resting inside you, he blinked.

hawks, finally, remembered.

my dove 🕊❤️: where r u??

#nsfw series; only just begun!

[lunasfics]

What We Deserve - Tim Drake

summary: Love is a foreign concept to her. Love is transactional. It’s pain and it’s setbacks and she doesn’t need it. Love is not something she is incapable of feeling nor is it something she is incapable of receiving. She does not need it. 

pairings: Tim Drake x f!reader

warnings: mentions of childhood physical abuse, alcholism, self sabatoge, angst angst angst, issues of self worth, mention of toxic/abusive relationships, suicide attempt, suicidal ideation, i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

a/n: please read the warnings of this fic! it covers some heavy topics as well as flawed characters. multiple triggering topics are discussed and if any of the above topics trigger you please please do not read! i'm trying to broaden my horizons when it comes to writing, i'm also experimenting with different povs, i hope you enjoy this read, if you or anyone you know are going through anything mentioned in this fic please seek the following resources for help: domestic violence, suicide hotline, drug & alcohol abuse rehab site

reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

Her memories from childhood had a complicated occupation in her mind. A considerable amount has been blocked off by now. Whether it’s because of the drinking or because of the trauma, she couldn’t tell you. Though if anyone asked, Who gives a shit? The fuckers are dead. It doesn’t matter now. 

Love is a foreign concept to her. Love is transactional. It’s pain and it’s setbacks and she doesn’t need it. She’s never needed parental love. She never got it, she’s never needed it. Love was foreign to her because she didn’t want it near her. Love is not something she is incapable of feeling nor is it something she is incapable of receiving. She does not need it. 

When she catches herself crying for them, for her father and her mother, she forces herself to look at the cigarette bud shaped scars on her arms, the scars and scratches that litter her body. The only feeling they deserve from me is anger. 

She reaches for the bottle so she can forget again. 

She remembers the night she met Red Robin. She remembers being buzzed, not a deviation from her typical state. She remembers planning to die. She remembers her feet dangling over the edge, staring down into the dark alley somewhere in Crime Alley. She’s forgotten how she’s gotten there by now. She remembers how she laughed at the thought of what they would do to her body, how they’d probably take her organs and leave the rest of her to rot. Fitting. Shit life, shit death.

“You know, just cause you’re high up doesn’t mean you’re safe out here.” 

She didn’t turn around. Her words were slurred. “If that bat fucker sent you you can just fuck right off. Just walk away. I’ll be out of everyone’s hair within the hour.” 

“I’m not in contact with the ‘bat fucker’ right now. Why don’t you just scoot away from the edge and we can chat.” His tone was blank. Void of panic. She supposed that shouldn’t be a surprised considering his occupation. 

She turned to look at him, eyes narrowing, she was expecting scrutiny, some form of condescension. All she saw were the blank white eyes of his mask. 

She’d had a run in with the bat before, the intensity of his gaze, the tightness of his lips and the weaponization of peoples’ fear made her decide she hated them all. 

“Maybe mind your fucking business.” She snapped. 

“Let me take you home and I’ll be on my way.” 

She scoffed. “I’ll just kill myself tomorrow then.” 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Not here.” 

“I’ll find you regardless.” 

“Fuck off. Seriously. Go fight Penguin or some shit and just let me die.” She wanted to hit something out of frustration when her voice cracked. She was angry. She wanted to cry. She wanted to feel her feelings and free herself once and for all. She would be damned if she let this bat variant shitface see her cry. 

“I don’t care for Penguin right now. I care for you.” 

“Bullshit. You don’t know me.” 

“I will by the time I get you home.” 

She stared at him, in her drunken state she resolved that he would not leave her alone anytime soon. 

He walked her home that night. 

He checked in on her every day after that, there was no escaping the man. 

Of course a friendship grew, despite her many efforts towards resistance. Of Course she patched him up when he came to check on her, despite her constant complaints about the blood stains in the carpet. Of course he came to check on her, injuries and all. She didn’t know why he kept coming back. She decided soon enough she didn’t mind it. Slowly but surely, Tim Drake helped her get her start to get her shit together. 

That was until she met him. 

Maybe she was finally starting to get her life together. Maybe it wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was just a temporary feel of structure before she reverted back to the bottle like she always did. 

Maybe he was her soulmate. Maybe he just gave her the right kind of attention at the wrong time. 

Deep down the only person she wanted to call her soulmate was Tim. Tim wasn’t perfect, but he was so, so good. He destroyed himself every day to make the world a better place. She destroyed herself every day to try and cure the anger she carried with her everywhere she went. With him, the suffocating weight on her chest felt just a little bit lighter. With him, she could breathe. 

She refused to place the weight of her burdens onto him, not when he already had his own. She refused to delude herself into thinking that someone like Tim would ever stoop to her level, would ever look at her in all her fucked up glory and decide that she was worth it. 

Maybe it was because he deserves better. Maybe she just doesn’t deserve him. 

We accept the love we think we deserve.

As smart of a man Timothy Drake is, he has never fully been able to place when it all started. The lines of time have been blurred for him for years now. He remembers meeting the guy for the first time. He remembers not liking him at all, he remembers how she looked at him. He remembers how big beautiful eyes admired the sorry excuse of a man that stood in front of him. He remembers going home that night and resolving to silence in favor of her happiness. 

He remembers meeting her. He’d been on patrol that night, he’d found her on a rooftop. She was bumming a cigarette, a half empty bottle of jack sat beside her as her legs dangled off the edge. Her eyes were heavy, hair up and in wisps of disarray. There was a breeze that night. 

He remembers taking her away from the edge, finding that her risky placement was intentional. He remembers deciding that night that he didn’t want to leave her. He remembers how she accepted him for everything he is. How she didn’t bat an eye when he’d revealed his identity. How she saw both versions of him as one, never valuing one more than the other. How she patched him up and told him to rest because she really did care.

He remembers when he realized he’d fallen in love with her. He remembers hearing her laugh one night and deciding it’d be all he needed for the rest of his life. He remembers every detail of her face but he can never bring himself to look at it when he’s there. 

He remembers the first time she called in the late hours of the night. The first time he picked her up and held her while she cried. He remembers how he felt when he watched her pick apart every detail about herself, Why, Tim? What is so fucking repulsive about me? What did I do for him to treat me like this?

He’d always say the same thing. That he was an idiot, a piece of shit. That she wasn’t the problem, he was. Everytime he managed to build her back up again, she’d run back to him, only for him to rip her apart, again and again.  

He remembers every time he told her to leave him. He remembers every single broken, “I can’t.” 

There are lots of things Tim doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that he’s the only person she is willing to be this vulnerable with. He doesn’t know that deep down all she wants is him. He doesn’t know just how much of her heart he truly occupies. 

There are also a lot of things that Tim knows. He knows she deserves better. He knows she refuses to let herself be happy. He knows she doesn’t think she deserves good love. He knows he loves her. He knows he can’t have her.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[eiloveir]

is it casual now?

✰ pairing. — uchiha obito x f!reader

✰ genre. — romance, angst

✰ warnings. — alcohol consumption, emotional detachment, toxic relationship dynamics, sexual content

✰ author’s note: please be advised that this piece includes explicit content and themes that may not be suitable for all readers. if you’re uncomfy with or sensitive to such material, or if you believe it might trigger negative reactions, it’s best to skip this reading.

you walked back and forth in your apartment, your footsteps creating a steady pattern that barely disturbed the heavy silent around you. the walls, decorated with paintings and photographs, seemed to close in on you as the minutes passed slowly. each tick of the wall clock felt like a reminder of how time was slipping away—time you were spending waiting for a message that never came. the clock’s face was lit up by the faint glow of the lamp on the side table, that moved on the walls, reflecting the unrest inside you. beneath the surface, your frustration was growing, and you tried to ignore the ache in your chest, which kept you stuck in this endless waiting.

it was almost eleven in the evening and you had been waiting since you woke up. the irony was not lost on you. the more you tried to ignore his presence, the more you found yourself drawn back into his charm and the complications it brought. you were trapped in confusion, and fully aware that your feelings were tangled in a mess of “no strings attached” arrangements. the thought that you were just a temporary distraction for him, while you faced the risk of falling deeper into his yearning, made you feel like the dumbest person to ever exist.

but you like it — you liked the way he made you feel; his touch and the moments of sweetness were addictive. those moments, though temporary and insubstantial, were what you craved, despite knowing they were just pleasures to him. you had been trying to distance yourself from this truth, but it kept sneaking back into your thoughts, like an unwanted guest you couldn’t quite get rid of. his voice, the way he made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t before—these were the things that kept you connected to him, even when you knew the relationship was complicated.

you were about to give up on hoping to hear from him when your phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the heavy silence of your apartment. you jumped at the sound, your heart racing as you fumbled to grab the phone. the name on the screen—uchiha obito—made your heart skip a beat. his voice came through, heavy with the slur of alcohol. “love,” he said slowly. the term of endearment, spoken with the deliberate pace of someone who’s drunk. was it a sincere slip of the tongue or just a side effect of his drunkenness? the question echoed in your mind as you tried to steady yourself and keep your voice calm.

“where are you? you sound... drunk.” the words came out slowly. you strained to catch any hint of his location through the slurred speech and tone, and your mind racing with the thought of his state.

you were all too familiar with the pattern—his calls always came when he was in need, reaching out to you for temporary distraction. it was a routine you knew well, one that consistently left you yearning for something more while only receiving the empty gestures of his attention. every time he called, you held on to the hope of something deeper, but each time, that hope was met with the same cycle of attachment.

he chuckled softly on the other end, his laughter carrying the wobble of alcohol. “i’m not drunk,” he insisted, though his voice betrayed his condition. “just a little tipsy.” the term tipsy felt like an understatement, given the clear evidence of his intoxication in the way he spoke.

“whatever you say.”

his laugh echoed once more, carrying an amused tone that seemed to drift through the phone line. “come on,” he said, his voice now languid and relaxed. “i just wanted to hear your voice.”

you let the sound linger in the quiet of your apartment before responding. “of course you do, you only ever call when you’re drunk or bored.” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“don’t be like that,” obito’s voice came through, the shift in his tone was noticable, as if he was trying to soften the impact of his previous behavior with affection. and there was a pause — the only sound was the soft hum of the phone line connecting you the both of you. then, his laughter returned. you could almost picture the smirk on his face, the one that accompanied his playful, if not somewhat insincere, gestures. “can’t a guy just want to talk to his favorite girl?” he asked, words framed by almost pleading tone.

you were momentarily caught off guard by the endearment and the softness in his voice. the term “favorite girl” stirred something — it felt oddly intimate, you took a deep breath, striving to keep your tone detached and composed. “favorite girl, huh?” you said, the words coming out with an edge of irony. “i’m the only girl you talk to when you’re like this.”

“you know it,” obito said, his words slurred with smugness. there was a clear arrogance in his voice, as if he was sure you’d always be around no matter how messy things got between you two. “nobody else quite compares.”

“you only say that because i’m easy and always available when you need a distraction.”

“oh, don’t sell yourself short,” his laughter rang through the phone, light and teasing. “you’re way more than just a distraction, love.” even in that state, there was a boldness in his tone that revealed his awareness of the power he held over you.

“and yet, that’s all I am to you when morning comes,” as the words left your lips, realization washed over you. well, it was a truth you had come to accept, but the bitter taste of reality still stung. “just a plaything you discard until you’re bored or lonely again.”

he was quiet for a moment, his silence was filled with self-interest. after a while, he let out a deep sigh, and his voice sounded heavy. “you know the rules,” he said, as though his words were meant to be a complete explanation. “it’s just fun. no strings attached.”

it was the same tired excuse. his explanation felt as empty as it was repetitive — the pattern you were always caught in. you pressed your back against the wall, its coolness giving you a momentary break from what he said.

“of course, i know the rules. no strings attached, just fun.” the phrase hung in the air, resonating with your own disillusionment. each word seemed to emphasize the nature of your arrangement and the emotional longing you felt. the familiar repetition of his excuse and how trapped you were in a cycle that left you feeling more alone yet you found it very addictive.

his slurred voice carried satisfaction. “that’s right,” he said, taking a pause before adding with another smugness, “and you always play along so nicely.”

frustration and excitement tangled within you as you resigned yourself to the familiar pattern. “yeah, i always play along, what do you want this time?”

his response came with of course, his usual charm. “oh, not much, just a bit of company. you know i always appreciate your... company.” the way he spoke had a suggestive undertone, making it clear that he was hinting at more than just a friendly conversation.

“company, huh?” you replied, letting out a sigh. “and what kind of company are you looking for?” you knew exactly what he meant, but you still wanted him to be explicit about it. the question was more about making him articulate his intentions directly, even though you were already well aware of the implication.

“you know what kind of company i need,” he said, letting his tone drop to a low, suggestive murmur. “the kind that only you can provide.” the way he spoke was almost deliberate, drawing out each word with a languid, almost seductive quality — at least, for you.

“the same kind of company as always,” you said, working to keep your voice steady and composed.

you could almost feel the tension on the other end of the line as silence stretched between you. in that moment, you wondered if he was hesitating, perhaps reconsidering the terms he had laid out so many times before. but then, his playfulness returned and his voice is laced with a very mischievous tone. “that’s right, love. just casual fun.” his stance hadn’t changed. the words were coated with the same indifference he always used.

you fought against the wave of disappointment, pushing it aside as you resigned yourself to the agreement you were about to uphold. “of course, just casual, just the way we like it.” the words came out almost automatically, reflecting the weariness of accepting the same cycle once more.

“so,” his voice came through, “you coming or not?”

you hesitated, caught between the logical part of your mind that recognized this as a bad idea and the powerful surge of desire and excitement that swept through you. despite the nagging voice of reason warning you of the potential for more hurt, the pull of his presence was too strong to ignore.

“yeah,” you said, striving to keep your tone natural despite the fluttering sensation in your chest. “i’ll be there soon.”

a few minutes later, you were driving through the city streets, the night lights blurring past in a swirl of colors. every block you passed seemed to heighten your anticipation. finally, you spotted his car parked in a dimly lit back alley, its dark silhouette standing out against the shadows. the street was unusually quiet, broken only by the distant hum of traffic, making the stillness amplify your nervous excitement.

as you neared, obito stepped out of his car, leaning against the hood with a knowing smile that seemed to shine in the moonlight. you got out of your car, feeling the cool night air brush against your skin. the moonlight bathed him in a soft, silvery glow, making his presence even more striking. for a fleeting moment, the space between you seemed to shrink.

his intense gaze seemed to pierce right through you, making you feel like prey under his watchful eye. your heartbeat quickened, responding to the way he deliberately closed the distance between you. as you backed up against the cold surface of his car, his calculated steps brought him closer, intensifying the tension in the air.

the atmosphere was thick with his presence, his alcohol-tinged scent wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. the heat and desire he radiated made the night air feel unnaturally warm, almost oppressive. you could hear his breath, each exhale a searing whisper against your skin that sent a shiver down your spine. the excitement of what was about to unfold stretched out endlessly, making the moment unbearable.

obito’s hand moved to your face with gentleness that was disarming. the warmth of his touch, familiar and electrifying. his thumb traced softly along your cheek, while his eyes remained locked onto yours with an intensity. “you look good,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper that wrapped around you like a warm embrace and flushed heat across your cheeks.

you fought to maintain your composure, though a tremor in your voice betrayed the effect he had on you. “you’re just drunk,” you managed to say, trying to keep your tone detached.

his chuckle was a low sound that resonated with amusement, “not really,” he conceded, the word stretching out as he drew nearer. “i’m not drunk enough to tell lies.” his lips brushed lightly against your ear, sending a tingles down your neck.

the air between you crackled with intoxication. moonlight cast shifting shadows that seemed to dance around you, turning the narrow alley into a place of intimacy where only the two of you existed. the car behind you creaked slightly, its cold metal pressing against your back. his hands were warm and firm as they cupped your face, his fingers moved with care, tracing down your jawline and eliciting a series of shivers that radiated through you.

“i’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, his voice gravelly. “and now that you’re here,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper, “i can’t think about anything else.”

the contrast between the car and the warmth of his touch created a sensation. with a swift motion, he unlocked the rear door of his car and gestured for you to step inside. the interior of the it was dimly lit, with only the occasional street lamp casting beams of light through the windows. you climbed inside, the tight confines offering little room to move. he followed, shutting the door behind him with a firm click that echoed in the confined space. the small, cramped seat made every movement feel amplified, and as he settled in beside you, his body pressed against yours.

obito’s hands moved with practiced ease, cupping your face and tilting it upward with a tender touch. “i’ve missed this,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with desire. “missed you.”

the softness in his voice took you by surprise, momentarily disorienting you. “we’ve done this just three days ago,” you replied, trying to keep your composure despite the quickening beat of your heart.

even in the dim light, his smirk was unmistakable. “and i’ve been thinking about you every minute since then,” he said, his lips brushing against your neck with warm, lingering kisses. “thinking about how good you feel, how you taste, and all the things i’ve been wanting to do to you since we last saw each other.”

his hands roamed over your body with a purposeful intensity, the touch of his fingers igniting a desire within you. his grip tightened around your hips, pulling you closer with urgency. “you drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough and charged with emotion. his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath the fabric, pleasure washed over you. the sensation of his touch against your bare skin made you shiver with excitement. “obito,” you whispered, your voice trembling as anticipation built.

“hmmm?” he murmured, his lips still brushing against your neck, sending tingles through your body. “what is it?” he asked, his hands continuing their exploration with enticing touch. “tell me what you want.”

you hesitated for a moment, caught in the tug-of-war between your desire and the fear of exposing your vulnerability. “i want you,” you whispered, your voice soft yet resolute. “i want you... like this.”

his grin widened, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk against your skin. “that’s all i needed to hear,” he said, his hands swiftly moving to the buttons of your shirt and unfastened them with a hurried touch, his impatience evident in every quick, decisive movement.

“damn, you always look so good,” obito muttered, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin with an appreciative hunger. his hands glided to your back, deftly unclasping your bra with skillful fingers. he paused for a moment to relish the sight before him, his gaze lingering on every inch of your body with admiration.

obito’s touch was unrelenting desire. the tight confines of the car, only dimly lit by the sporadic flicker of street lamps outside, intensified every sensation, turning each caress and kiss into an intoxicating experience that felt almost surreal. his breath, warm and uneven, brushed against your inner thighs.

his lips traced paths along your most sensitive areas, his tongue darting out with teasing, purposeful movements. “you’re so responsive,” he murmured, his voice a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through his chest. “every inch of you reacts to me in the most perfect way.”

you gasped, your body instinctively arching toward him as his tongue traced a path of heated pleasure. the blend of his warmth and the cool leather of the seat heightened your sensation — it makes your skin feel extraordinarily sensitive. “obito,” you breathed, your voice quivering with a mix of need and frustration. “please…”

his response was a deep, throaty chuckle that reverberated through his chest as he pressed closer. “i love hearing you beg,” he said, his tone laced with dark amusement and a possessive affection.

the urgency in your voice was clear as you fought to keep your composure. “i want you inside me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i need you… now.”

his eyes darkened with desire, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “you always know how to get me going,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “and you know i’m more than ready to deliver.”

his tongue continued its teasing, moving over your most sensitive areas with skill. every flick and swirl sent waves of pleasure through your body, causing your breath to come in shallow, desperate gasps. “tell me how good it feels,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a deep, seductive rumble that made your heart race. “i want to hear it.”

the sensation of his tongue working its magic was overwhelming, a hot, wet bliss that left you breathless and moaning. “it feels incredible,” you moaned, your voice a blend of urgency and ecstasy. “please don’t stop.”

his hands traveled up to your chest, his touch is full of eagerness. he cupped your breasts gently, his thumbs grazing your hardened nipples with a feather-light touch that made you shiver uncontrollably. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a blend of admiration and unrestrained desire. “every inch of you drives me wild.”

he pulled you closer, positioning himself with the need that matched the growing heat between you — and he slowly entered you, the car seemed to amplify every movement, making each thrust more intense and intimate.

obito’s rhythm was steady, his body pressing against yours, almost desperate. every movement was deep and controlled, it heightens the pleasure for both of you.

“damn, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice full of lust and amazement.

the pleasure was building rapidly, every movement pushing you closer to the brink. everything felt more intense, more immediate, as if the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you in this moment. “you drive me wild,” he murmured, his voice husky with need and satisfaction. “every single inch of you...”

you couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure coursing through you, but amidst the physical sensation, your mind began to wander. as he moved against you, the intensity of his presence made you overthink the nature of your relationship. the way he touched you, the passion in his actions—it felt like more than just a casual encounter. but you reminded yourself that this was all it was supposed to be: no strings, no expectations, just physical connection.

the way his hands gripped your hips, his voice rough with need, and the way he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes—each detail made you question if there could be more between you. yet, you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to hope for something deeper. the reality of your arrangement was clear, even if, in moments like these, it felt like something more. the intensity of the moment, the closeness of your bodies, and the rhythm of his movements—all of it was almost overwhelming, making it hard to keep your emotions in check.

you focused on the sensations, the way his skin felt against yours, the heat of his breath on your neck, the pleasure building inside you. it was a way to ground yourself, to stay present in the moment, and not let your mind wander to what-ifs and possibilities that weren’t there. as much as you wanted to believe there was something more, you knew you had to protect your heart, to remind yourself of the boundaries you’d set. but right now, in this moment, it was hard to care about any of that. all that mattered was the way he made you feel, and you surrendered to it, even as a small voice in the back of your mind warned you not to get too attached.

as his movements grew more urgent, you could see the intensity in his eyes. every thrust became more desirable, hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer with a firm yet tender touch, as if anchoring himself in the moment. “god, you feel amazing,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless. you could feel the tension building within him, his muscles tensing with every movement. the friction between your bodies, the confined space, and the overwhelming heat all combined to amplify the sensation, making every touch feel electric. you could sense his restraint slipping, his control unraveling as he neared his peak.

with a low, guttural groan, obito thrust deeply one final time. “i’m coming,” he growled, his voice filled pleasure and relief. the words were almost a declaration, a culmination of the buildup that had led to this moment. you could feel the power of his climax, his body trembling with the force of it. “fuck,” he gasped, his grip tightening, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control.

the sensation of his release sent ripples of pleasure through you, the heat of his breath against your neck, the feel of his skin against yours, and the deep, primal sound of his groan all merging into a sensory overload that pushed you to the edge. “obito,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.

a breathless moan escaped your lips as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, each pulse of pleasure more powerful than the last. your body arched into his, seeking more of the connection that had brought you to this peak. “oh god, obito,” you gasped, the words a mix of desperation and relief.

as the peak of pleasure passed, a quiet stillness settled over the car’s interior. the air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat and desire, the pheromones creating a cocoon around you. the heat of the moment slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind a sense of satisfaction. the physical connection had been undeniable, but as reality began to seep back in, the emotional distance became painfully clear.

obito shifted slightly, his breathing still heavy. “that was... intense,” he said, his voice low and rough. he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for a moment. “you okay?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

you nodded, but the weight of reality pressed down, cooling the lingering warmth of the encounter. “yeah,” you replied, your voice soft. “just... catching my breath.”

his hands, which had held you so intimately moments before, gradually released their grip, the warmth of his touch fading away. he withdrew slowly, his gaze softening as he shifted to a more detached posture.

“we should get dressed,” he said, a note of practicality as it broke the silence that had enveloped the car. the change in his demeanor was subtle but noticeable, like a curtain falling over the emotional intensity you had just shared.

you nodded quietly, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for your discarded clothes. each piece you put on felt like a shield, a way to cover up the rawness of the moment and regain a sense of normalcy. the act of dressing was both a physical and emotional shield, helping you to wrap yourself in a layer of composure.

as you finished buttoning up your shirt, you stole a glance at him. his expression had returned to its familiar, easygoing demeanor, though there was a softness in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t entirely unaffected by what had transpired. he was already adjusting his clothes with a ease, but there was apologetic quality in his movements.

“we should go,” he said, his voice now stripped of the earlier passion. the intensity that had defined the moments before seemed to have dissipated, leaving behind a more subdued tone.

before he could retreat to his car, you turned to him, your gaze steady only at him. the warmth that had enveloped you both moments ago was now replaced by uncertainty. “we should... clear some things up.”

obito looked back at you, his expression’s unreadable. his gaze was steady, lacking the intensity of the moments just passed. “go on,” he said, his voice measured, neither warm nor cold, but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. “what are we doing?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady despite the anxiety that bubbled beneath the surface. the question hung in the air, heavy with the need for clarity and understanding.

“we’re having fun, right? that’s all it ever was, wasn’t it?” his face remained impassive, offering no insight into the emotions that might be hidden behind his composed facade.

the coldness in his tone hit you like a sudden chill, slicing through the fragile bubble of intimacy you’d shared moments before. you felt a sting, an emotional jab that made it hard to swallow as you fought to keep your composure.

“was everything just casual?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to remain calm.

“that’s what we agreed upon,” he replied, his words were straightforward, a reminder of the boundaries you’d both set, and his detached demeanor only underscored the his answer.

you forced a sarcastic smile, though it felt like a hollow gesture, and looked at him with disbelief, “nice, i guess?” you said quietly, though your tone was laced with bitter irony. “we just pretend like nothing happened, like none of it meant anything.”

the pain in your chest was sharp, almost as if a part of you was being torn away. you held his gaze, your eyes silently pleading for some sign of warmth, for something that could break through his demeanor. but his expression remained unchanged.

“don’t you ever feel something?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, quivering with barely-contained emotion.

for a brief moment, obito’s eyes flickered with something—regret, perhaps, or vulnerability—before quickly hardening again. the emotion fades away, leaving behind only the impassive expression he wore so well.

“we knew what this was from the start,” he said firmly, his voice taking on a resolute edge, as if trying to anchor himself as much as convince you. “we agreed on keeping it simple. no attachments.”

yoou wanted to argue, to tell him that feelings are not so easily controlled, that the emotional boundaries were not as clear-cut as he seemed to believe. but you understood that such arguments would be futile. his stance was solid, and the rules of your arrangement were clear to him, with no room for the messy, unpredictable nature of true feelings.

“right,” you said, your voice flat and hollow. “no attachment.”