#and maybe it shouldn’t actually be normal !!! ever think of that !!!!

[charmac]

Opinions on Charlie woobification? Also, do you think the fandom woobifies Dennis (too much)?

A few people have sent me asks about my thoughts on Dennis being woobified in the fandom and I’ve failed to answer them (sorry). Not for lack of interest on the subject, it’s just hard to answer. I think, though, answering this Charlie question in the same ask might make it easier to explain my thoughts on this.

When we talk about the fandom we’re generally talking about the people here, a couple hundred people on Twitter, maybe some Instagram stans(?) and tend to ignore the million (1,000,000)+ people on the subReddit and the huge chunk of people on Facebook and casual Twitter who are constantly, continually pushing a narrative that these characters have no depth, and thus their characterisation is what we see on the surface and nothing more. I think the one time it’s probably important not to ignore those people as fans of the show is when it comes to woobification.

Because at a surface level, the people who are consuming this show as a comedy and making posts that exhibit their takes/opinions on these characters to the majority of people portray the characters very simply: Charlie is an idiot and the best member of the Gang, in every sense of the word, and Dennis is a mere representation of toxic masculinity to a psychopathic degree. And those opinions are the loud majority.

So any discussion in our minority section of the fandom that woobifies Charlie or Dennis operates within and on top of the general narrative of the public perception (“face value”) of the characters. Woobification of Charlie, then, almost always further infantilises the majority of his traits to contribute to the idea that he’s not a bad guy and doesn’t deserve the position he’s in in life, while woobification of Dennis mostly works to counteract the idea that he’s a cold-blooded psychopath.

In a way, I think you have to woobify Dennis to a degree in order to properly understand his character (and Glenn makes that clear). Do some people take it too far? When it gets into the realm of genuinely somehow believing he’s not a bad person, absolutely, but in over a decade of Sunnyblr posts, I think I’ve seen that conclusion once, maybe twice. I really don’t think any post that’s diving into how Dennis' actions reflect his insecurities and trauma is ever speaking ignorant of the rest of his character, and that normally seems clear to the majority of people because rarely, if ever, does a dive into Dennis woobification cause fans to understand the character worse than they understood him at face value.

Whereas, with Charlie, you constantly do see this. Posts and threads and fights between fans arguing up and down that Charlie is better than the rest of them: he’s the smartest, actually, he means to do good, he shouldn’t be lumped in with the rest of them as sexual predators... People in this fandom genuinely argue that you are a *better person* if you’re a Charlie stan, that Charlie ships are softer, more moral, than toxic Dennis ships. The result of Charlie woobification seems to often make people less media literate about the character (and the show as a whole if we’re being real) than they would be if they just watched at face value.

They’re all morally despicable characters.

TL;DR: Due to the face value perceptions of the characters, woobification is an almost necessary tool for better exploring and understanding Dennis under his surface, while it really only exacerbates an annoying surface-level understanding of Charlie

[notsorryiml8]

Concerning Kakashi's skill as a teacher, I think a lot of the differing opinions how good he is is caused by differing ideas of what he's supposed to do. I've seen a lot of fanfic that "fixes" him and makes him more of a drill sergeant, having him decide how team 7 trains and what roles they take. A more true to canon take, I think, is that his job is to be more of team leader than having a master-apprentice kinda role. He teaches mission procedures, handing clients, and basically how to live as a ninja. He could probably give them some advice, about actual jutsu and stuff, maybe recommend certain teachers, make sure they aren't being irresponsible, etc. I think that he shouldn't have had to teach them tree walking, that being something they discover on their own, maybe with hints, but had to ignore subtlety due to the Wave mission. Like, the only other sensei that actually seems to be teaching their assigned student actual jutsu is Gai and Lee, everyone else, even close pairs like Asuma and Shikamaru, seems to be more like role models, or mentors. Idk if I'm explaining it right. TLDR Kakashi's a good sensei, his role in team 7 was never to be a drill sergeant/combat instructor, that role is fulfilled by master/apprentice relationships like Gai and Lee, and Sannin and team 7.

I may be wrong, but I don’t ever recall questioning Kakashi’s teaching skills. Heeeck, I’m one of his most ardent defenders 😊 lol. But I do also recognize his humanity.

I think Kakashi became a better sensei over time, but didn’t necessarily start out as a “good” sensei. But, before anyone jumps on me, that’s the nature of any job; especially one you never wanted. You learn by experience. A fresh, out of school, green neophyte on their first day ever on the job anywhere is not going to be as skilled as someone who’s been there 20 years, five years, or even just one year.

Kakashi, as a sensei, was just as confused as Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke were as students. Dude was winging it, because there wasn’t any other way. He wasn’t expecting them to pass, nobody else ever passed his test before and he didn’t have enough faith in the Konoha ninja education system to believe they’d create a team of kids who could work as a team. He was only in school for a year, if that, so he didn’t know what those kids were learning. So, he wasn’t prepared. Or even lowkey, he may not have wanted them to pass because it meant, omg, I have to be responsible for other people, tiny other people, tiny other people with no skills.

In Anbu, yes, he was a captain, but that was different. Anbu was loneliness. Anbu was darkness. Anbu members were expected to be cold-blooded killers. And Anbu members typically weren’t 12 (he, Itachi, and Yamato/Tenzo were exceptions). He also didn’t have to teach; just train. Different ballgame.

Anyway, I digress, back to Team 7, one was the son of his sensei who he trying desperately to not remember because it hurt, not to mention the kid was feral (yeah, I said it, 12-year-old OG Naruto was feral - severe neglect will do that); another was the last member of his clan that was brutally murdered under the authority of the village, so that kid was a just a wee bit unhinged; and the third was the this little kunoichi that from his perspective probably shouldn’t have been in the ninja world in the first place because it was a cruel, cold, brutal life and she was “normal.” He didn’t know what to do with a normal kid - he was never one. In the end, he accepted the situation for what it was and learnt as much as he taught. And that’s the beauty of it - the teacher became the student and the students became the teacher.

It seems like the academy teaches bare basics - heck, he graduated in a year at age 5. I’m not downplaying his skills by any means, just stating the freak of nature that he is, completed years long training in just a fraction of that time and not sure if that says something about him or the education system - they weren’t prepared to work with prodigious kids and that says a lot. Yeah yeah yeah somebody will say they were at war, so they let the brat graduate. But that’s another post.

Anyway, that being said, I agree the academy should teach more. I strongly believe they should, at a bare minimum, learn their chakra nature while there. That seems like common sense. Just give out the litmus paper and test them and group them accordingly (I find it hard to believe that there are a bunch of shinobi going around not knowing what nature they have. Guess it would be based in your clan??). The basics of chakra control, water walking, tree climbing, etc… Makes you wonder what the heck they did teach them while there. I’m beginning to think it was just regular school and they learned some “cool ninja stuff” here and there - clones, substitution jutsu, taijutsu…

That being said, from what I garner, your clan is supposed to teach you their secrets and jutsu. Your sensei can’t do that. The school is supposed to teach you the basics 🤷🏽‍♀️. And your sensei is supposed to hone those skills. Take you on missions so you can learn in the field. Train your skills. Find your talents and strengths and enhance them.

As for Gai, Asuma, and Kurenai. I believe they all trained their students in different ways. My girl Kurenai doesn’t get much screen or page time, so you don’t know what she did or didn’t do or the hours she put in with them. Same for Asuma. You only get to see Gai’s team so much because Rock Lee is so awesome Gai is Kakashi’s rival, so more screen time by proxy. That’s not to say Asuma and Kurenai didn’t spend hours upon hours training their squads. Which I believe they did because at the end of the day, the K12 kicked butt and that required intensive training. Remember, all because you don’t see it happening, doesn’t mean it didn’t. They’re all amazing sensei in their own right. If you think about it, all those kids made it to the Chunin Exams, meaning a minimum of 8-9 missions. Remember Iruka tested Team 7 before the exam to see if they were ready. Thinking or hoping someone tested the other teams too. Which means those sensei had to put in time with them.

As for drill sergeant Kakashi, not sure if you’ve ever taken martial arts, but I have/do. Sensei are not the nicest people by any means- out of the dojo, they can be, but on the mat, when training, you might as well have a drill sergeant. They yell in your face, they throw you around (painfully). They want you to be serious and understand the seriousness of it. They are training you to fight and yes, you do learn techniques that can be lethal and how to use weapons irl. So, they have to be serious and they do work with you based on your own skillset. So, there’s some merit to that, historically. So, in a world that’s built around the shinobi system, Kakashi as a drill sergeant-sensei is possible and that doesn’t make him any more/less good or bad than the other sensei. Same for Kakashi as mentor-sensei. I think he became Team Leader Kakashi with the introduction of Team Kakashi, when he acknowledged them as his equal. But at the end of the day, why can’t he be all three? There’s a time and place for each role and no one size fits all approach to teaching. At the end of the day he was trying his best. They all were. And he was a good, but flawed, sensei. They all were.

[cottoncandybitchfuck]

Misfit and Magic quotes I like

“Real people aren’t tropes, though.” -Evan Kelmp

“You don’t have to like it. You get the cards you get, but I just want to say that if there’s a part of you somewhere that likes that stuff somewhere, the world would actually be a better place if people were singing songs and shooting pink magic everywhere. That’s a good world.” -Evan

“Jammer was doing you all a favor by explaining to you that you really shouldn’t mess with us. Jammer doesn't need a wand to kick your ass. I've fought adults in gas station parking lots with no magic. Like if Axelby wants to start some shit, I won't need, my eyes won't go black. I'll just actually stomp his ass to the ground. I know you're all British private school kids but I'm not here to fuck around and none of my friends are." -Evan

“Whenever I just honestly report the facts of my life people get emotional.” Evan

“It is completely unacceptable to ask someone to pre-promise their emotional reaction to information that they don't know what the content of it is. I'm gonna have the reaction that is appropriate to whatever you tell me.” Evan 

“If I was just acting selfishly, I would still want this. I would still just want to be normal. I would still just want to be normal.” 

“I don't want you to feel like you only have bad options. I feel like you are a soul that's only ever known bad options. This is a school, weird though it may be for a reason, and the things that have happened to you, the things that happen around you, they don't have to define you. You can learn to control them. And maybe it takes a little extra work, but you can control it, if you want. You can stay if you want.”- Stitchnit

‘Not everything is about being happy. Sometimes it's about the team.” Evan

“This is what's on the inside. And it's hard to cover this up.” -Evan

“I've been afraid for a lot of my life.” -Evan

“I don't want to be just a trapdoor for something terrible that's gonna pop up from time to time for things that you have to body.” Evan

"I'm okay being magic. I can help my friends." Evan

“I don't think bad students behave badly if they're not getting the go ahead from bad teachers.” Evan

"For prestige? People care about you." Evan

“Are you a shotgun or scalpel right now” Aabria

[parkitaco]

“it’s natural to feel that way in this stage of your life” well have u considered that i don’t actually want to feel this way at any stage of my life

[jikigo]

you ever just see a post and just

. 😭

.⬅️🫀⬅️

[inupibaldspot]

Back off, kid.

Pairing: gojo satoru x reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : this is a part 2 but you don’t really ly need much context haha.

·:*¨༺ Part 1 ༻¨*:·

“You know you guys don’t really look alike.” You say as you bring your hands up and rearrange the tuft of hair to your liking, you hum when the other wise spiky persistent hair bends obediently.

While in-front of you there was a younger dark haired boy, face completely pink but doesn’t dare let any part of his body move from your touch. “We aren’t related so we shouldn’t look alike.” Fushiguro tries to act as normal as ever.

“You know he has been introducing himself as your dad in your PTAs.” you pull away with a smile. “Satoru says they get so shocked and think he is a teen-dad.” You laugh as you trail back to the memory, Gojo’s snarky comment on ‘If I’m Megumi’s dad then you’re his mom; Which makes you my wife~’ remains unsaid.

When you pull away, Fushiguro finally feels his body release tension and finally he lets out a sigh. He hopes Tsumiki comes back finishing her club meeting soon.

“Why are you sighing like a old man, Megumi?” You get up from cushion floor as you then proceed to sit on the nearby sofa and cross you legs, giving him a teasing smile.

Fushiguro looks away from you with a huff. “Just a small headache.” and maybe even a chest pain. Both caused by you.

You hum as you then let out a ‘ah—!’ as you then proceeded to smile and pat on you nap. “Come here.” You smile proudly.

Poor Fushiguro Megumi’s face burst into steam from the heat radiating off his face. “Like hell I can!”

“Megumi…” you said in a soft tone which make the younger boy flatter. “I’m not teasing, I’ll just give you a massage.”

The boy huffs and sits infront of his feet as he felt your gentle soft hands guide his head to you lap. His frown dissipates as he then lets out a sigh of relief upon the movement of your hands near his temple.

You let out a giggle to how Fushiguro was acting like an old man, maybe this is what happens to people who deal with Gojo on a daily basis. “How’s school? from next year you’re going to be a middle school student,megumi.”

It’s been a while since you visited, already finished with highschool and now acting as an active jujutsu sorcerer has kept you busy but still then you would always visit once a week, make them a good meal while also bringing in some groceries. You didn’t have to but you’ve always done it, your soul was so unwavering it warmed Fushiguro to his very core.

“I’ve been using the notes you’ve prepared for me so school is pretty smooth for now…” Fushiguro finally replied as he still doesn’t move his head from your lap, his eyes closed and arms crossed infront of him, cheeks with a rosey color.

“Thank god.” You beam, Fushiguro watches from the crack of his eyes. “It was actually my notes from back in the days. I always kept them with me.”

Fushiguro closes his eyes, the more he watches you the more he feels his heart constrict as if it ran a marathon. “y/n, I want to say… thank you—ugh!” The poor boy’s was pushed off your lap with a sudden but controlled push. “What the hell?”

“I’m so tiredddddd, y/n.” The voice almost purrs as there is a tuft of white hair on the plush of your thighs. You blink at Gojo who seemed to be looking at you from behind his bandages with a wide smiles plastered on his face. “Gimme a massage too~”

Fushiguro knows this scene too well.

Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he thought but any time he was too close to you, Gojo who is in his early 20s and almost a decade older than him always manages to throw him away. And now he watches you frowning and reprimanded Gojo for acting like that.

He sighs. “I’m leaving.”

You and Gojo quickly turn to his direction. You had a confused look to your face then it contours to something of worry. Was he mad at Gojo? Fushiguro could almost hear your thoughts.

Where as Gojo who currently has his head on his lap and one of his hand playing with your finger, give him a confused look before it turns into a full blown egotistical. ‘I won!’ smirk.

“Got homework.” Fushiguro turns and leaves.

“Satoru, you’re always acting like that to Megumi.” You say as you tear your hands away from his and then give his head a light ‘chop’.

“Then he shouldn’t touch what’s mine.” He huffs , as he closed his eyes and forms a sassy pout.

“What’s mine?” You question. “Did Megumi take something of yours?“

“No…Right now, it’s still with me.” Gojo opens his eyes, which makes your breath hitch. his eyes ever so beautiful as the evening glow assist its glimmer. “You know what I mean right?”

Your breath hitches and suddenly the room is much hotter,your heart races as it blooms in warmth.

Gojo’s face softens as he looks at your flustered face. “What I mean is… I’m in lo—UGH!”

“Sorry”

Suddenly a new enters the room, the same dark haired boy who left moments earlier. “My pencil slipped from my hand.”

“Megumi, you brat!” Gojo stands up, with currently a pencil stabbed on his forehead. Megumi threw it because he knew Gojo wouldn’t even think of letting his infinity be active when he was near you after all.

Gojo watches as Fushiguro gives him his usual deadpanned look before it turns into a full blown egotistical. ‘Hah! As if I’ll let you confess on my watch’ smile.

Taglist ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡— @lysaray @thirtykiwis @sillysillygoofygoose @hotvinimon @olivianyx @anan-baban @shirabaee @genticcs

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

[hoot-h00t]

:/

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five.

Barry sped into his seat. The chair rocked with the sudden occupation and settled just before the monitor flicked over from the Justice League logo to Batman’s face.

Barry leaned over to Hal. “Is it just me or is he extra scary all large up on the screen like that?”

“I don’t know,” Hal whispered back with a smirk. “I think the glare loses something.”

“Hum. You know, I don’t think he’s actually glaring yet. I think that’s just the pain,” Barry decided.

The fact that Batman wasn’t at a hundred percent was obvious. Instead of his usual heavily armored suit, he was in some sort of under shirt that definitely wasn’t made for heavy fighting. More startling, he was in a domino like Nightingale wore rather than his full cowl. The edge of a white bandage was stark against his neck.

“Oh come on, don’t say that,” Hal whined, though kept it low enough for only Barry (and nosy Supermen) to hear. “That’s just depressing. Spooky shouldn’t be down and out like that.”

“You know he’d be here in person if he wasn’t, and I mean,�� Barry said with a little gesture towards the screen.

Whatever Hal was going to say got put to the side as Wonder Woman stood.

“Obviously, the last mission was a hard one,” she said, as if Batman being too hurt to come in person wasn’t example enough of that. “I believe we can all agree that going over the facts to make sure we are either better prepared for the next threat like this or can even prevent it is wise. Batman, if you will—”

Wonder Woman cut herself off with a bemused smile as she looked at the screen.

There was someone else on the display with Batman. The League couldn’t clearly see the person what with the lighting and camera angle, really they were hardly more than a shadow, but that wasn’t too important. What caught Barry’s attention, at least, was the look on Batman’s face.

It was soft.

Maybe they could just see more without the usual cowl but Batman was looking at the person like Barry had never seen the man look at anyone else.

Batman’s mouth moved, but there was no sound. Still it was obvious that he let out one of his little huffs of air before he leaned forward to accept a water bottle and something else. Medication, Barry guessed, by the way Batman knocked it back. He shook his head once before he glanced back at the screen.

Instantly his face schooled into his normal stoic mask. It was so quick a transformation that if Barry hadn’t seen the soft look himself he wouldn’t have believed it ever existed.

The other figure moved off screen as Batman unmuted. “My apology, apparently I was over due some medication. My husband is a little… pushy about that.”

A loud snort of laughter came off screen.

Batman glanced briefly that way.

“Holy shit, Batman has a husband?” Barry whispered.

“Wild, right?” Hal murmured back.

[rubyreduji]

king size bed — kmg & jjk

summary: mingyu has a problem: he's in love with his best friend's girlfriend. but does it go deeper than that, in ways that maybe even mingyu doesn't realize?

tags: smut (minors dni!), p.rnstar!au warnings: gyu is kind of a perv, explicit unprotected sex, filming explicit content, sending nudes, masturbation, sexting, fingering (f. rec), oral (m. + f. rec), threesome, cuckolding, creampie, cum eating, hair pulling, double penetration, anal, kinda voyeurism, multiple orgasms, squirting, maybe mingyu is a little bisexual in this…for only a second wc: 10.1k  an: this idea came to me randomly and i quite literally ascended to heaven and then fell straight down to hell and produced this :D also this fic is very mingyu centric as it’s told in his pov (sorry armys who may find this)

Mingyu wants to go home.

Around him, the walls thump to the music blasting throughout the club. If this was four years ago and he was still in college this would be great, but it’s not. All Mingyu does is sit in a booth and stare at the dance floor, watching as the bodies grind up against each other.

The reason Mingyu is even out tonight is to try and find someone to take home, but he’s not in the mood. All of his recent hook ups have been unsuccessful and he’d rather go home and try his luck with his trusty fist rather than try and flirt with some half-drunk, half-interested person in a stuffy, overly noisy club.

It’s not like Mingyu doesn’t want to get his dick wet, he’s honestly been more horny recently than he ever has been, but for some reason the idea of going home and watching porn sounds much better than actually trying to get with someone here. Maybe Mingyu has a problem, or maybe it’s because of Mingyu’s most recent discovery.

He’s not sure how he lucked out so bad, but one day all of his normal Twitter porn creators weren’t doing it for him, and he happened to stumble across a new page. A reblog from one of the accounts he already followed. The person in the video was stunning. No face, but still the most beautiful body Mingyu has ever seen.

When he clicked on the account he was surprised to see such a small following on the account, only to find out the creator only started posting recently. It’s needless to say that Mingyu spent the rest of the night jacking off to the few photos and videos on her page. “Sweetheart” that’s what her screen name was listed as. 

Even since discovering her, Mingyu’s become slightly obsessed and he’s taken liberty to getting off to her almost every night, even going as far as to subscribe to the content she has behind a paywall. 

Mingyu’s not sure why he’s so attached to her. Maybe it’s her soft aesthetic or the way she’s like a little secret gold mind he found. Or maybe it’s because she reminds Mingyu of….

He glances across the room, his eyes landing on where his best friend stands. Jungkook is leaned up against the bar, a small smirk on his face, his arm wrapped around the waist of the prettiest girl inside the whole club. Your body is pressed up against Jungkook’s as you press your lips to your boyfriend’s neck, marking his skin up with your lipstick.

You’re dressed in a tight, short dress colored in the most flattering shade of red. Mingyu’s favorite color. He does his best to not focus on your tits and the way your cleavage is accentuated by your dress, barely held up by the skinny straps on your shoulders.

Mingyu knows it’s an issue. He shouldn’t have such a huge crush on his best friend’s girlfriend, and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking of you like that either. Especially when you’re his friend as well. It’s not like he wants to, but he can’t help but think that you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever met. Inside and out.

You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend though, and he would never make a move on you or ever make you uncomfortable. Though, that doesn’t stop him from doing very shameful things in the dead of night, locked away in his bedroom, his hand wrapped around his cock as his eyes are trained on the video of the girl that reminds Mingyu of you just a little too well.

Mingyu must have gotten lost in his thoughts, staring at you, and when he focuses in again, he makes eye contact with Jungkook. The younger man winks at his best friend before guiding you out of the club. Mingyu’s eyes trail after you two the whole time, and he already knows you two are off to go fuck. If he’s being honest, you two most likely won’t even make it out of the parking lot, taking advantage of the tinted windows on Jungkook’s car.

The whole reason Mingyu even came tonight was to appease Jungkook, and now that the other man has left, Mingyu takes that as his cue to leave as well. The drive back to Mingyu’s apartment feels like an eternity and all he wants to do is crawl into bed, masturbate, and go to bed.

And yeah, maybe it is a little sad. Jacking off at home alone while his best friend fucks the girl of his dreams while all he can do is imagine it’s him in his place, but it’s not like there’s any other options.

Now if Mingyu was really being childish, you were always Mingyu’s first. 

You two went to the same high school together, but you two didn’t get close until college. You had a gen-ed together and when Mingyu was the only familiar face in the room, you latched on. Mingyu didn’t mind, you were sweet and funny and always let Mingyu study in your dorm when his roommates were too loud. 

Later, after Mingyu and Jungkook became best friends, that’s when the three of you started to form a friend group. Then you and Jungkook started to hang out one and one, and eventually those hang outs turned into dates, and now three years later, even after graduating college, you two are still going strong.

Mingyu’s only a little salty, maybe it’s because Jungkook knew Mingyu had something for you, or maybe it’s because really if it wasn’t for him Jungkook wouldn’t have even met you. It doesn’t matter though, because in the end you got with Jungkook and Mingyu respects that.

When Mingyu finally gets home he’s quick to lock his door and drop his pants, crawling into his bed and pulling up Twitter. Right on the top of his feed is a post from Sweetheart and Mingyu groans. She’s dressed in a pair of sexy red lingerie panties, and it automatically makes Mingyu think of the dress you had on tonight. That’s not the best part of the photo though, no the best part is the fact she's not wearing a bra, her chest bare and her nipples staring right at Mingyu.

His cock is already hard, it’s been hard since he watched you kiss up and down Jungkook’s neck, and he shoves his hand into his boxers unceremoniously to pull his cock out. He spits into his palm before wrapping it around his length and starting to pump.

He clicks on Sweetheart’s page, hoping she’s posted more or something, and he’s grateful to see a post from only a few minutes ago.

Live show on my OnlyCarats, come check it out ;)

Mingyu’s finger is clicking on the link in record time and it takes the video a moment to load before his screen reveals Sweetheart. She’s still in the pretty red panties from earlier, but now they’re pushed to the side as she slides her fingers in and out of her wet pussy. She’s laid out on a large bed, dressed in all white bedding that contracts nicely against the panties.

Sweetheart has done a few live videos before, but this is the first one Mingyu has been able to watch in real time, rather than a video uploaded after the live. He’s entranced as he watches her finger fuck her pussy. She’s letting out soft pants as she gets lost in her pleasure.

“F-fuck,” Mingyu whines. His hand is slick with pre-cum as he pumps his cock furiously in his fist. 

Mingyu wonders if you’re going to pull out a dildo, like you sometimes do in your videos, but rather another person appears on camera.

Clearly the body is a male figure, clad in black slacks and a black dress shirt. Sweetheart has done a few photos and videos with a guy before, but Mingyu’s never seen him in one of her lives before. It’s not that he minds too much, but a part of him wishes that he could stay pretending like the whole thing was for him, that he was the only person watching.

Mingyu can’t dwell on his disappointment though, because the man in the video is unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. It’s big, though Mingyu doesn’t think it’s bigger than his own. The man grabs the camera before laying back, allowing Sweetheart to climb on top of him.

She grinds against him for a little bit before lifting herself up and lining the man’s cock up to her entrance. Mingyu can see the way her legs tremble as she sinks down, and suddenly Mingyu doesn’t mind the other guy too much. From the angle he’s filming at, it’s almost like Sweetheart is riding Mingyu, and that drives him just a little bit insane.

Mingyu pumps his fist at the same speed Sweetheart is bouncing on the man’s cock, imagine that it’s Sweetheart…imagining that it’s you. Mingyu whimpers and bucks his hips up, letting himself get lost in the fantasy.

Now Mingyu can’t get the idea of you in his lap, your thighs straddling his as your pussy clamps down around him, out of his head. He thinks about your soft tits and how they’d bounce as you rode him, his cock hitting inside of you deep and rough.

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to let out a strangled moan as his cock twitches and he spills cum all over his hand. He lays in bed, his chest heaving with his pants. Mingyu opens his eyes and glances at his phone to see Sweetheart’s body trembling as she cums as well. Mingyu watches intently as Sweetheart pulls herself off of the man’s cock, his cum dripping out of her as she does so. 

Sweetheart ends the live soon after and Mingyu gets up to clean himself off. He decides to take a shower, scrubbing himself off like it will clean away the sins he just committed. As soon as he gets out of the shower he dries off and stumbles back into bed, deciding to call it a night.

Mingyu doesn’t see you or Jungkook again until almost a week later when Jungkook invites Mingyu over for dinner. Mingyu stops by the store to pick up a bottle of wine before heading over to the apartment you and Jungkook share. 

As soon as Mingyu knocks on the door you throw the door open and pull Mingyu into a hug. Mingyu hugs you back and if he holds on for a little too long, well you do too. When you pull back Mingyu gets a good look at your outfit. You’re dressed in a short skirt and a low cut tank top. You have a large cardigan draped over the whole outfit and Mingyu blushes slightly. You just look so cute.

You clasp on to Mingyu’s arm as you walk with him into the kitchen. “Kookie, look who’s here!”

“Hey Gyu,” Jungkook smiles at his best friend. Jungkook is standing at the stove, dressed in a blue apron, as he tends to the food. “Glad you could make it.”

“Of course man. I brought some wine as well.” Mingyu places the bottle onto the counter.

“Sounds great. Hey, babe, could you grab some glasses? The food is almost ready.”

Mingyu watches as you two move around each other, the flow between you natural and domestic. It makes Mingyu’s heart twinge a bit. You two have always been a good pair. When you and Jungkook started dating it didn’t surprise anyone, and though Mingyu was a little upset by it, he could see it as well. Even three years later you two make the perfect pair, if not more so than back then, settled into your domestic life with one another.

It doesn’t take long for the three of you to be sat around the dining table.

“So Mingyu, how that’s project at work coming along?”

Mingyu is surprised that you remember, as he only mentioned it offhandedly a couple weeks ago. He shouldn’t sell you so short though. It’s one of the things that attracts Mingyu to you so much. You’re just so charismatic and attentive to everyone you meet. 

“It’s going well. My boss actually promoted me to head of the project because he liked my ideas so much. We should have the prototype done by the end of next week,” Mingyu tells you. 

“That’s amazing Mingyu! Congrats!” You cheer.

“That sounds like a reason to drink.” Jungkook raises his glass and Mingyu chuckles before picking his own up and clinking it against Jungkook’s and then yours.

The rest of the night follows the same pattern. You guys continue your easy flow of conversation during dinner and then after you move into the living room where you put on a random movie to watch in the background. The scene is just a little too nice for Mingyu’s well-being. It’s too…comfortable, too sweet. Like Mingyu is meant to be there, with you sitting on the other side of the couch as Jungkook sits a chair nearby as you joke and talk. Like Mingyu is a part of your couple. Like he’s yours.

Those thoughts are shoved to the back of his head as the night goes on and as more alcohol enters his system. It’s clear you’re also feeling the effects as you move closer to Mingyu’s side of the couch, draping yourself over him. Mingyu takes a sharp breath at the feel of your tits pressing against him as you rub your head on his shoulder.

“I love you so much Gyu,” you slur. “You’re my favoritest ever.”

“Hey!” Jungkook cries from where he’s still sitting in the chair, not too far off from where you and Mingyu are in drunkenness.

“Shh, don’t listen to him,” you say, pressing even closer to Mingyu, your breath now brushing up against his ear as you continue in a whisper. “You’re my favorite. My best friend. My number once since freshman year of college. Am I your favorite?”

Mingyu giggles, despite his growing flusteredness. “You’re my favoritest.”

“Good, we are each other’s most favorite. And Jungkook is neither of our favorites, because I love you Gyu!” You press a giant kiss to Mingyu’s cheek.

“Hey, what are you two saying over there?” Jungkook stands up and moves over to the couch. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap as you giggle and playfully thrash around.

“Nooooo! Let me go. I wanna cuddle with Mingyu!” You squirm in Jungkook’s arms as Jungkook holds you tighter, kissing your neck. “Mingyu save me!”

Mingyu moves forward and grabs onto your arms, pulling you towards him. Jungkook still has a hold on you, and you three end up in a big pile together, all giggling. You three lay there for a moment, in silence, before you let out a big yawn.

“Well I think that’s my cue to get this one to bed,” Jungkook says. “You good to get a ride home, Gyu?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for having me over man.”

“Yeah, we love having you over. You’re our best friend, you know you’re always welcome.”

“Sleep well Gyu!” You give him a giant hug before allowing Jungkook to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom. Mingyu watches you two retire to your bedroom, sobering up enough in the moment for a pain to clench his heart.

In the cab ride home Mingyu can't help but think about you. The way your breath brushed against his face as you leaned in to tell him you love him. He wonders what it would be like to actually tell you he loves you. What it would be like for you to cradle his face and lean in and kiss him. He imagines holding you, waking up next to you in the morning, going on sweet dates. 

Mingyu groans. He’s got to stop doing this to himself.  

As soon as he gets to his building, he stumbles through his apartment before falling into bed. Out of habit he pulls out his phone, opening Twitter. Directly at the top of his feed is a post from Sweetheart. 15 minutes ago.

A mirror selfie in her bra and underwear. It’s not much, but it still has Mingyu twitching in his boxers. Against any of his better judgment that he would make when sober, he clicks on her account and taps the message icon.

pup: Hey :)) love the new photo

Mingyu’s not sure why he sent the message. He’s not expecting a response. Not at 3am and not when he’s a total stranger. It’s clear Sweetheart has a boyfriend, or at least someone who does videos with her. He didn’t even send her money.

Mingyu’s about to just go to bed when he hears the chirp of his phone’s notifications. When he checks his phone, his eyes widen when he sees the Twitter notification.

Sweetheart: hehe thank you

Sweetheart: would you like to see more? 😉

pup: Yes. Yes, of course. How much?

Sweetheart: no charge baby. i see you in my notifs all the time, and you’re a subscriber on my OF. think of this as a treat for my biggest fan 😘

Mingyu groans. He has no clue how he’s lucked out so hard. His cock is already half hard at the thought that Sweetheart knows who he is.

pup: Holy shit. Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.

Sweetheart: nothing to say, just enjoy :)

Sweetheart: took these just for you, so don’t go spreading them around, okay?

Sweetheart: [image]

Sweetheart: [image]

Sweetheart: [image]

Sweetheart: maybe you can tell me what those do to you…

Mingyu’s mouth drops open at the photos. The first one is a selfie of Sweetheart from the neck down. Her bra has been removed and her arms are pulled in to push her tits together. Mingyu wonders what it would be like to put his mouth on them, or even better, put his dick between them.

The second photo is a photo of Sweetheart sitting on her bed. The large bed is still dressed in the normal white bedding it has on it during her streams. Sweetheart is sitting back on her calves and Mingyu can see the slight wet patch starting to form on her panties.

The final photo has Mingyu’s mind reeling the most. A cropped down photo of Sweetheart’s lips wrapped around a dildo, her lips gently suckling the tip.

Sweetheart has never posted anything above the neck and this is Mingyu’s first time seeing the lower half of her face, and it’s her sucking a dildo no less. Mingyu groans and gives in, reaching down to fist his cock. He imagines that it’s his dick that Sweetheart is sucking, her pretty lips wrapped around his tip as she takes him in his mouth, using her lips and tongue to pleasure him.

pup: Oh my god. Fuck. You’re gorgeous.

pup: Thank you so much.

Sweetheart: i’m glad you like hehe 

Sweetheart: how about you show me how much you like them…👀 (if you’re comfortable)

Holy shit. Sweetheart is asking him for a dick pick.

Mingyu fumbles with the camera on his phone before he snaps a few photos. You can see the glisten of pre-cum already coating his tip and his hand is wrapped around the base of his cock, holding it up. Mingyu presses send to Sweetheart and anxiously waits the reply.

Sweetheart: wow you’re big

Sweetheart: i wouldn’t mind taking a ride on that rodeo hehe

Sweetheart: fuck i want a dick inside of me :((( you’d reach so deep inside of me, fill me up nice and good

Sweetheart: would you like that pup? my tight pussy wrapped around your cock?

pup: Yes. Yes, so fucking much.

Sweetheart: i’d milk you so well

Sweetheart: ugh this isn’t fair

pup: I want you so bad. You’re perfect. Literally the most sexy body I’ve ever seen.

Mingyu struggles to type as his right hand jacks off his cock furiously. He can’t believe he’s sexting Sweetheart. He can feel his balls tighten the closer he gets to his orgasm and before he can do anything to stop it, his cock is twitching and he’s spurting cum all over his chest and hand.

Mingyu lets out a low groan before opening his camera app and snapping another photo.

pup: Look what you made me do.

pup: [image]

Sweetheart: fuck that’s so hot

Sweetheart: wish it was inside me though :( or that i was there to lick it up

Sweetheart: fuck i’m touching myself

Sweetheart: imagining that it’s your big cock inside of me

Sweetheart: [video]

Mingyu nearly nuts again just from the video Sweetheart has sent. A ten second clip of her thrusting the dildo from earlier inside of her sopping wet cunt. Mingyu truly thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

Sweetheart: fuck i came so quickly

Sweetheart: god i’m going to be thinking about your cock for weeks now

Sweeheart: thanks for the orgasm :)

pup: No, thank you. I’m never going to forget this.

Sweetheart: good. hope you jack off to those photos more, put them to good use ;)

Sweetheart: thanks for a good time. night pup

Though Mingyu would love to say he went to bed right after, he of course jacks off again before eventually passing out for the night.

After that night, neither Sweetheart nor Mingyu try to contact each other again, but Mingyu does in fact jack off to her photos again and again and again. Especially after days where he hangs out with you and Jungkook.

Look, he’s not proud of it, but at least he can get a release somehow.

Like right now, as he sits propped up in bed, rubbing at his half-hard cock through his boxers, as he watches the beginning of Sweetheart’s stream. Currently she’s just finishing setting up the camera and getting everything situated.

Earlier, Mingyu went out with you and Jungkook to a new cat cafe you wanted to check out. Though both Jungkook and Mingyu are more dog people, it’s no secret they would do anything for you. The whole time you kept gushing to the two best friends on how cute the cats are and how much you want one. It was just so fucking cute and it didn’t help that you just happened to be wearing a shirt that did nothing to hide the outline of your hard nipples. It’s not like Mingyu meant to stare, but to be frank they were kind of staring at him first.

And then when you reached over to pet a cat that had hopped into Mingyu’s lap and you just happened to accidentally brush his dick with your hand. You didn’t notice, or at least didn’t mention it, but it has Mingyu quickly standing up and displacing the cat in order to head to the bathroom to try and adjust himself so you and Jungkook didn’t catch sight of the halfy he was sporting. 

On screen, Sweetheart has finally positioned herself right in the middle of the large, white bed. She’s just unbuckled and thrown off her bra and now she’s groping her own tits, squeezing at her chest and flicking at her hard nipples. Mingyu wonders what it would be like to suck on her tits. Tug at her nipples with his teeth and leave marks all over the supple flesh.

When Mingyu pulls himself from his fantasy to go back to watching the stream, he notices the man who’s always in Sweetheart’s videos has appeared. He sits behind Sweetheart on the back, his arms wrapped around her torso so he’s now the one groping her boobs. His head leans down slightly and his mouth presses to her neck. Mingyu catches sight of the lip ring in the right corner of his mouth.

It’s then that Mingyu takes in the full appearance of the man. He’s considerably dressed down this time. While he’s usually dressed in full black dress pants and dress shirt, most likely to better keep his identity hidden, this time he’s in a white t-shirt and jeans. The outfit’s familiar to Mingyu, too familiar.

It’s understandable why the man has never showed off his full arms before, as they’re covered in a sleeve of tattoos, an identifiable mark. Mingyu can't look. His mouth goes dry and his stomach drops. 

It’s undeniable. Mingyu knows every piece of that sleeve like the back of his hand. He was there when half of them were inked. Mingyu’s stomach turns. It all makes sense now. The whole reason why Sweetheart drew him in the first place was because of her resemblance to you. Now Mingyu gets it. It’s not that Sweetheart resembles you, it’s that she is you. And the mystery man in each of her (your) videos…is his best friend.

On screen Jungkook has moved on from your tits and down to your clothed pussy. His fingers rub soft circles into your clit as his other hand keeps your thighs spread. Mingyu’s cock twitches at the sight.

No.

No, it’s wrong. It’s dirty.

It’s not fair that Mingyu knows your identity when you try so hard to keep it a secret. Not to mention it’s immoral of him to continue to jerk off to your videos. You and Jungkook are his best friends. And even if he has the occasional fantasy about you…it’s completely different than actually watching your sex work and knowing it’s you.

But then again…you are uploading them for a reason. Your bio even says “just here to aid and please” and this would be aiding and pleasing Mingyu. A lot. 

Before Mingyu can even talk himself out of it, he’s lost his boxers and has his hand wrapped around his cock. He strokes it slowly as he watches Jungkook slowly sink a finger into your cunt. You squirm slightly in his grip, letting out a soft whine as he pushes a second one in.

Jungkook pumps his finger in and out of you, the digits getting more shiny with your slick the longer he goes on. Your fingers dig into his forearm as your legs twitch. Mingyu can hear Jungkook chuckle and he wonders how he’s never noticed before.

Jungkook pulls his fingers out of you and you quickly push your panties off as Jungkook climbs off the bed. In a matter of seconds Jungkook is back on the bed, completely naked now. He grabs the camera as you situate yourself on the bed laying down.

The camera moves to show a POV shot of Jungkook fucking you in missionary. Mingyu watches intently as his best friend’s cock moves in and out of your cunt, his hand fucking his own cock at the same pace.

God this is so fucked up.

Even so, it doesn’t take Mingyu long to blow his load. It’s almost embarrassing. Before the stream is even finished Mingyu quickly logs off and gets up to clean himself.

Fuck.

You’re Sweetheart. The girl of his dreams is the other girl of his dreams. It’s been you all this time. Of course it has. That’s just Mingyu’s luck.

Oh God. He’s sexted with you. You’ve seen his dick. Does Jungkook know? He has to, right? There’s no way you’d cheat on him. You’d never do that to him. No, no, he has to know.

He has to.

“Mingyu, my man!” Jungkook slaps a hand onto Mingyu’s shoulder as soon as he approaches.

“Hey Kook.” Mingyu really hopes his voice doesn’t waver as he greets his best friend. He hasn’t seen Jungkook since the other day and this is the first time he’s facing him since finding out that well, he’s been jacking off to porn of him and his girlfriend for months now. 

“Look Gyu, we’ve got to talk about something.”

Oh no. Jungkook knows. He knows and he’s mad because Mingyu sexted his girlfriend and he’s ruined a three year long relationship.

“Talk? A-about what?”

“Not here. Let’s go back to my apartment. No one’s home right now.”

Though Mingyu is glad that he won’t have to face you, he’s still a bit concerned about what Jungkook has to talk to him about. And in private no less. There’s no way it’s not about what Mingyu thinks it’s about. But also, how could he know?

The trip to Jungkook’s apartment is eerily quiet and it isn’t until Jungkook closes and locks the door that he finally speaks up.

“You want anything to drink?”

“N-no, uhm, I’m good.”

“Cool. Come on, come sit on the couch with me.” Jungkook leads Mingyu into the living room and sits down. Mingyu cautiously follows.

“So…what did you uhm, want to talk about?” Mingyu stares down at his lap, trying not to make eye contact with his best friend.

“Mingyu…I want you to fuck my girlfriend.”

Mingyu thinks he blacks out for a moment.

What in the fuck did Jungkook just say to him?

“I- excuse me?”

“I want you to fuck my girlfriend. If we’re being honest, she’s kind of wanted to fuck you for a while now, and we’ve been talking about it and I thought I’d offer you into our bedroom.”

Mingyu knows he looks like an idiot right now, but he can’t believe what Jungkook is telling him. He has to be pulling his leg. He knows that Mingyu knows about the porn account and he’s making fun of him. There’s no other explanation. His best friend is the most jealous man on the planet, there is absolutely no way he’s offering Mingyu to fuck you. 

“Stop saying stupid stuff, Kook,” Mingyu grumbles. “That’s not funny to joke about. Does she know you’re saying this?”

“I’m not joking! Seriously. I know you’ve always had a crush on her, and now here’s your chance to be with her! I don’t know why you’re not jumping on this opportunity.”

Jungkook is right, any other time Mingyu might be ecstatic, but there’s no way Jungkook is being serious. “Because you’re just pranking me!” 

Jungkook sighs. “Okay, I didn’t want to bring it up, but I know you know about the porn account.”

Mingyu stiffens and his mouth goes dry. “I- I don’t know-”

“Yes you do. Sweetheart? I saw the photos left open on your phone the other day, and I know those are photos she only sent you.”

Mingyu’s face heats up and he’s sure he’s red. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know at first and I wasn’t planning on keeping watching and-”

“It’s okay. I literally just offered you to fuck my girlfriend.”

“But why? You hate when other guys even look at her.”

“Because it’s you, Gyu.” That’s all Jungkook answers, staring at Mingyu sincerely, like Mingyu truly is the only person he’d be comfortable sharing his girlfriend with.

Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. Could this really just be his dreams coming true? “I swear to god if you’re messing with me.”

“I promise I’m not. Look, just come over on Friday and you’ll see. Okay?”

“...Okay.”

Mingyu is nervous.

He’s still not completely sure that Jungkook is telling the truth, but if he is then that means Mingyu is going to fuck you tonight. 

His heart is beating intensely in his chest as he drives over to your apartment. It takes him nearly fifteen minutes to get the courage to exit his car and enter the building. Before he can fully chicken out he knocks on the door.

Jungkook is the one to open the door and he ushers Mingyu in before closing and locking the door behind him. Jungkook then leads Mingyu to the bedroom and Mingyu suddenly realizes that oh shit, this is real. This is real and he’s about to fuck you.

As soon as they enter the room, Mingyu feels his throat go dry and his pants tighten. You’re laid out on the bed, the same large bed from all of your photos and videos. The same bed that Mingyu has wished countless of times that it was him on it with you, or at least with Sweetheart.

You’re dressed in a red, see-through babydoll set. You stare up at Mingyu, your eyes already hooded with lust. Mingyu watches as your eyes trail down his figure, stopping at his crotch. Your eyes then move back up to Mingyu’s, making eye contact as you wink at him. Holy shit.

Mingyu feels Jungkook shove him forward slightly. “Go buddy, she’s all yours.”

It takes Mingyu a few more seconds to process. He truly can’t believe this is real. That you’re here and he’s allowed to touch you, to feel you, to let all of his fantasies run wild. The thing that finally get Mingyu in motion is you giggling.

“C’mon Gyu.” You’re motioning him towards you and Mingyu stumbles forward until he makes it to the bed. His heart is thumping so rapidly it wouldn’t be a surprise if he went into cardiac arrest.

Mingyu crawls onto the bed and over to you where you smile at him and reach forward. Mingyu crawls on top of you and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so he rests his weight on you. You move one of your hands to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb over it.

“Hi pretty boy. Are you excited?” Mingyu nods his head stupidly, his mind too focused on your touch. “Well are you going to kiss me?”

Finally, Mingyu’s mind seems to catch up and he surges forward. With your hand still on his cheek, you guide him to your lips. Right away, Mingyu’s desperation is apparent as he presses into you hard.

Kissing you is somehow even better than Mingyu expected. Your lips are soft and you smell so good. You hold onto Mingyu, kissing him deeper and deeper. If Mingyu is being honest he already feels a little drunk on you.

Mingyu swipes his tongue over your bottom lip and you open up, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. He can feel you smirk against his lips slightly before you start to suck on his tongue. It catches Mingyu off guard and he whines right into your mouth, his hips bucking forward against you.

Mingyu’s cock is already half hard just from kissing you, and he can’t help but rut his hips into you. You don’t seem to mind though, just threading your fingers through his hair. Your hands feel good against him and Mingyu allows his own hands to roam over you as well.

Your body is warm and soft under his palms as he drags them over your torso. The rough lace of the babydoll scratches at his hand as he cups your breast. The material is thin and Mingyu can feel the pebbling of your nipple through it. His fingertips brush over the bud once more and you gasp and arch your back into his touch. It only makes Mingyu needier.

Mingyu breaks the kiss so he can have a second to catch his breath. You don’t need the time though, and you don’t waste time pressing your lips to his jaw. You duck your head down as you slowly trail your kisses down the column on his neck, stopping to suck on the skin every so often.

As much as Mingyu loves you leaving marks all along his neck, he wants to put his mouth on you. He pushes off of you slightly to pull away.

He takes a moment to stare at you, laid out under him. Your chest rises and falls with your heavy breaths and you’re staring up at him with hooded eyes. Your lips are puffy from all of the kissing and your hair is mussed from rubbing against the pillow. You look gorgeous.

“Gyu,” you say, your voice slightly raspy, “you’re trembling.” You reach up to caress his face once again.

Mingyu didn’t notice it, but now that you’ve pointed it out, Mingyu realizes he’s shaking. His heart is pounding in his chest, like how he feels when he’s drank too much caffeine. 

“Are you nervous, puppy?” You ask Mingyu. The nickname makes him whine slightly. You’ve always called him that, but in this context it hit so differently.

Mingyu nods slightly. “I’ve- I’ve wanted this for so long. I don’t want to mess it up.”

You smile gently at him. “You won’t. I like you a lot Gyu, and I want this too. Don’t be nervous, okay? Just enjoy it.”

“O-okay,” Mingyu tells you.

“Now, can I take this off of you?” Your fingers play with the hem of Mingyu’s shirt and he nods. You help him tug the shirt off, revealing his bare torso.

If Mingyu is proud of one thing, it’s his physique, and you seem to appreciate it as well as you trail your fingers down his chest and abs, feeling the grooves of his muscles under your fingertips.

Mingyu is still shaking slightly, but he leans down to start pressing kisses to your chest. Your boobs are soft under his mouth as he starts to suck the subtle skin into his mouth.

There’s a small ribbon holding the front of your lingerie together and Mingyu tugs at the bow until it unties and the fabric falls away from your body, exposing your bare tits to him. Your tits look delicious and Mingyu cups one in his hand and brings his mouth to it. His lips suck on your nipple, his tongue flicking at it every so often.

Your body writhes under him as your fingers dig into his shoulder muscles. Mingyu’s cock is hard and straining in his pants and he so desperately wants to touch himself but also doesn’t want to pull any of his attention from you.

Mingyu’s hands move down your torso even further, his hands running over your waist and down to your hips. He balls the fabric of your panties in his fist, tugging at the lace slightly.

“F-fuck you’re perfect,” Mingyu mumbles into your chest before going back to mouthing at your tits. 

Your hips buck up slightly and Mingyu drags one of his hands from his hips to press against your clothes slit. You’ve soaked through your panties and Mingyu moans into your skin at how wet you’ve gotten. He’s watched you touch yourself a million times and has seen how wet you get, but feeling it for himself makes his mind go fuzzy. His fingers push against your panties, slightly pushing them into you, collecting more of your arousal. 

“G-gyu, please, need you.”

Mingyu pulls his mouth off of you to sit back. He looks over to the side, acknowledging Jungkook for the first time since he’s crawled onto the bed. His best friend is seated on a plush chair in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on where you and Mingyu are on the bed. 

Jungkook makes eye contact with Mingyu before smirking and nodding slightly. “Go on Gyu, give her what she wants.”

With Jungkook approval, Mingyu hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs, leaving you fully unclothed. Your legs part and Mingyu can see how slick your pussy really is.

Your cunt looks even prettier in person and Mingyu grabs your thighs and pushes them even further apart so he can slot his shoulders between them. He trails kisses along your inner thigh, move his mouth closer to your sopping heat. Mingyu hesitates slightly, before finally pushing forward and swiping his tongue through your folds.

Your arousal coats his tongue in a thick layer and Mingyu moans into your pussy at the taste. Your cunt is warm as Mingyu presses his face between your thighs, wrapping his lips around your clit. He tongues at the bud, stimulating you as you fist the sheets under you.

Mingyu can’t count the number of times he’s dreamt of this very scenario. His hands tighten their grip on your thighs as he doubles his efforts. His lips are restless as they play with your clit. Your moans are muffled above Mingyu’s head and they encourage Mingyu to keep going.

He can feel his chin already messy with your slick as he makes out with your cunt. His tongue intermittently darts out, lapping at your entrance. Mingyu’s brain gets more and more muddled as he continues to eat you out, already too lost in pleasure.

Mingyu squeezes his hand between his face and the bed so he can prod his fingertips against your folds. He traces your entrance before finally pushing a finger into you. Your cunt is warm and wet around his finger and he’s able to push a second one in as well.

His mouth doesn’t stop sucking on your clit as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you. His digits drag against your walls, pressing into you, looking for your sweet spot.

As Mingyu fingers you, his hips rut against the mattress, humping the bed to the rhythm of his fingers. His cock is leaking inside of his boxers and he’s relieved to have at least some kind of pressure against him. Mingyu’s letting out soft whines that mix with your own moans.

Your cunt is clenching around Mingyu’s fingers and he pushes a third one into you. His fingers curl into you and you whine, reaching down to pull at Mingyu’s hair. Mingyu knows that he’s found your sweet spot and he continues to abuse the spot, leaving you a mess of moans.

Mingyu’s lips suck hard on your clit, shaking his head back and forth against you. Your body tenses under him as you cry out, your legs shaking as you reach your high. Mingyu helps you through it until you fall limp to the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. 

Mingyu finally pulls his mouth away from you, panting himself as he wipes your slick off his chin. His whole body feels warm from lust. He needs more of you.

“Such a good boy,” you mumble. 

“Take your pants off Mingyu.” The voice startles Mingyu for a moment, before he realizes that Jungkook’s still in the room. When he glances over, his best friend looks the same as earlier, just now rubbing himself through his pants. Mingyu nods and starts to undo his belt, before he’s stopped by your protests.

“Let me help.” You move to stick on your knees, reaching over to undo Mingyu’s belt for him. When the belt is discarded on the floor, you start to work on his jeans. Mingyu can feel his cock twitching desperately as you slowly unzip his pants.

You lean down and start to trail kisses down his happy trail before putting your mouth directly on his bulge through his boxers. While still mouthing at him, you push his jeans down until they’re out of the way. Mingyu’s dick strains against his underwear which are already slightly damp from his precum.

You hook your fingers into Mingyu’s waistband before pulling his boxers down, letting his dick spring completely free from all confines. Mingyu helps you fully remove his clothing before you wrap your hand around his length, pumping slightly.

“Fuck Gyu, it’s so pretty.” You lean down and lick at his slit, collecting his precum in your mouth. “What do you want to do with it? Want it here?” You kiss his tip again. “Or here?” You sit back up and move forward to rub your pussy against his cock.

The idea of your lips wrapping around his cock, choking down his length makes Mingyu feel like a mad man, and under any other circumstances he would jump on the chance, but if he’s being honest he feels like he’s about to burst any minute now and needs to get inside of you.

“T-this one,” Mingyu whines out as you continue to rub his head between your swollen pussy lips.

“Good, I was hoping you’d say that.” You move away from Mingyu, only to lie back down on the bed and spread your legs, inviting Mingyu to come forward.

Your cunt is shiny with your arousal and your pussy lips are swollen from Mingyu eating you out. It’s nothing Mingyu hasn’t seen before, but now seeing it up close and in person has Mingyu mesmerized. He moves forward, hovering over you as his cock rubs up against your folds.

He leans down to suck at one of your tits again, busying his mouth as he lines the tip of his cock up to your entrance. He can feel your slick on his head as he slowly starts to push in. Mingyu whimpers into your chest, his hands clenched on your hips, as he starts to rut into you. His cock stretches out your walls and it takes him a moment to get all the way inside of you.

After a moment he bottoms out, his cock pushed all the way into your tight, warm walls. Mingyu’s never felt something so heavenly in his life. His cock is twitching with excitement as he drools precum into you. Your walls flutter around him as you adjust to his size and Mingyu has to put all his focus on your tits in his mouth so he doesn’t go completely mad at the feeling.

It doesn’t take long for you to start pawing at Mingyu.

“Please move,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

Mingyu’s response is muffled against your chest as he pulls his hips back before slamming them back into you. He repeats the action over and over again until he’s thrusting into you in a quick rhythm. You’re panting as you dig your fingers into Mingyu’s shoulders. 

With each thrust Mingyu buries deeper and deeper inside of you. He finally pulls his mouth off your tits to sit up, adjusting his hold on you so he can pound even harder into you. From this new angle Mingyu looks down at you. Your head is thrown back and your eyes are closed, completely lost in your pleasure.

Your tits bounce with each thrust and Mingyu realizes he’s not going to last much longer at this rate. He pushes your legs forward against your chest, spreading your pussy more as he fucks you even harder than  before. Your moans grow frantic as you fist the sheets in your fingers.

“G-gonna cum,” Mingyu mutters. His cock is throbbing, desperately needed to find release.

“D-do it inside,” you whine. “Need your cum in me.”

Mingyu glances over at Jungkook, who’s eyes are still trained on the two of you. He’s stroking his own cock, which is starting to pearl at the tip.

“Don’t make her wait.”

That’s all Mingyu needs before his hips are stuttering inside of you and he’s painting your inside white with his cum. Mingyu’s whole body is coursing with pleasure and he thinks he whites out slightly. When he’s completely come down from his high he pulls out of you, his body slumps down against the bed beside you.

Mingyu takes a moment to recollect himself, trying to clear his mind from his post nut haze. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so good in his life.

When Mingyu opens his eyes again he’s surprised to see Jungkook has moved closer. Jungkook has stuffed himself back into his pants, but the bulge it leaves is still apparent. He stands next to the bed, looming over you as his hand rubs at your pussy. Mingyu watches with awe as his best friend rubs at your clit. Your eyes are closed against as you buck your hips into Jungkook’s touch.

“You made quite the mess,” Jungkook says, addressing Mingyu. Mingyu doesn’t look at him though, his eyes still trained on Jungkook’s hand on your pussy.

Mingyu’s cum is leaking out of your cunt and onto the bed and Jungkook scoops it up with his fingers before pushing it right back inside of you. You gasp but otherwise accept the intrusion. The sight alone makes Mingyu’s cock twitch to life.

“Did her pussy make you feel good, pup?” Jungkook continues. 

And shit well, Mingyu’s never been attracted to his best friend, or any man for that matter, but the sight of Jungkook fingering Mingyu’s cum back into his girlfriend while calling Mingyu a pup definitely makes his cock twitch.

Mingyu watches intently as your body starts to shake, your back arching up off the bed as you whine. Mingyu has watched your videos enough to know what you look like when you’re cumming and he watches as you fall apart on Jungkook’s hand.

Your hand reaches down to grab his wrist, stopping his motions.

“Sensitive,” you mumble. Mingyu just expects you to leave it at that but he’s sorely wrong as he watches you pull Jungkook’s fingers to your mouth, sucking your juices and Mingyu’s seed off of them. You’re making intense eye contact with your boyfriend as you do so, your tongue swirling around the digits, and Mingyu starts to feel like he’s witnessing something way too personal for him to be there.

When Jungkook’s fingers have been thoroughly cleaned by your tongue, you pop your mouth off his hand and start to paw at his pants. You pull him closer, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants as you attempt to strip your boyfriend down.

“Insatiable little thing,” Jungkook smirks as he quells your struggle and frees his cock for you. You don’t waste a moment, leaning forward to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

Jungkook lets out a low groan and he automatically reaches down to push the back of your head further down onto his cock. Mingyu watches the bob of your head as Jungkook’s dick disappears farther and farther down your throat.

There’s a bit of saliva dripping down your lips, making a mess of both you and Jungkook. The wet sound of your mouth and the slight gag from Jungkook’s length hitting the back of your throat fills the room, making everything seem even more erotic and dirty. Mingyu feels a bit perverted, just laying next to you watching, but a part of him knows that you and Jungkook want him to see this.

This whole experience is new to Mingyu, and he’s taking in every moment that he can. As Sweetheart you never share any part of your face, and there’s a delight that fills Mingyu knowing he’s now the only person besides Jungkook that has seen what you look like with your lips wrapped around a cock, gagging on the length. It’s almost too hot to handle.

From the angle Mingyu’s at he has the perfect view of your pussy. Your lips are spread slightly, still shiny with slick, as you arch your back. Mingyu thinks about you being spit roasted between him and Jungkook. Your mouth working diligently at Jungkook, while your pussy squeezes the life out of Mingyu.

The thought is too good to be true though, and Mingyu embarrassingly still hasn't recovered from his first orgasm. That doesn’t stop Mingyu from imagining it though, staring at your juicy pussy as he does so.

“Fuck,” Mingyu hears Jungkook hiss. He looks up to see Jungkook’s forearms tenses as they grip onto your hair tight, helping you bob your head up and down. His head is tilted back and his eyes are squeezed shut as his hips shallowly thrust into your mouth.

Mingyu’s never been interested in seeing his best friend cum, but in this moment, he can’t take his eyes off of him. It only takes a few more bobs of your head and Jungkook is shuddering as he holds you down against him, your lips at the base of his cock.

When it’s clear Jungkook is finally done spilling into you, he releases his grip on you, allowing you to breathe properly. Your mouth is full of Jungkook’s cum and some of it starts to drip down your chin and fall right onto your tits. You giggle as you scoop it up and put it right back into your mouth.

“Can’t waste a drop, right?” You say to Mingyu, winking at him. “Still doing good there, big boy?”

“Y-yeah,” Mingyu stutters out, his voice hoarse from panting so hard earlier.

“Good, because I’m just feeling sooo empty and I would love if my two handsome boys could fill me up.” You spread your legs again, reaching down to push your puffy folds apart with two fingers. “Would you boys do that for me?”

Mingyu doesn’t understand how you have so much energy after being eaten out, fucked, fingered, and then sucking a dick, but he has to admit it’s incredibly hot and definitely doing it for him.

You move from where you’re laying and you crawl over to Mingyu, straddling his lap and pinning him to the bed. He can feel your heat press up against his cock and you grind down slightly and you lean in to whisper into Mingyu’s ear.

“Will you let me ride you, puppy? Use your fat cock to get myself off?” Your voice is somehow a mix of innocent and sultry at the same time and Mingyu involuntarily bucks his hips up against you. You chuckle slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You lift yourself up off of Mingyu slightly, only to reach down and line his cock up to your pussy. Your folds wrap around his head before you sink down, flushing your hips to his. Mingyu whines, his hands flying up to grip your waist tightly.

Mingyu only pulled out a few minutes ago, and yet he missed the feeling of your pussy around him. Your walls are warm and tight and Mingyu swears you’re clenching down on him on purpose. 

“Mm, you fill me up so nicely,” you moan. You slowly start to bounce in his lap, lifting yourself up and down his cock. Your hands are planted firmly on Mingyu’s chest, using him as leverage. Mingyu pathetically helps guide you up and down, too distracted by how sexy you look like this. 

Your skin is shiny with a light sheen of sweat and what Mingyu also thinks might just be a post-orgasm glow. Your naked body is warm and tantalizing as you roll your hips against Mingyu’s. You’re staring down at him, your eyes trained on Mingyu’s face as you smirk at him. It’s all almost too much for him.

When it’s clear that you’re satisfied with Mingyu, you lean forward, placing your tits right above Mingyu’s head. He can’t help himself, closing the rest of the distance to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. You gasp slightly, reaching down to cup Mingyu’s jaw.

“F-fuck,” you shudder out. “C’mon Kookie. Need you in me too.”

Mingyu can feel Jungkook climb onto the bed, and he’s thankful that you two own such a large bed or he doesn’t think all three of you would fit comfortably. Jungkook positions himself behind you, hovering over Mingyu’s legs.

Mingyu can feel you jolt slightly as Jungkook starts to open you up. You bury your free hand in Mingyu’s hair, tugging slightly. Mingyu doesn’t mind though, in fact he whimpers slightly against your breast.

Mingyu can hear the sound of Jungkook pressing a kiss against your skin before he spits and then a few seconds later you gasp. Mingyu can feel the bulge of Jungkook pressing into you, stuffing your other hole full of his cock.

“S-shit, you feel so good,” you whine. “Baby, please move.”

Your walls move as Jungkook slides out of you, only to slam right back into you. Your body lurches forward slightly, and you tighten your grip on Mingyu. Slowly Jungkook starts to build up his pace, until he’s fucking into you at a steady rhythm. 

Mingyu takes this as his time to start thrusting up into you as well. He does his best to match Jungkook’s pace, as you start to grind down against both of them. Despite being completely composed a few moments ago, you’ve turned into a complete mess with two dicks inside of you. All you can get out is moans and whines and a few noncoherent sentences as you hold onto Mingyu like your life depends on it.

Your back arches as Mingyu tightens his grip on you, doing his best to fuck into you as hard as he can. Your walls are already spasming against him, your body trembling with pleasure. Over your shoulder Mingyu can see Jungkook and he doesn’t think his best friend has ever looked as good as he does right now. His hair is pushed back and his face is completely focused as he stares down at your ass, watching how his and Mingyu’s cocks split you open.

Above him, you bury your face into Mingyu’s neck, deciding to bite and suck at his skin to muffle your moans. Your body is on fire atop of him and Mingyu wraps his arms around your waist to pull you further against him, using the new grip to help his thrusts.

The whole situation seems so erotic, your gorgeous bare body pressed into his as he and his best friend destroy your holes. Mingyu can feel the blood pumping in his cock as his whole body starts to tingle.

“G-gonna cum,” he stutters out. “P-please let me c-cum in you.”

“Me too,” you mumble into his neck. “Fuck, cum all inside me. Fill me up.”

You move your mouth from Mingyu’s neck to his lips. You kiss him desperately, licking into his mouth as you cup his face.

“Go on both of you,” Jungkook finally pipes up, his voice deep and sultry. “Cum.”

Mingyu’s whole body shakes as he lets himself go, spilling right into your waiting pussy. It doesn’t stay there long though, as you quickly lift yourself up off of Mingyu, your legs trembling as a stream of liquid gushes out of you and right onto Mingyu’s lap. You break your mouth off of Mingyu’s so you can moan as you finish squirting.

Behind you, Jungkook is still fucking into you, quick and hard. You can’t hold yourself up anymore though, and you slump against Mingyu. Mingyu’s still out of it as well, and he absentmindedly rubs your back as Jungkook grunts, finishing inside of you as well. 

Jungkook pulls out of you and leans down to kiss the small of your back before walking into the connected bathroom. You press a few more kisses to the corner of Mingyu’s mouth before rolling off of him. Jungkook walks back in with towels and hands one to Mingyu before starting to clean you off.

Mingyu wipes his lower half off before standing up, his legs slightly giving out on him before he gains his footing again. Mingyu feels like he’s moving in slow motion, his brain still slightly fuzzy. 

Mingyu starts to pull his clothes back on as you and Jungkook do the same. Mingyu’s not quite sure what to do as he stands in the corner of the room, watching as Jungkook starts to strip the bed of the sheets. It's a bit weird to see the large bed without the now iconic white sheets on it.

The thought of just slipping out the front door crosses Mingyu’s mind, and he’s heavily considering it, when he feels someone wrap their arms around his waist.

“So, did you have fun?” You ask Mingyu. You’re staring at him with wide eyes and a grin. 

“Y-yeah! Thanks for uh, letting me do this,” Mingyu responds.

“Of course! I’m wasn't joking Mingyu, I do really like you.”

The confession makes Mingyu’s heart flutter. Realistically, he knows that you’re with Jungkook and nothing will happen from this, but it’s still nice to know he’s not a complete fool or being so head over heels for you.

“She’s been talking about this since your little Twitter conversation,” Jungkook says as he walks back into the room from putting the sheets in the washing machine. “I’d be a little jealous if it wasn’t you, Gyu.”

“You know who I also think would really like you?” You ask, shooting Jungkook a mischievous look. “My viewers. They would love you. Don’t you think so Kookie?”

Jungkook just smirks. “You have to ask him first.”

“What about it Gyu? Wanna become a permanent stample on the Sweetheart page?” You hug Mingyu a bit tighter.

The idea drives Mingyu a little wild. Going from watching your content to being in it? Being able to fuck you on a regular basis? 

“I- that sounds…yeah, I would,” Mingyu stutters out and you giggle.

“Yay! Looks like you have a competition Kook,” you smirk at your boyfriend.

“Competition?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Not when it’s Mingyu. I think both of us are going to have lots of fun with him. Won’t we pup?” 

You and Jungkook both send Mingyu matching grins and Mingyu feels the excitement grow in him. Oh yeah, he’s going to have a lot of fun.

taglist: @ckline35 @toruro @jeanjacketjesus @namjoonbaby @n4mj00nvq @lovelyhan @ovai @scorpiobitch88 @im-gemmy @tulipgarland4 @embrace-themagic @sulkygyu @leejihoonownsmyheart @synthetickitsune @yeosayang @miraclewoozi @d0nghyck @soonhoonietrash @yongi-lee @spilled-coffee-cup @morklee02 @17kwans @candidupped @ressonancee @m1nghaos @1-800-jeonwonwoo @anothershorthuman @dinoissupreme @speaknowlwt @hyneyedfiz @aaniag @shamayyyy @moonwalker-witchgrrrl @walkingtravesty97 @jwnghyuns @flwrshwa @valentxi @heavenly-mobo @pandorashbox @enhacolor @starlight-night0 @todorokiskitten @miriamxsworld @just-here-to-read-01 @seuomo @tinkerbell460 @feat-sun @emmmui @bias-recs @luvthatleader-nim

[fanfic-obsessed]

Knowing

I have just had the worst, or best, brainwave and I need to share it. 

Here is an AU for you.

Vader thinks that he killed his wife and child, right?

Right up until he meets little Leia Organa when she is 10 years old. Like his one brain cell woke the fuck up when he was confronted with a passionate, angry little girl with Padme’s eyes and his chin. This is maybe a month after she was kidnapped and returned to Alderaan. Leia decides that she would need to learn how to be a senator and insists that Bail takes her with him to the next session of the imperial senate.  

Bail does not want to bring her to the imperial senate. However he knows very well who her birth parents were, it is either Bail brings Leia to the Imperial Senate or Leia brings Leia to the Imperial Senate, probably bringing with her someone she really shouldn’t (Like actual Obi Wan Kenobi-I just want you to picture for a moment, because Bail certainly did, looking up and realizing that Leia is charging down the halls outside his office, dragging with her a bemused and sandy Obi Wan, both in badly conceived disguises).

Bail is super stressed as he tries to run a rebellion while riding herd on his well meaning but very direct 10 year old daughter on top of his normal duties as an imperial senator. Bail is also very afraid that the moment the Emperor sees Leia, he will make the connection between Leia and Padme Amidala (The emperor does not socialize with the senate any longer, thank the stars). He has no idea that Vader was once Anakin Skywalker, so has no cause to be more careful than normal (because Vader) about Vader seeing Leia. As such Bail does not even notice when Vader stops to consider them from the shadows. Leia is haranguing another planet’s senatorial aide who had chosen the wrong moment to make a bigoted joke. 

Vader is very abruptly, though mentally, thrown back to this very hallway 12 years earlier where he watched his wife do the same thing, for the same reason, possibly to this same aide. Though Leia is still a child and Padme was an adult, he can still see his wife in this little girl.

The realization that this is Padme’s child hits him with the force of a Ventanor. Followed immediately, before he even realized that this meant that his child was standing in front of him, by the soul deep knowledge that she must be protected from the Emperor at all costs. 

Vader had known for years that his suit had been designed to cause him more pain, he just thought he deserved it. The thought of Palpatine getting ahold of Padme’s daughter was abhorrent. Vader sticks to the shadows and watches, seeing how well Bail loved and protected Leia. 

While he is thinking(read Obsessing) about his daughter, the part of him that is always centered on Obi Wan points out that his old master had been one of the last people to see Padme after Vader choked her. But the little voice that spoke in Padme’s tones piped up, the shock of Leia living being enough to finally make this little voice loud enough to be heard, saying that until recently Obi Wan believed that Anakin Skywalker was all the way dead, he was protecting their child as best as he knew how. 

And Vader has issues with just about every choice Obi Wan Kenobi ever made. But he will admit that hiding Padme’s daughter was the best option. 

As Vader knows that paying too much attention to Leia would draw the Emperor’s attention, he would be willing to wait until the right moment to get his daughter back. His one concession to his need to protect her was taking one of his personal guard, one of the few units still made up almost entirely of clones, and assigning them to be Leia Organa’s bodyguard, her shadow (I also want you to take a moment to consider what that did for Bail’s stress level).  And then Vader gets to planning. 

With his one brain cell awake and focused on the Organa’s it takes Vader all of 15 minutes to realize that Bail Organa is running the Rebellion (I want it to be clear, this is not a slight on Bail at all, Anakin Skywalker was a war general, well educated through the Jedi on a number of subjects, and does have a fair measure of politics learning from both his former master and his dead wife).  However Vader is no more loyal to the Empire than Anakin was to the Republic.  In fact, upon realizing that Padme’s daughter had lived Vader firmly decided that he needed to find a way to kill Palpatine to crown Leia.  With the realization that Bail, and likely Leia (neither Vader nor Anakin have any idea what activities are appropriate for a 10 year old), are part of the Rebellion, Vader decides that The Rebellion would succeed (or everyone would die trying). 

Note: Vader only really gets away with no one realizing that he now supported the Rebellion because, well, no one can quite believe that Darth Vader supports the Rebellion. Most people think there is a new type of Space Madness, and that one of the symptoms is hallucinating Darth Vader giving you intel for the Rebellion.

By the time Leia was a teenager, rumors abound about the odd way that Vader acted around her. By sheer happenstance (and some judicial violence on Vader’s part) these rumors had never reached the Emperor. A good deal of these rumors implied that Vader was looking to the Princess of Alderaan as a wife.  The reaction Vader had, the only time it was brought up in front of him, was…impressive, even for the amount of violence he normally dealt out. Still there are members of Vader’s personal guard who watch over Leia whenever she is on Imperial Center, and no one wants to repeat the time when she was 12 when one of Bail enemies tried to kidnap her for ransom.  It took an entire corps of engineers to put those levels back to rights (after they scrubbed the blood off).  

So we get all the way up to the timeframe of ANH. The Death Star in this does not start out under the control of Darth Vader. It starts out under the control of Tarkin, it is important to note this. Leia still sends out R2D2 and C3P0 to find Obi Wan Kenobi, none of that part changes. 

It is after Leia is captured that Darth Vader shows up (does he lurk silently in any system that Leia is due to be in as often as he can get away with…why yes, yes he does). Tarkin had wanted Leia tortured, however no one wanted to find out how many decks Vader would spread their entrails across for touching her.  Vader arrives on the bridge just as Tarkin is threatening to blow up Alderaan. Tarkin orders the weapon to begin its charge. 

Leia, Leia who is so like her mother in that she will use every weapon in her arsenal, turns to Darth Vader and speaks to him for the first time. ‘Please’ she said, no effort to hide her distress, ‘please save my planet’

Something Leia had no cause to know-An angel who she resembled once thanked Anakin Skywalker for saving her planet. 

Tarkin is dead almost before she finishes speaking. Vader orders the DS weapons to power down and disengage, which is done post haste. Then announces that Leia Organa was now in control. 

So Leia now owns a Death Star (genuine article-never used). Leia is not sure if that is how this works, but no one is arguing with the tall man in black who has OPINIONS and will enforce them.  Leia manages to communicate this to her parents, who take a shuttle up to the space station to figure out what the fuck is going on, and what, if anything, they need to do next.

Two hours later: Obi Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, R2D2, C3P0, and Chewbacca have just been caught trying to sneak onto the Death Star. The Organas are still on board, trying to get answers (In that time Vader has said precisely five words to them ‘You have raised her well’).  It is to this room that the troopers manning the station (who are deeply confused and a bit conflicted because it seems like they may have all been forcibly defected from the Empire, but no one is willing to disobey Lord Vader) bring Obi Wan and co. and present them to Leia, as she is considered in command.  Somehow Luke’s full name (I kind of picture him still dumbly introducing himself to Leia, followed with ‘we’re here to rescue you’) gets used before the situation deteriorates. Which naturally causes everything to deteriorate further and faster than before.  

Far away on Imperial Center, the Emperor pauses in the middle of a hallway ‘I feel’ he says to no one ‘a disturbance in the Force.’ another pause ‘like some shit has just hit the fan’

Far away on Dagobah Yoda looks up, ‘weird, shit just got’

[softbeej]

Rule Number One (You Gotta Have Fun)

Alastor x Reader Smut. U break his only rule and bother him while hes tryna work. Enjoy. :} Requests open btw.

Alastor had locked himself up in his radio tower for what felt like days. He was truly a workaholic, and loved to be busy. This was fine, except you found yourself actually sort of... missing him?

No sight of him creeping down the hallway or the impending feeling that he was about to catch you doing something prohibited at the hotel. It all felt too empty all of a sudden, and you wished he’d be back down soon, even if just to make you uneasy with that eerie smile.

So, you decided to break the number one rule set by him.

“Under no circumstances is anyone to ever enter the radio tower without my express permission.”

Well, what are rules if not to be broken, right? And that’s where you found yourself, climbing up into the prohibited area.

Ears pressed back, he turned to face you. There was no other way to put it, Alastor was fucking pissed.

You shouldn’t of come up here. You should of listened to his stupid rule, and busied yourself with something else. Maybe you had time to turn around, and pretend you made a wrong turn.

“I trust you have something important for me? Something that would be worth you coming all the way up here without my say so, hm?”

His voice was even more staticky than usual, his tone dripping with sarcasm. You were thinking up a response when he stood up and strode over to you. He jabbed his microphone stand under your jaw, albeit gently, and forced you to look at him.

“Well, deary?”

You only shook your head, hair bouncing on your shoulders.

“Then why, pray tell, are you up here? And use your words this time, yes?”

Within those few words, you suddenly understood why he was so feared. Just from the way he spoke, he could make you feel tiny and stupid.

“I, um, was just wondering where you were, is all...”

“Oh?” He released the microphone stand and you faced the floor again, feeling like a child about to get scolded. “You did know where I was though, didn’t you? So, I’ll ask once more. What brought you up here?”

He had retired back to his chair, and was watching you intently as you squirmed at his questioning. His smile never once left his face.

“You know what, I should go-“

Slam. His shadow had closed the door.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to ignore someone, darling? I’m just asking you a simple question, what’s the need for all this attitude? Why are you here?”

Blush rising to your face, you picked at skin around your nails still not wanting to look at his shit eating grin.

“I was bored. Missed you.”

“Ah, there we go! You see how easy that was?”

You nodded, “Can I go now? Sorry for interrupting...”

“Nonsense! You missed me, did you not? You came all the way up here for me, desperate for my attention. Well, dear, my attention you have got. Come, sit, sit.” He patted his thigh.

Oh, how you wished the world would swallow you up right now. But the worst part of this was how turned on you were at his lecturing. You think your reaction was doing the same to him, given the way his ears were perked up and pupils blown.

You walked over to him, gently perching on his knee, before he pulled you down by your waist so you were properly sitting in his lap. He continued working, tapping buttons and twisting dials, as you could only sit there and pray your heart rate would soon go back to normal.

"If I did not know any better, I'd say this encounter has you quite excited, darling! The way your pulse is rising, and not to mention the fact I can smell the arousal on you!" He laughed. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If I had brought out such emotions in you."

Your blood drew hot in shame, he knew.

You nodded and tried to save face, "Yes, Alastor. I'm fine, just- my pulse is high from the walk up here, that's all."

"And if you were to stand up, your answer would be the same, I presume?"

Confused, you cocked your head. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his hands around your waist and stood you up.

There it was, the evidence he was looking for. A wet patch on his thigh. Right from where you were sitting. Your wetness had leaked through your panties, leaving a spot on his dress pants.

“Well, look at this mess. And my best pants, no less! Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”

You shook your head, never so embarrassed in your life.

He tutted, "First, you lie about why you came up here. Then you lie about this? Darling, have you no manners? Or am I to teach you them myself, hm?"

His eyes were half lidded now, ears twitching.

"I- uh. I think you need to teach me, Alastor..." You admitted, not able to take your eyes off him.

“Finally! The right answer! You’re getting the hang of this now, eh?” He laughed, and patted his thigh - the one you’d dirtied, “Back up here. May as well see how much more you can ruin them.”

Legs shaking, you stood up and straddled his thigh. He leaned in close, “Now get yourself off. You can do that, yes? If your mewls at night are anything to go by, I’d say you’re to be a natural at this!”

The thought of Alastor hearing you play with yourself through your bedroom door sent shivers down your spine, in a good way. He grabbed your chin, angling your head to face him.

“I said you can do that, yes, dear?”

You nodded, hands reaching up to his shoulders to steady yourself as you started grinding down on his thigh like your life depended on it, maybe it did. You could feel his cock hardening. His hands trailed down your body to your hips where they stayed, helping you slowly ride his thigh.

“Theres a good girl, hm? See what happens when you behave?”

You nodded, breathing heavy, “Uh-huh.”

Alastor nodded, his hips gently bucking up for friction. Your hand went to zipper to help, but he brushed it away.

“This is your lesson. Not mine.” He winked.

So you kept riding his thigh, until your own thighs were weak, and you were close. And he knew it.

“If this were a proper lesson, I wouldn’t allow you to cum. But you’ve been so good, so good for me... You may cum.”

You nodded into the nook of his neck, letting out a pathetic whiny mewl as you came, soddening his pants. From the sound of it, he came too, letting out a staticky grunt that would of hurt your ears if you were paying attention, but you were too busy grinding your way through your climax, as he shushed you gently.

He helped you stand up, your thighs shaking and almost giving out under you. A sharp finger pressed into the stain on his pants, before he collected some of the wetness and licked it off.

“Head off to my bedroom, now, love. Get yourself cleaned up. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

The walk to his bedroom was strange to say the least. Your knees shaking and panties wet, of course Angel was going to say something.

“Christ, you look like you been fucked good, sweets.”

“I have, I think...?”

“Oh yeah? And whose the lucky son of a bitch, huh? He knows not to fuck with you, right?” He winked, ever protective of you.

As if on cue, Alastor appeared, strolling carelessly toward you both. A hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Angel, my dear, but I’m afraid we have something to take care of. If you’ll excuse us...” He guided you away, towards his room.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Taming the Supe

✨ Soldier Boy x Fem!Therapist!Reader ✨

Minors do ¡NOT! interact with this post. Thanks.

A/N: Let me be upfront and say that I actually haven’t seen the boys 😭 not my cup of tea as far as shows go. So this perception of SB might be very far off. But like, he’s hot and he keeps showing up on my feed so this is happening >:) and in my defense I did try to do a little bit of research on America’s Ass(hole), so hopefully that shows lol. From what I understand he’s a TERRIBLE person who just so happens to be extremely attractive, so slay. Oh, also, to any therapist reading this: I am so, SO sorry.

Icons by me! Any and all interaction is very much appreciated!

Also- I’m looking for a beta reader/ editor! If you think you’d be interested, dm me!

Content Warnings: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🌶️honestly that about sums it up. There’s SOME- A LITTLE- plot but it’s more plop if you catch my drift. This is toe-curling, eyes-rolling, name-screaming, tsunami-coming level shit, ya hear?? At least, that’s what I went for. ;)

Just note that SB is… very SB for the better half of it. And he has an INSANE breeding kink.

The ending’s real rushed cause honestly this was mainly written for the spice, but hopefully it’s enjoyable!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible. In all regards.

He was a jackass- apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as he and his dad were concerned. It wasn’t necessarily Ben’s fault; you cant help your blood. But because of said aforementioned father, Ben was brought up on misogynist ideals and the ideal that he was simultaneously both a disappointment and the bearer of a massive god-complex. The former applied to when he was around his father, the latter to when he was around literally anyone else.

Not only that, but he was separated from society for forty years, being tortured- sorry, “experimented on”- by a skeevy Russian organization that his own teammates had pawned him off too. Sure, he had committed massive, unforgivable atrocities, but quite frankly, the other supes on Payback weren’t much better. Maybe not as bad, but certainly not much better.

He re-walked upon the United States at the very young age of one hundred and three, coupled with PTSD, a god complex and more “back in my day” rants than your weird old uncle could ever hope to spew.

And now the thing is: it’s easy to make him look like he blends in. Trim the disheveled forty-year-old beard, give him some boyish bangs, throw him in a tight white shirt and a Giants jersey with grey sweats and all of a sudden you have a normal looking, abnormally attractive dude. Looks maybe thirty seven. Has a smile that has probably actually, literally charmed the pants off of someone.

But to make him act right? That’s the hard part.

That also where you came in.

You were a therapist with a damn good reputation. Shouldn’t have been involved with Supes in the slightest, but you owed Hughie Campbell a favor. Good kid who just so happened to have powers. So be it.

The kid had stumbled into your office a few years before Soldier Boy returned, and you had had multiple sessions before he dropped of the grid. You paid it no mind- you have a lot of clients, and therapy isn’t a good world to get attached to any of them.

But then one day, after one of Homelander’s many destructive “saves” of the city, you found yourself stuck in a burning building. By some miracle Hughie was in the same building, and he teleported you out and onto safer ground. Sure it was awkward being held up bridal style by a young dude who was ass-naked, but stranger things have happened.

Because of the save, you felt that you owed him, and told him as much. He was gracious, not wanting to take advantage of you, and you went back to not hearing anything from him.

That is, until just after the news article about Soldier Boy’s return broke out. It was definitely a headline that had caused you to raise a brow, but from what you knew America’s first supe was not what Vought made him out to be in the eyes of the public. He was an asshole who killed activists, and was most likely very racist. If anything, seeing the headline made you slightly wary for the good of the world. But you let it slide, figuring that if you already existed in a world where psychos like Homelander did you would probably be fine if there was one more.

Well, you were very much wrong.

A few days after the article broke out, Hughie called you. Asked if you would be okay to take you up on that favor. Of course, you said yes- you were only alive because of him. He had showed up to your house, and teleported you to a dinghy motel with no explanation, rendering you both in the same awkward situation as before. Him holding you bridal style, ass naked. If you had a nickel for every time he’s done that… you’d have ten cents, but it’s still oddly specific of it to happen twice.

“Listen,” he had said, setting you down. You had no choice but to do so, given that he was ass naked and it would be really awkward to see that. So you kept your eyes locked on his as he talked. “You know how Soldier Boy is back?”

“Mhm…” you nodded warily, knowing damn well that that was an ominous hook to your situation.

“Uh, he’s insane.”

“Sorry, he’s, like, he is? Presently?”

“Yeah… he’s in there and I think he would really benefit from a little therapy. His mind’s wired like a grandpa who has stories from every war.”

“Fuck, Hugh,” you cursed. He winced, his sweet eyes opened wide. “Sorry. It’s just.. are you kidding me?” Soldier Boy? It would probably take a team of specialists to figure out what’s going on in that head.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you at least try?”

“Only for you.” It was really hard to have resolve with those puppy dog eyes staring at you.

“Thanks, y/n. Really.”

So you had walked in behind him; waiting as he threw on some sweats that were in a plastic bag outside of the motel room door.

You walked in together, only to see the most beautiful man you’d ever seen sitting on the bed, shoes still on.

Look. Everyone has fantasized about Soldier Boy at least once in their lives. The pinnacle of physical perfection, charisma oozing from his pores- it was hard not to. You were no exception- in your younger years there had certainly been more than a few nights where you were fucking yourself to pictures or videos of him, pathetically rutting on your clit and wishing it was his huge, gloved hands instead.

Of course, that was well before the article on the truth about him broke out. After that he had majorly lost his sex appeal.

However, seeing him in person immediately flashed you back to being younger and sexually frustrated, wondering how a man like that even existed. He was even better looking in person, piercing green eyes boring holes into you.

Thankfully it only took one douchey comment to snap you back to reality.

“So prostitutes are still a thing?” he asked, the question directed at Hughie. You immediately balled your hands into fists at your side, ready to tell this old-ass off, before remembering that you were there on professional business.

“No, no, she’s a therapist,” Hughie told him. “Y/n L/n, the best in the business.”

“You brought me a shrink?” he laughed incredulously. “Fuck you, I don’t have shell shock!”

He definitely had shell shock.

You didn’t bother waiting for Hughie to answer. “Listen, Mr. Boy, I’m only here ‘cause I owe this kid a favor. Would it really pain you so much to talk about yourself for an hour?” Your hands were planted on your hips.

“Man, when did women get so feisty?” he asked, that 1950s accent oozing through his words.

“Once they came to their senses,” I say with sass.

“So what? All I have to do is talk to a pretty thing about me?”

“Pretty much,” you conceded, ignoring the “compliment” he payed you.

“Fine.” Great. He agreed. How wonderful.

“I’m going to get some food, I’ll be back in an hour. If you need anything at all, just text me,” Hughie told me. “Thanks again.”

“Sure,” you replied, leaning in by his ear. “I think you’re going to owe me after this.

“Yeah, you’re probably not wrong,” he agrees, patting you on the back before teleporting away to the store. Man, this power thing… never gets any less weird.

“Take a seat,” Soldier Boy patted his lap.

“Hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on the other bed. Look, if he hadn’t been the jackass you knew him to be you most definitely would’ve sat on his lap. But you knew better. At least in the moment. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“M’name’s Ben, and I’m a soldier. My daddy hated me, so became a superhero. Surprise, surprise, he still hated me. But I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Might go take a piss on his grave while I’m here.”

“Interesting,” you murmur, putting together a mental file. Name: Ben. No last name? Weird. Daddy issues- makes the god complex make sense. Hmm. “Did you ever have a mother in the picture?”

“No. Died when I was a boy.” Added to file.

“Okay, so then why take the serum?” You know why, but you want to see something.

“You deaf? I said it was cause my daddy hated me.”

“You took a untested, potentially dangerous serum just because of your daddy issues?” you ask, matching his rude tone.

“You- you know what? This is boring. How about you and I fuck instead of this, hm?” he asks. Him saying the word fuck turned you on more than it should, but his misogyny was a quick turnoff.

“I think I’m just going to text Hughie,” you said, moving to stand, wholly unimpressed.

“Wait, no- I did it cause I hated feeling weak. Feeling stupid. Thought it would turn me into someone, just turned me into a jackass machine,” he said honestly, his eyes big and sad.

“Okay,” you said simply, sitting back down. That’s much more like it. “So then what led you to murder innocent people?”

If this were a normal session you would have never asked such a thing. Ever. But this was anything but normal.

“What did you just say to me?” And there it was. A glimpse of that Soldier Boy quick temper. You probably shouldn’t have been making him mad, but you didn’t know how else to go about this given that you weren’t in your professional environment.

“You heard me,” you told him with your arms crossed, trying to bite back the fear caused by

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, fists balled at his sides. “A question like that’s gonna cost ya.”

You roll your eyes, standing my ground. “Why. Did. You. Murder. Them?”

“Because they deserved it,” he yelled, standing up. You do your best not to flinch, but he was an imposing six-and-some feet tall.

“How? Did the Milk family deserve it? Did their son?” you yell, fighting off the fear in your voice.

He stops then, jaw clenching. “I was the good guy. The hero.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly. His green eyes burn holes into yours. You stare right back, just as intensely.

“So, imposter syndrome.”

“No!” he roared, the sound threatening to bring down the roof of the motel room.

“They were good people. Activists. Made a difference in their community.”

“That got what was coming to them.”

“What? A car being thrown at their house?”

“You…” he steps closer. You sit up in the bed, back against the headboard. “You don’t know me.”

I stand up then. Not nearly as tall as him, but in anger. “Yeah, but I know your actions.”

“Then you should think I’m a hero.”

“I don’t.” I say grimly, arms crossed.

“I’m Soldier Boy, for Christ’s sake,” he spat.

“Yeah, and I’m Y/N L/N. Who fucking cares.” Well this went from therapy to argument real fast.

He leans down then, by my ear. It’s all you can do not to back away as his hot breath fans the column of your neck. “Maybe you should.” His voice is gravelly, rough from anger but also from something else…

“Well I won’t.” You said, maintaining your ground.

“Wrong move, sweetheart,” he said, before crashing his lips to yours. You squeaked into the kiss, surprised, but he just took initiate to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring with great fervor.

And you knew damn well how wrong this was. How unprofessional you had been; how bad it was that his tongue, this tongue of a murderer, was half down your throat. But in the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because he was just that good of a kisser. Made you forget about the misogyny and his volatility. At least, for the time being.

He pulled away, smirking down at you.

“If we do this, you’re going to talk to me after. Act like you’re an adult,” you told him sternly, as if your underwear wasn’t soaked with arousal from the kiss.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled.

“I fucking mean it,” you reiterated, hands on his pecs.

“And I fucking said fine,” he retorted. “Ben,” he introduced as an after thought.

“Okay, cool. Ben.”

“That’s the name I better hear coming off those pretty lips in a couple minutes here,” his gaze darkened with lust, emerald green eyes darkened to the color of a forest cloaked in the dead of night..

“O-okay.” And there it is, the first time you gave into the stutter derived from your desire. This was dangerous, but once he kissed you again you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

When he pulled away he thumbed at your lower lip, and you immediately react led to his touch, mouth falling open around the digit. “Good girl,” he praised, and you hated the way you felt proud at his words. He pulled off his jersey and under shirt, urging you to do the same until you both stood before each other, topless. He crowded you against the bed until you fell back, calves draped over the edge. He made room for himself between your legs, kissing you furiously, and you let out little breathy sighs as he did so.

“Attagirl,” he breathed when you gasped his name as he bit along your collarbone. He continued his fiery trail, from the juncture of your earlobe and neck to your collar bone and then down your chest, and you knew damn well that you weren’t going to be able to cover up half of the marks he gave you. But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“You-you can come in me,” you mumbled as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’ll fill you up real good” he said, eliciting a gasp from you when he bites your nipple.

He continued his path of kisses down your body, and in the bottom of your eye you could already see dark marks on the tops of your breasts, making your head fuzzy.

He stopped at your pants, biting the juncture of your hip and and thigh.

“‘m gonna get you ready for me,” he explained, before ripping off your pants and underwear in one go. This is not a metaphor, he literally tore them of you. You whined in protest, but he dismissed you, saying “I’ll get you new ones.”

And even though you knew he most definitely wouldn’t, his breath on your clit stopped you from caring.

He gave you no warning before diving into your soaked pussy, and you all but screamed his name when he fid, your fingers grasping his hair for dear life. He groaned into your cunt but kept going, spurred on by your actions.

The thing was, you hadn’t expected him to be good at eating pussy. He was from, like, the forties, after all. You thought that most people then probably didn’t bother as no one really cared about women and probably their pleasure back then.

Well, Soldier Boy- Ben- was very different.

He worked at you methodically, licking long stripes before thrusting his tongue in an out of you, testing the waters. He kept eye contact, and you could feel the smugness in his gaze as he watched you come apart.

Eventually he switched so that he was sucking on your clit, which would’ve been enough to bring you over already but then he added one of his long, thick fingers to your pussy. You yelped his name, not ready for the stretch and on the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, whining. “Please don’t stop, Ben.”

And he didn’t, adding a second finger and scissoring within you. If his fingers were already like this, his cock…

But you couldn’t think about that then, nor could you really think about anything at all because he started tracing tight patterns on your bud and added a third finger, stretching you so far that you had no choice but to come. He helped you ride out your high for longer than you thought possible, lapping up all of your release before standing up to full height.

“That good, Sweets?” he smirked, looking down at your fucked out self. You nodded dumbly, and he chuckled. “Thought so.”

Your release covered his facial hair, but he didn’t seem to care much, just wiped a little off with his forearm. He then kicked off his shoes and took off his pants and underwear, and that’s when you saw it.

You were already baffled by him- beyond hot, perfect physique, pussy-eating champion, etc.

But his cock? It was huge. And it was perfect, a word that shouldn’t be able to be used to describe the male genitalia.

“Ben- that’s not going to fit-,” you gasp, sounding like a cheap porno.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and from his tone you could tell he was going to bottom out no matter what.

Oh, god.

He climbed over you, his large forearms on either side of your head as he rested over you in a plank. He put a pillow under your hips, and you knew you were in for it.

He rubbed his glorious dick over your hole, your clit, and through your folds, covering it in your slick, and you moaned his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, before finally lining up with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing, but then he started pushing in.

If his fingers were big, his dick… even the tip had you a moaning mess.

“Oh, honey, you’re tighter than a virgin who’s never touched herself,” he groaned as he pushed in, you writhing beneath him. “‘n I just stretched you out, too.” The pillow under your hips let him get impossibly deep, and after an eternity he finally bottomed out, so large that you shouldn’t have been able to take him. But you did, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but you were a whimpering, whiny mess under him.

“I’m gonna move now,” he told you, before pulling almost all the way out and back in, slowly. You were writhing under him, but he was undeterred, and just kept going until you gave him easy access.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice sweet. And you didn’t know what possessed you to add the next part of your question, but you did. “Can you fuck me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he groaned, before rearing back again and slamming back into you. It was hard and it was rough, and it was exactly what you wanted even if you knew you weren’t gonna be able to sit right for a week.

You literally had a supe cock in you. You’d seen dildos of these, maybe even owned one, but nothing could do the real thing justice as you whined beneath it.

And if you thought it was already enough just taking him like this, once he started talking you were through.

“Yeah, take it,” he smirked, pounding into you at literal superhuman speed. “I’m going to destroy this cunt until we’re both leaking out of it, and then I’m going to keep going,” he promised against your collarbone, biting anywhere he pleased. You whimper against him, pussy clenching around his enormous length as it crashed in and out of your fluttering walls.

“You like that? Wanna be my little slut?” he grinned, rutting on your clit so you couldn’t answer. “You’d be a real good slut. Would just keep you at home all day, naked and always ready for me. Always full of me too,” he mused, his pace somehow getting rougher. Your mouth was dropped in a permanent ‘o’ as you reveled in the way his huge hands are squeezing your hips and pulling you against him, filing you to the base.

“No other boy can do it like me, sweetheart,” he said cockily. “Fill you up so good, make you mewl.” And as it turns out he was most definitively right about that. But then it was too hard to think about what’s right and wrong when-

“Ben- I- ‘m gonna-.”

“Aww baby, what’s the matter? ‘M I fucking you too good? You can’t talk?”

You moaned pathetically, pulling on his fluffy hair.

“I know, I know,” he said with a soft grunt. “Come for me, pretty thing. Come.” And you did. Hard, all consumingly. It hurt so good that you almost blacked out, but he kept going, doing his damnedest to overstimulate you.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart. Ain’t even close,” he told you, pulling you off of him and sitting, legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. He grabbed you, letting you straddle his lap before slamming you down on his length. At this angle he could get impossibly deeper, his dick easily reaching your cervix on every thrust. You screamed, holding onto him for dear life with your face buried in his neck.

“Gonna fill you until you’re full, and then some,” he promised, lifting you up and down, flexing that super strength. “Rub on that pretty clit for me, doll,” he asked. You tried, you really did, but you were just so sensitive.

“That’s okay, I’ll do everything for you, you just take it like a good slut,” he cooed, bringing a hand between the two of you and rutting on your clit without abandon. You came again with a wail of his name before he pistoned into you sloppily, finally spilling his own release into you. And it was messy, and you were far too full to keep going, but he doesn’t care, somehow still hard even though he had just painted your walls with his thick, sticky cum.

You were babbling at this point, raking your nails against him as he kept going to town on your cunt.

“It’s just been too long, baby,” he explained, kissing the side of your head. “Got a little too much energy.” Yeah no shit, with the way that you knew that you were not going to be able to walk.

But he just couldn’t seem to shut up. “Y’know, if I had you back in my day we would’ve had ten kids. You would’ve give birth to one and then I’d put another one in you the next month,” he said as he continued his brutal pace. And damn, this man really had a breeding kink. It was not really your thing-kids tend to get in the way of careers, and also, you were infertile- but anything’s hot when it comes out of those plush lips with the 50s accent, so, naturally, you moan in response.

“Would’ve kept you sated all the time too, sweetheart. Any time you were hot and bothered, had an attitude… I’d fuck it out of you,” he murmured, enveloping you in his arms to hold you closer. You didn’t know if it’s the proximity to him, his voice, or the way that he hasn’t really let you come down from any of your highs, but suddenly you were coming again… just in a different way.

“Aww baby, did you just squirt?” he chuckled. You did all you can to further hide your face in his neck as he just kept going, only concious enough to register your embarrassment and fatigue. He pulls you by your hair to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, that was so hot.” You smiled, cheeks pink, your somehow still horny self proud of his compliment.

“It’s okay, just give me one more and you’ll be done, alright?”

“O-okay,” you say shakily. You hadn’t even noticed hot much your legs were quivering until then, and he laughed, squeezing them close.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he praised, rubbing your clit. Your blush became even more furious before you came again at him tracing patterns into your poor, overstimulated, sensitive bud. He came in you shortly after with a very sexy grunt, and it was just leaking out of you, going all over the tops of his thighs. He held you at the base of his cock though, not ready to pull out.

“You alright, Dollface?” he asked, gingerly moving- somehow while keeping his cock in you- you onto your back. You nodded, sleepiness overtaking you.

“Good girl,” he nuzzled your nose, gifting you the view of all of the pretty freckles on his cheeks looking like gold specs. You whined as he pulls out, and he tutted, plugging you up with his fingers.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If you were a supe we’d be going another ten rounds, but I know you’re tired,” he warned, cock still semi-hard.

“Ben,” you gestured towards it, unsure what you were going to say because as much as you wish you had his stamina, you didn’t.

“It’ll be fine, sweets,” he shrugged it off. “Perks of the unbelievable stamina.” He kissed your forehead, before lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of you in attempt to keep the cum in. Pitiful tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes from the overstimulation.

“There, there,” he cooed, kissing them away. “Just don’t want to waste any,” he smirked, before leaving his long, thick fingers where they were inside you, all the way up to the knuckle. Your legs can’t stop shaking, and you try to talk but you can’t.

“Let me get you some water, put your fingers here for me,” he said, waiting until you do so, feeling your sticky release on your hand. You knew damn well that you werenot going to be able to stand.

“Here, sweets,” he returned, still ass naked, holding a glass, taking your fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. “We taste real good, sugar.” You whimpered, ready to go at it again, abused pussy be damned. Speaking of, the poor cleaning staff… your mixed releases were dripping out of your poor hole, coating the bed and the bottom of your thighs in the stickiness.

“You really are an insatiable little minx,” he chuckled, holding you up so you can take a sip of the water. You obliged, eagerly chugging it down.

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you muttered, resting your head on his freckled shoulders.

“Looks like you’re going to need to stick around, so I can take care of you,” he squeezed you.

“I’ll tell Hughie to take another hour, tell him that the therapy’s going real well,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah, real well. Definitely a happy ending, if you catch my drift.”

“Multiple happy endings.”

“Atta girl,” he kisses the top of your head.

You sat there in silence for a bit, basking in the afterglow as he rocked you back and fourth gently.

You’d seen so many sides to this man: Misogynistic, quick tempered, sex-god… but sweetness? This was the one that surprised you. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Ben?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I could help you, y’know. If you want, anyway. And it wouldn’t even be proper therapy- you know, cause we just- yeah.” your words were shaky but you meant them. There was something about the supe that made you think that maybe, just maybe you could help him.

“I dunno, sweets. I think I’m a little too far gone.”

Vulnerability. That’s progress.

“Could you at least try?”

“I can’t say no to you,” he said. And you’d take him up on that.

••••••••••••A Couple Years Later••••••••••••

Ben Johnson, as he was now known, ended up becoming a normal member of society. After a LOT of work, he’s grown into himself. He cares about people, his ego’s lessened, his temper too. You had helped him through the whole way- gotten him a proper therapist and everything. And now you two were a couple who could just go out and get donuts, and do normal couple things.

“They’re cream-filled!” he beams boyishly, his bangs in his face and his eyes sparkling. He sets the box down in front of you, somehow having already gotten powdered sugar in his beard. He leans in and whispers excitedly, “you know, like you!”

“You’re bad,” you giggle, as if you don’t have him leaking out of you where you sit. You had stopped for a quickie before you made it to the donut shop, it wasn’t your fault that you were so irresistible to each other.

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” he winks with a click of the tongue. Which is true- there’s a certain softness to him these days. His jaw isn’t so set, the crow’s feet by his eyes have deepened. He isn’t so volatile, his tempers dissolved a bit. He’s become more human.

Not to mention that he’s made great progress in apologizing to his victims and making amends to the best of his ability. It may never be enough, but now that he has someone to teach him how to be right and a better understanding of the complexities of the modern world, there’s a chance. And that’s a chance worth taking, to help someone who could’ve been good become good.

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible, but you had nailed it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed this fic! If you have any ideas for headcanons or fics, my ask box is always open! I don’t bite- not unless you want me too 😏 (so. So. Sorry 😭)

Xx!

[nadvs]

home before dark (part six)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night, yet he feels violently hungover this morning.

He stares up at the ceiling of your guest room, running on a few hours of broken sleep. He feels so exposed. Once he started talking to you, he couldn’t stop.

He was fine living an empty life. But then you walked back into it, completely unaware of how painful it is to be around you. But it feels so damn good, too.

Nonetheless, when he looks at you, he sees his doomed childhood, his lost happiness. He’s not sure the good will ever outweigh the bad. Especially because he’ll never be able to tell you the entire story. You’ll never completely understand why he is the way he is.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you to leave last night. You were just trying to help. After so many instances of telling himself he’d stop brushing you away, he’d stop acting like your asshole of an ex, he did it again.

But telling himself he should do something and actually doing it are two very different things. Everything in this nonsensical world is easier said than done.

You’re making breakfast in your kitchen, your temples aching from the sadness that hasn’t left you.

Rafe wasn’t awake before you for once. You don’t know how you’ll face him. You feel just as powerless as you felt when you were ten, unsure of what to say to him or how to act around him.

He was in the car. It won’t stop clanging around in your head. He was with her the last minute she was alive.

And when you tried to hold him, to be there for him, he told you to go away. You know better than to attempt to get him to talk about it again.

“Hey.” Rafe’s deep voice pulls you out of your haze. You look up to see him standing by the far counter, then return your gaze back down to the pan. For once, you’re the one avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” you reply. Your shoulders are stiff. You know he wants to leave. “Just a second.”

You pull the pan off the range and cross the kitchen, pacing to the front of the house. When you open the door and re-arm the security system, you step to the side, hand tight on the knob.

You will yourself to look up at him, meeting his blue eyes. He’s standing between you and the front step of your home, unmoving.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. “Maybe have some breakfast?”

It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, taking another risk of rejection, expecting to fall but having a shred of hope that he’ll pull you to solid ground.

“I can’t.” He walks past you, a hard push off the edge. You’re disappointed. In him for denying you again. In yourself for thinking he wouldn’t.

You’ve always felt safe with him. But right now, while he’ll protect you physically, your heart isn’t even close to feeling whole. He’ll break it every chance he gets.

You spend your morning in a haze. You wish you could carry at least some of Rafe’s pain for him, but he’ll never fully open up to you. Last night, when he told you about the accident, he pushed you away the second you tried to comfort him.

After lunch, you realize you can’t handle being alone any longer. You text a friend and accept her invitation to hang out at her house.

Talking with your friend about everything but what’s been weighing on you is a welcome distraction for a couple of hours. Rafe is always at the back of your mind, but being with someone else helps ease the pain.

After you say your goodbyes, you walk down to the street where you parked. You notice a white paper rectangle tucked under your windshield wiper.

Your stomach drops. Normally, you’d assume it’s a ticket of some sort. That maybe you parked where you’re not supposed to. But you know that’s not what this is.

You pluck the paper from under the wiper and get into your car, trembling as you lock all the doors. You look around, terrified you’ll meet Ty’s stare.

But you’re alone. Nobody is around.

You rip open the envelope. On the top inner fold, in his messy writing: I always have my eyes on you.

Fear’s razor-sharp claws squeeze your insides when you pull out what’s in the envelope. Photos of you from the past few days. At the gas station. At the mall. At the pool.

Ty’s been following you. Taking pictures.

You lock your doors again, even though you know you already did. You’re at a loss for what to do. Where to go.

Just walking up the driveway back to your friend’s house is daunting. And going home to an empty house is just as scary.

So, you go to the one person you know will take away the fear. You drive, park, and find his name in your phone.

Rafe is sitting on the balcony leading out of his bedroom when his phone starts buzzing. He sees your name on the screen and scrambles to answer as fast as possible.

“You okay?” Rafe says.

“No.” Your voice is shaky. “No. He’s been following me.”

“Where are you?” he asks, standing and rushing to find his keys.

“I’m in front of your house.”

“Good,” he says. He tucks his gun into the band of his jeans. “Good. It’s okay. I’ll be right down.”

Rafe spots your car at the end of his driveway. When his eyes find you, he’s sure he’s never seen someone look so shell-shocked. He tugs at the passenger door handle a few times before you catch on that you need to unlock it.

He settles in the seat next to you, brows furrowed in worry, watching you stare ahead at your steering wheel.

“I don’t even know how I - I drove here,” you stutter with a humorless laugh. You’re in a fog.

“What’d he do?” he asks.

Your eyes dart down to the ripped open envelope in your cup holder. Rafe grabs it and leafs through the photos. Anger climbs up his body in half a second.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.

“He left it on my car,” you say.

You can’t let Ty do this to you anymore. You’re not above wishing Rafe would beat him within an inch of his life. You want to fight back in every possible way you can. You want him to lose.

“I think this is enough to go to the police,” you breathe. “I need a restraining order or something. I can’t just watch this happen. I mean, I have enough evidence of - of stalking, right?”

Saying the word out loud is what finally breaks you. The tears you’ve been pushing down rush up without any mercy. You start to cry quietly, your chest heaving.

“Listen to me,” Rafe says softly. “He’ll pay for this.”

All he can feel is a burning urge to protect you. To make sure you never feel this way again. He’s not leaving your side for a minute.

You sense Rafe’s hand on your knee. It’s like you’re watching this happen to someone who looks and sounds like you because he can’t possibly be happening to you.

“You want me to drive?” he asks.

You nod, tears rolling down your face, unbuckling your seatbelt.

You watch Rafe’s knuckles turn white as he drives your car down the street. You ask him to stop at your house to grab the letter Ty left for you, glad you didn’t throw it out in haste, and arrive at the police station carrying the proof of your ex’s incessant hounding.

Rafe tucks his gun under the seat before going inside.

The building is dingy. You approach the front desk, locking eyes with the man sitting behind a computer, his uniform dull and washed out.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I need to file a restraining order,” you say. The words feel odd coming out of your mouth.

The officer hands you a sheet of paper on a clipboard and a pen, instructing you to come back up to the desk after you fill it out.

It’s vile. You’re scared for your life and in response, a stranger hands you a form.

The waiting room is empty. You and Rafe settle in the worn, ripped up leather seats. You look down at the words in front of you, your hands trembling.

“Here,” he says, taking the clipboard and pen from you. You’re too shaken up to focus.

You watch Rafe write your full name at the top. Your address. Your date of birth. He remembers it all.

Then, he drags the pen over every box that applies to you.

The defendant and I are persons who are in or have been in a romantic relationship. He marks it with an X.

The defendant has inflicted emotional distress on me. X.

I want the Court to order the defendant not to assault, threaten, follow or harass me. X.

I believe I am in danger of serious or immediate injury.

Rafe looks to you.

“Not when you’re around,” you say honestly. “But you can check it.”

When Rafe comes across the blank sections, he sniffs in unease before reading the instructions out loud.

“Give specific dates and describe in detail what happened,” he recites. He doesn’t want to hear this. “Just talk. I’ll write.”

You go through it all from the beginning. The aggressive text messages. The in-person threats. The email. The letter. The photos. Rafe writes it all down. His stomach turns as he listens to you recount it all.

You take the clipboard to record what’s left: Ty’s contact information.

You drop the form off at the front desk and sit back down. Rafe watches you blankly stare ahead, your knees anxiously bouncing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles. You nod, unconvinced.

“We can grant you an emergency protective order,” a police officer tells you after taking you and Rafe to a private room. “There’ll be a court hearing within ten days. You need an attorney to represent you and to help prove that the letter and photos are from him.”

“Okay,” you say. The old man across the table is speaking like he’s talking about something boring, like the weather.

“So, wait - are you saying - he can just walk around free until then?” Rafe asks.

The officer looks at Rafe, his face emotionless. Then he looks at you again.

“The defendant will be informed about the temporary order and he’ll be told not to contact you,” he responds. “If he violates the terms, you need to let us know. But a judge will determine if a permanent order should be granted. It’s up to them to decide if this person is a danger to you.”

“Are you kidding?” Rafe shuffles in his seat, shaking his head. “Someone’s gonna tell him to stay away from her and - and that’s it? Until a judge maybe makes it official?”

“That’s the way the law works,” the officer says.

“The law is bullshit.”

“Reconsider your tone, young man,” the cop warns.

Rafe scoffs, like he’s taking it as a challenge. You’re frustrated that the man is being so cold about this, but Rafe’s hostility isn’t helping.

“Rafe,” you say, placing your hand on his forearm. “Can you wait for me outside?”

He meets your eyes. He realizes he’s stressing you out. Times like these, he hates his temper.

Rafe has been standing by the front doors of the building for five minutes when you come out, your arms crossed.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters. “He was just so goddamn casual about the whole thing-”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I know.”

You still feel like this is a nightmare you’re waiting to wake up from. Your parents are overseas for work, totally oblivious to what’s happening. You need to call them. How the hell do you even deliver this kind of news?

“Did he say anything else?” Rafe asks as you make your way to your car.

“He just told me I should get a lawyer as soon as I can,” you say. “I found one in the area and I called her office. I have a meeting with her tomorrow.”

You’re still shaky and you’re glad Rafe is heading for the driver’s side without you having to ask him. You settle in your car, locking yourselves in silence.

He’s not starting the engine. He’s just looking at you. You meet his eyes and try not to think about last night.

“You’re scared,” he says. Your eyelids flutter. You are scared. The last twenty-four hours have been a mess.

Rafe wallows in the feelings of failure and self-pity. He’s supposed to make you feel safe and he’s fucking it up. You look terrified.

“I’m not gonna leave your side, alright?” he says. “I’ll make sure you’re never alone until he stops. And he will stop.”

Normally, you’d ask him if he can really take that on. But you have to ask yourself if you can take it on first. Being around someone who’s committed to keeping you at a distance is starting to wear on you. But this all started so he’d keep you safe. Whether you can handle it or not, you will.

Rafe grimaces when you don’t respond. Maybe he’s not enough. Maybe you need to feel like you have the power to keep yourself safe, too.

“I’m teaching you how to use a gun,” he decides.

“What?” you say. You can’t have heard him right.

“You won’t be scared if you know how to protect yourself,” he says. Then he shoves the key into the ignition and drives to his house to swap to his bike.

You cling onto Rafe as he drives his motorcycle along the coast. He approaches a clearing in an overgrown field. You can understand why he changed vehicles when you feel how choppy the terrain is. He navigates over the grass and stops under a tree.

“How do you even know about this place?” you ask once he kills the engine and you take off his helmet.

Rafe doesn’t want to admit that he passes by this barren corner of the island several times a month to pick up coke from his dealer. That he’s been here to shoot at nothing multiple times before.

“Just do,” he says. “Come on.”

You swing your leg off his motorcycle, wishing you didn’t feel the loss of his touch as deeply as you do.

When Rafe leads you deeper into the clearing under the cloudy afternoon sky, the road now out of sight, he pulls his gun out of the back of his jeans. It’s unreal watching him adjust the weapon in his hands, how casually he’s handling something that could kill a person.

You look over your shoulder, wondering if Ty is hiding somewhere. Will you always be on edge like this, worrying his eyes are on you?

You glance back at Rafe.

“Where’d… you learn?” you mumble. “To use it.”

Rafe looks up at you. Your eyes are wide. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He was being impulsive when he suggested this. He forgot how you looked at him when you noticed his gun at the party a few nights ago. He’s supposed to be making you feel safe. But you look freaked out.

“If this is a bad idea, we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I was-”

“No,” you interrupt. “You’re right. I’ll feel better knowing I can defend myself if it… if it comes to that.”

The thought sends a chill through your body. You try to shake away your fear.

“I was just wondering,” you say.

“I taught myself,” Rafe admits.

“How come?”

His jaw clenches.

“I told you, sometimes I get pissed off and…” He tries to bring down the sharpness of his tone. “This helps. It feels good. You’ll see.”

You can tell just how heavy his soul is as you watch him focus, sliding the magazine of the gun in and out. You wonder how many times he’s come out here, running towards a twisted form of solace.

You get it. You don’t know how you’d react if what happened to him happened to you, but you doubt it’d be very different from this. You’d be angry at the world, too. You’d want to take it out any way you can.

Rafe steps closer to you, opening the chamber, every column in it filled.

“It’s loaded,” he tells you. “You can see the bullets here. Safety’s on.”

He closes the chamber and offers the gun to you. It’s heavy in your hand as he rounds to stand behind you.

“You see that tree over there?” he says, his voice low. You follow his finger to see a tall, broken stump in the distance. It looks like it was hit by lightening and torn in half.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Aim at it,” he instructs you. “Use both hands. It’ll have some kick.”

You’re tense as you raise the gun towards the tree. You have one hand wrapped around the grip of the gun and tuck the other underneath the barrel.

“Like this,” he mumbles. His arms encircle you, his chest firm against your back. Your breath catches as he rests his hands over yours. He guides your left hand closer to your right, adjusting your fingers to spread wider.

“Safety’s on,” he reminds you. “Just get used to the feeling, alright?”

“Alright,” you say.

His forefinger settles over yours, pushing down on the blocked trigger.

“This is where you press down,” he says. You nod against him.

Rafe’s trying not to notice how nice your shampoo smells. The way your body feels enclosed in his. The fact that his heart started racing the second he gets close to you like this.

“You ready for me to turn off the safety?” he asks you, zeroing in on the reason he’s here. You nod and in seconds, the loaded gun in your hands is completely unguarded.

“It’ll be loud, okay?” he mumbles. You feel his warm breath against your cheek. “You don’t have to be scared. You have all the power here.”

You feel like you haven’t had any power in a long time. You take a few breaths before you pull the trigger. The bang is ear-splitting and force is hard, jolting your arm, sending the bark on the tree flying within a second. You actually hit your target.

You lose your stability, hands loosening beneath Rafe’s. He quickly pulls the gun back and turns the safety on again.

“Shit,” he says amusedly. “You did it.”

You’re in disbelief that you’re doing this and that it kind of felt good. You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s towering behind you.

Your eyes are locked as you stand together in the desolate patch of unkept greenery. You’re silent now and so is he, your breaths in unison.

“Feel better?” he finally asks.

“Yeah.”

Rafe has spent so long harboring hatred for everyone, including himself. But as he drinks in your features and the way they come together so beautifully, he’s sure he doesn’t hate you and never has. How could he when you look at him like this, like you’re expecting the best from him after all he’s done is disappoint you?

Just like last night, the words come rushing out of Rafe’s mouth. He’s getting worse at keeping them in around you. It’s still uncharted territory, so he’s struggling to find out how to say exactly what he’s thinking.

“I don’t…” he says. He starts over. “You should be… happy. I mean, you shouldn’t have to be dealing with all this.”

You chew on your lip. He’s right. Nobody should have to suffer like this, scared of a maniac who won’t leave them alone, who seems to find pleasure in inflicting fear.

Rafe hates that you’re fighting for your own comfort. You deserve to live in ease.

“Thanks,” you say. You gaze into his eyes, wishing they didn’t see what they saw when he was ten years old. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Rafe’s lids drop, his sharp jaw tightening as he grinds his teeth. He can’t cry in front of you. Not again.

“Give it another try,” he says, handing the gun back to you after turning off the safety. You take it in steady hands, aiming at the tree. He doesn’t hold you this time.

After a few seconds of concentration, you pull the trigger and miss. Then you try once more. You hit your target. You can’t imagine ever using this on a person. But if it comes down to it, to your life or Ty’s, you’re picking yours every time.

You lower the gun, realizing your breaths are faster now.

“I think that’s enough,” you say, your stare still fixed ahead. You feel Rafe slowly take the weapon out of your hands again, his fingers brushing yours.

“You wanna go home?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Without another word, you head back to your house, feeling Rafe’s heart thudding against your palm as you cling onto him on his bike.

Rafe waits in the front room while you try to call your parents. Neither of them answer, likely asleep in their timezone.

You put your phone away, looking defeated. He said he wouldn’t leave your side and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“I’ll try again in the morning,” you tell him. “You can just make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge. I’m gonna go lie down.”

Rafe nods, his elbows on his knees as he sits forward on the couch, as if he’s ready to strike any threat that might come your way.

You stand and cross the space, then breathe out a slow exhale when you reach the end of the room, your hand on the edge of the wall.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, glancing back at him. “I know it’s hard for you to be around me. My parents will fly back after I talk to them and you won’t have to do this anymore.”

You round the corner, leaving him with his thoughts.

It’s not until after sunset that you come back downstairs, feeling trapped in your own home. Rafe is where you left him, scrolling on his phone, surely bored.

“Hey,” you say. You got a text from a friend a few minutes ago about a party at a house down the street. “You wanna get out of here?”

More people are drunk than sober when you arrive at the party, the music and chatter almost deafening. Rafe is brushing through the crowds in front of you.

You spot your friends on the other side of the room and find some relief in seeing people you know actually want to be in your company.

You tug at his shirt to get his attention. Rafe turns and leans down to hear you over the music.

“I’ll be with my friends,” you tell him. He pulls back, confusion in his stare.

“You sure you should go on your own?” he asks.

“You’ll be close, right?” you say.

Rafe shuffles in place, looking tense before he leans over to speak again.

“I’m fine being around you, okay?” he says, thinking about what you said back at your house. “If that’s what this is about.”

He’s fine. You don’t miss the coldness of his words. He’s simply fine being around you, while you ache for him when he’s gone.

“I don’t want to just be… tolerated,” you confess. “I’ll stand over there and I won’t move.”

“Aren’t we supposed to pretend we’re together?” he asks, suddenly desperate to feel you. He offers his hand. You look down at it.

For the first time, you don’t want to touch him. Because you’re so painfully aware that this is all a farce. Because you went through so much today that keeping up appearances feels ridiculous.

When you don’t take Rafe’s hand, the sting of rejection pools through him.

“I don’t care about fooling him anymore,” you say. “We don’t have to keep lying to everyone.”

You offer him a sad smile and brush past him. Your friends’ faces fall when they see you. That’s when you know you’re wearing your anguish for everyone to see.

You stand against the wall, alert and sharp-eyed in case Ty shows up. Maybe he won’t. Maybe the police scared him from even risking being in the same room as you.

He doesn’t seem to be here. But you’re drained of all hope a mere half-hour later when you suddenly see your ex in the crowd. When his gaze meets yours, his lips thin in anger.

Like an animal charging towards its prey, he rushes towards you, shoving past people. You look around and feel overwhelming relief when you see Rafe’s profile locked on Ty as he scrambles to get to him.

“You went to the fucking police?” Ty shouts, rushing towards you.

Even over the music, you can hear the sound of Rafe’s fist making contact with Ty’s jaw. The crowd quickly scatters, shouts erupting as they clear out the space.

Everyone runs away but you. You step forward, watching in disbelief as Rafe leans over, one hand on Ty’s collar, the other delivering blow after blow.

Rafe’s knuckles ache with every punch as Ty lies on the ground, absorbing every strike, slack-jawed. He sees red. Every punch is harder than the last.

“Don’t follow her, don’t talk to her, don’t even fucking look at her!” Rafe yells. “Do you hear me?”

Pure rage fills his veins as he takes everything out with his fist. Every reason he’s so painfully angry. The misery you’re going through. The loss he feels every single day. The fact that people like this get to live when his mother doesn’t.

“Rafe, that’s enough, man!” you hear. You watch two of Rafe’s friends pull him off. He scrambles to get out of their grip.

You can see Ty clearer now. His face is covered in blood, his head rocking side to side.

You turn to see Rafe is pinned against the wall, a third friend now holding him back. His jerks to get free are violent and frantic. Until he sees you.

You look shattered. He stills. You close the distance.

“Let’s go,” you say, unable to recognize your own voice. “Please.”

Rafe’s friends look at each other, never having seen him settle down so quickly. They loosen their grip off of him and he hurries to you, his body curving over yours in an effort to shield you from everything that just happened.

As you rush out of the party, Rafe’s hand is pressed at the small of your back. You’re glad it is, because you’re not sure you’d be able to handle anything without him keeping you steady right now.

When you make it home, your heart is still pounding in your ears. In the moonlight, you noticed how bloody Rafe’s knuckles were as he drove, so you impulsively lead him to the closest bathroom on the first floor of your home.

He doesn’t realize what you’re doing until you turn on the faucet, checking the temperature of the water before you take his hand in yours and wash off the evidence of the fight.

Blood starts to pool down into the sink in a spiral. It wasn’t that long ago you watched Rafe cleaning himself up like this at his house the night he agreed to pretend to date you.

You turn off the tap and take a hand towel, gently dabbing his swollen knuckles. Rafe watches you, the way your face twists in concentration, his lips parted as he breathes heavily.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

You’re not thinking straight. You’re doing this because you feel like you owe him for making Ty pay for what he’s been doing to you, but it’s better not to be touching like this. Not when you know it’s a matter of time before he goes back to being a stranger.

“I guess you can do this yourself,” you say nervously. You hold out the towel for him to take with his good hand.

Ever since Rafe fell into this destructive pattern of fighting, he did this part on his own. Cleaning himself up, dealing with the ache, breathing through the residual adrenaline. Nobody ever took care of him like this. He never let them.

Really, he never let you. Because you were the only one holding out a hand while everyone else watched him drown.

“Can you?” he mumbles. You look up at him, puzzled. He always rejects your offers to help. But not now.

“You want me to?” you say. Your voice is brittle, echoing in your small bathroom.

His eyes are soft, as soft as they were when he was a boy, and he nods.

You continue to press the towel against his knuckles. You look at his hand, thinking about the way you watched it write for you earlier today, recording every detail of the torment you’ve lived through over the past few weeks.

What would’ve Ty done if he got his hands on you tonight? And how could Rafe think so low of himself, call himself a psycho, say he fucks everything up, when he could be the only reason you’re alive right now?

“You okay?” he mumbles. You look up, realizing he’s watching you and can see the anxiety etched into your expression.

“The court order didn’t work,” you respond. “It didn’t scare him. It’s a good thing you were there. Thank you.”

Rafe has never felt sure about his place in the world. Not after his loss. But the sense of purpose that taking care of you has given him, the feeling of being told it was good he was somewhere, is unlike anything else.

He flexes his throbbing hand, your words from earlier tonight rattling in his mind. The insinuation that he tolerates you. It’s wrong. It may bring back bad memories to be around you, but it’s not like he’s merely putting up with you, like he’s eager to get rid of you.

“Should I get you ice?” you offer.

Rafe doesn’t answer. He only stares at you.

“I don’t just tolerate you,” he says after a moment, his voice rough.

Your heart aches. Tears prick your eyes. You inhale slowly, your face crumpling with sorrow.

“What is it?” he says.

“I can’t… You told me not to talk about it.”

Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He can tell how much it’s been hurting you, how much you’ve been yearning to have this conversation.

“Say it.”

You look down, so overwhelmed that it hurts, accepting his invitation.

“What happened to you was… I don’t have the words. I never did,” you whisper. “It changed you but I can still see parts of who you were before. You’re a good person. Maybe you don’t think so, but you never stopped being good. You asked me why I care about you. That’s why.”

Rafe is speechless. Everything in him is urging him to walk away from you again. The closer he gets to you, the more it hurts. The more it reminds him.

He ignores the impulse to leave. He lets you keep talking.

“And I understand why you shut me out. You were grieving. I’m just so… so, so sorry.” You know it’s a risk to say, but this might be your only chance to tell him. You take a breath. “She’d be so proud of you, Rafe. I know it.”

You stare up at him through your lashes. Finally, you’ve said everything you’ve been wanting to say to him for years.

To hear someone he trusts telling him his mother would be proud of the man he’s become, even when he always feels so angry and rotten and broken, gives Rafe an overpowering sense of relief.

Then, it creeps up on him, the way he can’t bear that he survived and she didn’t. She should have stayed alive. Why did he deserve it? Why didn’t she?

You watch Rafe’s face fall, brows pinching, eyes starting to gleam with tears. Seeing him cry because of what you just said is a punch in the gut.

You should give him space. It’s what he always wants. But just in case he needs any of the comfort you can offer him, you give into your impulse to touch him. At this point, it’s senseless to fight it.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, bringing him close to you, squeezing him into a hug. When he doesn’t return your embrace, you start to retreat, but then you feel big hands drag up your waist, pulling you back in.

Rafe digs his head into the crook of your neck. His body starts to tremble with his cries. And finally, he surrenders himself to you completely.

(part seven)

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[rosygaze]

cupid

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader

summary: you swear cupid hates you but maybe he’ll finally take mercy when you meet eddie. 

warnings: reader insecurity, slight period misogyny, mostly fluff, eddie being a cutie patootie, inspired by cupid by fifty fifty <3 

word count: 2.4k+

masterlist

You were starting to think that Cupid had a personal vendetta against you.

Three failed dates in a row, all with different guys.

You were optimistic about the first date. After hitting it off with a friend of a friend at a party, you agreed to go on a date with them—a simple movie and dinner.  Only you didn’t make it to dinner since your date started hysterically sobbing after watching the newest rom-com. Apparently, he was missing his ex, and seeing two people in love on screen was the breaking point.

The second date came and went. Another movie and dinner but this time you actually made it to dinner. Which you quickly regretted when he kept trying to play footsie with you under the table. At the end of the date, he leaned in for a kiss. You panicked and dodged which had your date kissing the brick wall behind you instead. You didn’t hear back from him again.

On your third date, you lowered your expectations exponentially. You wanted to play it safe and have a coffee date. It started out normal enough. In fact, you were even having fun. He made you laugh until the conversation drifted to the topic of the future. You told him you wanted to get out of this small town and get a job.

For some reason, that made him extremely upset. He started talking about how women shouldn’t ever work and that the only work you should do is cleaning the house, taking care of the kids, and all that 1950s bullshit. You stared at him, mouth agape, not knowing how to respond.

When he was done with his tirade, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. You waited a few seconds before jumping out of your chair and sprinting out of the coffee shop at a speed that should’ve qualified you for the Olympics. You didn’t stop walking until you reached the park down the street and sat down on the empty bench to catch your breath. You looked at your surroundings and grimaced.

Couples.

Everywhere.

A couple having a picnic on the grass. A couple kissing sweetly on the bench across from you. An elderly couple taking a midday stroll. There was even a pair of kids hugging while their parents cooed at them. It’s like the universe was playing some cruel prank on you.

Did Cupid enjoy watching your love life crash and burn? Did he take some sick enjoyment out of hitting you with one of his arrows and shoving you in the direction of another failed love interest?

What was so great about love anyways? It can’t possibly be as good as all the movies and songs made it out to be. Surely, everyone had to be lying or delusional.

And yet…

You wondered what love was like.

The kind of love that kept you smiling all day, that made you see the beauty in the world. The type that swept you off your feet and made you feel like floating through the clouds. The type that completed you.

This is why you kept going on these dates, giving that little cherub second chances in case he finally takes mercy on you and gives you the right man.

Because someone had to be out there for you. Right?

You groaned and slid down the bench enough for you to lean your head on the back of the bench. Watching the clouds float across the sky, you wished the overwhelming loneliness in your chest could float away just as easily. Tears pricked your eyes and you tried desperately not to let them fall. You would not cry here, not in public. You can save the crying for your room like you usually did.  

Despite your best efforts, tears still trickled down your cheeks. You huffed in frustration. You are pathetic.

All of a sudden a sharp pain shot from your head. Your eyes shot open and you sat up. With crossed eyes, you could make out a blurry form of a stick. You gripped the stick and realized that it was literally stuck to your head by suction. You dug your nails into the sides of the rubber to release it. Rubbing your forehead, you finally got a closer look at the toy arrow that hit you.

What. the. hell.

You glanced around the park, looking for who could’ve hit you. Turning around until you faced the open field behind you where you saw two people: a short, curly-haired kid and a tall, long-haired man.

The latter was holding a toy bow looking incredibly guilty.

You blinked at each other for a couple of seconds, in shock about what happened. The boy nudged him and he came stumbling forward. You stood up as well and wiped your tears away. God, you hoped you didn’t have a giant red circle on your face.

The ten-foot distance between the two of you felt bigger than it was. The awkwardness alone almost made you turn around but you pushed through. Once you were close enough, you stopped and took him in.

Everything about him screamed ‘danger’. He wore a black shirt that said ‘Coroded Coffin’ and dark jeans with a chain hanging from his belt. You wondered how he wasn’t sweating under the sun.

Black polish chipped off his nails and a collection of chunky rings adorned his fingers. Trailing your eyes up, you saw the patches of dark ink etched into his skin. He was all hard features and sharp edges that had you slightly antsy but when you finally met his eyes, that feeling flew out the window.

He had these big baby browns that softened his entire look. His long hair was wild and framed his face. The combination made him look slightly like a puppy. He had full, pink lips that opened and closed slightly as if he was trying to find the right words to say.

Stop ogling him. He shot a projectile at you.

You cleared your throat, deciding to break the silence. “I assume this is yours?” You held the arrow out to him.

He seemed to snap out of his trance and took the arrow from your hand gently. “Yeah! I’m really, really sorry. I swear I wasn’t aiming for -” He stopped mid-sentence and you saw his eyes flicker with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. It didn’t hurt that much.” You waved a hand over your forehead, dismissively.

“No, not that but I am glad to hear I didn’t hurt you.” He smiled lightly but as fast as it came, a frown settled in its place. “You were, uh… were you crying?”

Taken aback, you furrowed your brows at him. How he could’ve known? “Uh…”

“Sorry! That’s weird. It’s really not my place. It’s just… your eyes are red but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He rambled and held his hands up to show he meant no harm. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually paid attention to you like this.  

“I’m okay.” He nodded but, ultimately, didn’t look convinced. You sighed. “I just had a bad date.”

“He didn’t hurt you did he? We can track him down. I’ve got a weapon.” He held up the plastic bow.

You giggled and that made him relax just a tad. His shoulders dropped and the wrinkle between his brows smoothed over. “He didn’t, don’t worry. No need to wield a deadly weapon on him.”

“Yet.” He narrowed his eyes at you but had a playful smirk.

“Yet.” You copied his expression. The tension had disappeared and lighthearted laughter took its place.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” He introduced himself.

Eddie. It suited him, you thought.

You gave him your name. A charming smile tugged on his lips and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Pretty.” Eddie said under his breath.

Your cheeks flushed even more.

“Eddie, did you get the arrow?” A voice called from behind Eddie. You peered over his shoulder and saw the younger boy. Only now did you notice that he was decked out in a full medieval costume, his curly hair peeking over the edge of his pointy hat.

“Yeah, dude.” Eddie held up the arrow.

“Then come on! You gotta help me with my shield.” The boy whined which made you chuckle slightly. Eddie looked back at you and smiled.

“In a sec, man!” He yelled back but kept his eyes on you. A childish groan came from behind Eddie which had him rolling his eyes playfully. “Sorry about that.”

“Your brother?” You asked.

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, surprise clear in his voice. “Yeah, he is.” A fond smile spread across his face. You could see the resemblance in their unruly curls.

“So, what’s with the outfit?” Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you could see Dustin practicing with the shield, swinging it at invisible monsters.

“He’s testing out his costume for the Faire.” He said, casually.

“The Faire?”

“The Renaissance Faire?” Eddie’s brow lifted. You shook your head, not understanding. “It’s like an amusement park for history buffs. People dress up, eat, drink, roleplay. It’s great.” He explained.

“Have you been before?” You wanted to hear more, both equally fascinated by the concept and Eddie’s voice.  

“Yeah, a couple of times. It’s the little guy’s first time and he wants to go all out. He said he wanted to try his costume out in the correct environment. He’s a bit of a nerd like that and that’s saying something coming from me. King of the nerds, right here.” Eddie held his arms out as if presenting himself and bowed low. You smiled at him.

You haven’t stopped smiling since he made you laugh the first time. “It’s sweet that you spend time with him like that.”

“It’s nothing, really. He’s a special kid.” He scratched the back of his head. You tried not to notice the slight flex in his muscles.

“I’m sure he’ll have a great time.” You said, managing to pull your eyes away from his arms.

“You know.” Eddie started, looking a bit timid. “I’ve got an extra ticket. You could come with us if you want. It’s this weekend in Indianapolis.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be.” Eddie stepped a quarter of an inch closer to you. The proximity made you the slightest bit dizzy. “Maybe you’d have some fun. Forget about the asshole who made you cry.”

“The asshole?” Your eyebrow quirked up.

“Every man who makes a woman cry is an asshole and should be jailed.” He said with the most serious expression that you knew he wasn’t joking around.

“My, what a gentleman.” You found yourself inching closer to him too.

“My uncle taught me well.” Eddie puffed his chest out proudly. “So what do you say?”

“The Faire does sound really fun.” You paused. “But I think you should spend time with your brother. Since it’s his first time and everything.” “Oh, y-yeah. You’re right.” Eddie’s cheeks were turning red. He started to move back when you spoke again.

“But… maybe you could tell me all about it after? Over coffee?” You offered, biting your lip shyly.

Eddie froze then his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?” You nodded, just as excited. “Fuck yeah! I’d love to.”

“I should… uh, give you my number. So you can call me?” That initial bout of confidence was fading away. The intensity of Eddie’s gaze made your knees weak.

“That seems like a good plan.” He nodded.

You pulled your pen out of your bag and dug around for a piece of paper but you couldn’t find anything. Pausing to think, your eyes drifted to the spattering of tattoos on Eddie’s arm. “May I?” You pointed at the back of his hand.

“Go ahead.” He gave you his hand. “I’m not afraid of some ink.”

You let his hand rest on your palm while your other hand scribbled your number on his skin. You had to write slower than usual to make sure the ink stuck. His eyes were burning holes in the side of your face. You spared a glance up at him and the corner of his lips twitched up when you met his gaze.

Ducking your chin, you tried to finish writing but your pen stopped working on the last number. Your lips pouted, petulantly. Eddie must’ve noticed since his thumb rubbed against the skin of your wrist, comfortingly. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure there would be a comical amount of steam coming off you right now with how hot your body felt.

A couple of taps against your thigh and the ink started flowing again. After the last stroke on the final number, you added a small heart beside it.

“Beautiful.” Eddie said. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you nor did he let go of your hand. “I should have you design my next tattoo.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause my little hearts will definitely look good with that.” You poked the bats on his forearm.  

“Damn right, it will. Hearts are metal.”

Before you could continue your banter, Dustin’s voice cut through the air. “Edward Munson, stop flirting and help me!” He had his hands on his hips and looked extremely cross with his brother. You let go of Eddie’s hand in embarrassment.  

“I’m coming!” Eddie’s cheeks were red but his eyes were full of amusement. “As much as I’d love to stay, it looks like I gotta go.”

“I figured.” You were actually sad that your time with him was up. “You two have fun this weekend.”

“Thanks. Don’t go on any more dates with assholes, okay.” Eddie still had that playful grin but you heard the slightest hint of unease in his voice.

“I won’t.” You assured him.

You said your goodbyes and walked away. Every couple of steps, you looked back at Eddie. You felt like a teenager again, willing for her crush to look at her in class. You took one last look at Eddie and, as fate would have it, he was turning to look at you too. Both your eyes went wide, a similar situation to your meeting just a couple of minutes ago.

The two of you laughed and Eddie drove the toy arrow into his chest dramatically. He threw his body back on the ground and rolled in the grass. When he got up, he had a smidge of dirt on his cheek but that smile never dimmed. You’d be thinking about that smile all day.

That very night your phone rang.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Eddie said over the receiver. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger. “Neither could I.”  

This is your last chance, Cupid. You thought. Please let him be the one.

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[moonstruckme]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

steve harrington + friends to lovers maybe? definitely feeling lovesick steve rn 😮‍💨

Thanks for requesting lovely mal <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 698 words

The movie theater is dark, and yet Steve catches sight of you the second you step inside. His heart does a dumbass little somersault. 

“Y/n’s here?” he whispers to Robin, who’s sitting next to him and using her licorice as a straw. On his other side, Eddie’s kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him like a total asshole. 

“Oh, yeah.” Robin waves to you, and you spot them, heading over. “I invited her.” 

“You didn’t say she was coming.” 

Robin gives Steve a sideways glance. It’s tinged with a meaning he refuses to decode. “I didn’t realize I needed to check with you.” 

He huffs. You’re climbing the steps, still three rows from reaching them. “Move over by Eddie.” 

Robin turns towards him now, eyebrows raising. “You’re not serious.” 

“Go!” 

“Dingus.” She musses his hair spitefully as she stands, just so he’ll have to fix it, waving over her shoulder at you as you start shimmying down their row. 

You wave back, smiling bemusedly as you take her seat beside Steve. “Hey,” you say. 

“Hey.” He’s grinning like an idiot, and he can’t seem to stop. He wasn’t expecting to see you today. “Long time, no see.” 

You go a bit sheepish, the previews casting a red hue over your features. “Yeah, sorry. Work’s been keeping me busy lately. Three people quit at once, so everyone’s expected to cover until they can hire new ones.” 

Steve grimaces. “Yikes.” He has the urge to tell you to quit and let him pay for everything, as if that’s something he can fiscally manage or even remotely normal. “That sucks,” he says instead. 

“Yeah, hopefully it’s not for long.” You get comfy, slipping off your shoes and putting your socked feet up on the seat. Your knees lean onto your shared armrest, within a pinkie’s reach of Steve’s hand. “I actually just got off, I didn’t grab anything from concessions because I was worried I’d miss the beginning.” 

“Oh, no way.” The movie starts, and he lowers his voice but neither of you turn towards the screen. “Want me to run and grab you something?”

You give him a funny smile. It makes your cupid’s bow flatten out and Steve thinks that if he were to kiss you, he’d start there. “No,” you whisper, “you shouldn’t have to miss anything either.” 

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “I don’t even really care if I see this.” He has been looking forward to it ever since he saw the commercial, honestly, but he’s happy to miss it for you. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, “but thanks, Steve.” 

“At least have some of mine.” Eddie shushes him loudly, and Steve kicks the underside of his knee, making the other boy curse. “I’ve got coke and popcorn, that okay?” 

The movie glows blue over your face as you grin, eyes twinkling in the low light. “Classics. But I’m not gonna take your food.” 

“I’m not gonna eat it all,” Steve argues. “These are both extra-larges. You think I bought that all for myself?” He absolutely did. 

You lean in closer, your knees touching the side of his hand. “You paid for them,” you whisper. 

“So?”

“So, I’d feel bad.” 

“Then make it up to me.” Steve hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. He’s never been able to lay on the charm with you like he can with other girls, he doesn’t know why. Or maybe he does. “Come with us back to my place tonight. We’re ordering pizza.” 

“So,” you murmur through a smile, “make it up to you by taking more of your food, is what you’re saying.” 

“Uh-huh, exactly.” He takes a sip of his coke and then angles the straw in your direction. “Deal?” 

You drop your eyes for a second, shaking your head like he’s silly, and Steve knows he’s won even before you meet his gaze again. 

“Deal.” You wrap your lips around his straw, sucking in a mouthful before letting go. “You drive a hard bargain, Harrington.” 

Steve grins, laying bay in his seat and totally not thinking about how his pinkie is grazing your thigh. “Yeah, that’s what they tell me.”