#but idk what else i can do cries at least i like it??? i think???????

[hinamie]

10 years later

[deathberi]

can you please tag your self reblogs?

so you could block them? no

[nomairuins]

i want to watch the things on my watchkist but i also never do its rly tragic

[mrfoox]

Uh.... Kinda brought up an topic which was tough but it was okay....?

[i-yap]

Do you think Jason would cheat on his girlfriend? , a question that has been disturbing me, I mean, the Wayne family isn't very faithful, especially Bruce himself

Would Jason Todd be a traitor? (I love your writing have I said that?)

Jason x reader

JASON?? CHEATING ?? HAHA NO. Out of all the batboys or even all the men that exist, Jason would be least likely to cheat. You are his saviour, a goddess, his one and only saving grace and the only thing in this world he loves. He would rip out his penis and stab all women of the world( except you) before even thinking about willingly touch a woman. He doesn't want to see another woman ever, he never wants to see another person. He only has eyes for you..literally he just stares a lot man idk what to say.

Jason is really scared of hurting you . He is very insecure about his mental state and emotional state so he doesn't think he can treat you right. the irony is that because of this he treats you amazingly.

The only case scenario I can imagine is that he thinks you betrayed him and he is in a lot of pain because the only person in the world he thought would never hurt him just hurt him. Even then he will double triple check and ask you( drop to his knees and cry) But if there is a really bad misunderstanding or you've actually betrayed him or if he has had a particularly shitty day. He just rushes to vigilanting with a newfound passion. There he sees another girl teammate and she asks him to open up and he does. She does the arm touching thing , gives him "the look" and tells him she can treat him right so when she kisses him, he doesn't stop her. But he does start crying mid kiss and just leave . It wont go further than a kiss. He rushes back to you and cries. demands for an explanation. But he can never be with another woman after you. Its either you or no one else.

[guccifrog]

WRONG NUMBER P12

matt sturniolo x f!reader

idk what to feel about this one tbh 🤓

y/n's pov

"Here," Chris said handing me a soda can, I took it and nodded my thanks. We've been all sitting in the waiting room for the past four hours, since I got to the hospital first thing in the morning, no one was allowed to see Matt. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, every time the doctors opened the door.

Nick sat wide awake, his head resting on my shoulder as I stroked his hair back from his forehead. His eyes never left the door, and every time it swung open, he tensed. Chris was sitting on the floor next to us, his head in his hands. He kept checking his phone, only to sigh and put it away again. The triplets' mom, whose name I learned was Marylou, sat across from us with their dad. Her eyes were red from crying, but she tried to keep a brave face on for her kids.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the seconds seeming to drag on for an eternity. I glanced at Nick, trying to think of something to say to take his mind off the waiting, but every time I opened my mouth, my voice caught in my throat.

Marylou shifted in her seat and glanced at me, then back at her Nick. She caught my eye for a moment and gave me a small, sad smile. I really wanted to go over and hug her, to tell her that everything would be okay, but I didn't know what to say to someone who was facing what they were facing.

The door suddenly opened, and a doctor came out, her expression serious. My stomach clenched in fear as she walked over to us. "I'm sorry to say," she began, her voice quiet but firm, "that the surgery was not successful." Nick's head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "The patient has sustained too much damage, and his organs have begun to shut down. We've done everything we can, but…" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

I felt like the world had stopped spinning as the doctor spoke those words. Is that it? Is this how it ends? it's that simple?

Nick started to shake uncontrollably, his eyes filling with tears. He buried his face in my shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. I wrapped my arms around him, unable to believe what I was hearing. Chris threw his arms around us both, sobbing into Nick's hair. Marylou and her husband both cried silently, their faces twisted in pain.

"Can we at least see him?" Marylou asked, her voice shaking. The doctor nodded, motioning for us to follow her. Nick clung to me, as we walked down the hall. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, wishing there was something I could do to make this better.

The room was dimly lit, and machines were beeping in the background. The hospital bed was elevated, and a body lay under the thin white sheet. Nick's body went limp in my arms as he realized it was his brother. His sobs grew louder. Chris squeezed past us, falling to his knees beside the bed. He reached out and pulled the sheet back.

"What the fuck?" I gasped as I looked at the body that was under the sheet. That's not Matt, it's someone else. It was an old man's body. The room spun, and I felt like I was going to throw up. "Oh my god," I heard Chris say, his voice cracking. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Nick was still sobbing into my shoulder, oblivious to what had just happened. Marylou knelt beside the bed, her hands clutching the sheets. The doctor walked over to us, her expression grim. "We're so sorry, There's been a mix-up. We'll go find your son immediately." She turned and practically ran out of the room. Nick looked up from my shoulder, confused. "What do you mean, a mix-up?"

Chris, still staring at the body on the bed, said, "I don't understand. That's not Matt. I'm sure that this isn't even his room." He turned to the other doctor. "Who's body is that?"

The doctor paused, his face pale. "I…I don't know. The records show that he was supposed to be here, but…it's not him." He looked at us, his eyes filled with fear and regret. "I'm so sorry, we'll try to fix this"

Nick pulled away from me, his face a mix of anger and disbelief. "Fix this? How do you fix something like this?!" He pointed to the body on the bed. "That's not my fucking brother! Where is he?!"

Marylou took a deep breath and tried to calm him down. "Nick, we need to stay calm. The doctor is going to find out what happened and make sure Matt is okay. Let's just try to wait here." She squeezed his hand, but he pulled it away, pacing back and forth.

The doctor returned a short while later, her expression grave. "We've identified the body as belonging to a man named Matthew Williams. He was admitted to the hospital under a false name, and the records were somehow switched with your son's. We've notified the police, and they're investigating the situation." I stared at her, My face a mask of disbelief and horror. "I am so, so sorry for this mistake. We'll do everything we can to find your son and get this sorted out."

Nick collapsed into a chair, his head in his hands. Chris knelt beside him, trying to comfort him. Marylou looked from Nick to the doctor, her face pale. "Do you have any idea where our son might be?" she asked, her voice shaking. The doctor shook her head, her expression pained."Not yet. We'll alert all the hospitals in the area and work with the police to locate him as quickly as possible."

As the minutes turned into hours, the waiting room seemed to close in on them. Nick paced back and forth, unable to sit still. Chris tried to stay calm, but the anxiety was evident in his voice when he spoke to the doctors. Marylou sat in a chair, her face pale. The silence was broken only by the occasional sob from Nick or the beeping of the machines in the hallway.

taglist :

@mattestrella @chrisfavoritepepsi @sunsetsturniolos @littlebookworm803 @sturniozo @sturniolooooo @athaliahxoxo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ev3rgreenxtrees @nonamegirlxsturniolo @crybabycat1 @mooniethesimp31 @ducksturniolo @ifilwtmfc @pepsiimaxx @sleepysturnss @lustfulslxt @ilovemattsworld @hrt-attack @flowerxbunnie @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @secret-sturniolo @iluvmeeen @that-general-simp @swangelss @familynotfandom @fuckshitslover @styles-sturniolo @lvr-111 @opheliaofficial07 @kiarastromboli

[soleilars]

hii! could u do a leo valdez x nyx!reader ? could be headcannons or short story whichever u prefer :) take ur time and thank you!!

IT’S BEEN SO LONG, IT’S BEEN SO LONG, MAYBE WE’RE FIREPROOF

summary: leo valdez frightens everything he likes. and he’s so so so scared of you.

pairing: leo valdez x nyx!reader

a/n: i hope you like this!<3 i wrote it so quick idk what happened tbh

it wasn’t like leo disliked you. he didn’t know you this well to have this kind of judgement about you in the first place. he just… didn’t wanted to cross paths with you. like, ever. again, he didn’t dislike you. he’s just so leo about that. the one time he decided to play capture the flag after weeks of not playing, he got taken down in the first 10 minutes into the game by no one else than you. he got angry at first, thinking that someone had hit him by mistake because he wasn’t hurt or dizzy, he just fell to the ground with his face hitting the earth. you made sure not to inflict pain in anyone during the game, so to say the least it was an ego boost for you to strike again with such efficient. when for leo it was certainly a motive for never play again after his pity dignified performance. and to be honest you scared him. he was just so amazed with your beauty, which seemed to get amplified by the night time, that he felt physically incapable of talking to you.

this probably justifies his reaction when the one day he decided to go out of bunker 9 after several days in with the minimum amount of human contact, he saw you coming in his way. broken sword in hands and a pleading face.

no, no, no, no, no, hell no.

would it be ridiculous of him to run? to simply turn away and run? pretend he didn’t saw you because he was sure you didn’t saw him? gods, he hopped not because that’s what he did. he went straight to the way he came from and started looking at the shelves, pretending to be busy with something. you came in anyway, after all the need of a repair was evident and you were getting impatient. ‘this kind of gold is roman stuff. most of us aren’t specialised at this and we wouldn’t risk breaking or causing any extra damage to your weapon. i recommend you find, leo. he’s more used to this kind of stuff than us, really.’ jake manson, the cabin’s counsellor had told you.

“hey, is someone in here?” your voice send shivers through leo’s spine. he cursed himself as he came out of his, not so, hidden spot.

“uhm, yeah? who are you?”

as you introduced yourself and explained your problem leo could feel himself getting more and more warm. the mixed feelings started to get to him in the form of an alarm sounding in his head that sounded like ‘dangerous!!!!!hot, but dangerous!!!!!! would look stunning… while killing you!!!’

“sorry, but are you okay? you seem… pale.”

leo was surprised to find himself more nervous than usual. and believe, he’s very used to being nervous around pretty girls, and he’s also very used with being scared. now, the combination of both of those? nah, he’s an absolute mess. it takes him a few seconds, or maybe minutes? to go back to his ‘normal’.

“whatcha saying? sorry, i didn’t understand”

“i was saying that i need to fix my gold sword. you can do that for me?” you cried “please, your half siblings said you’re the only one that works with it”

“yeah yeah, sure. hand me the thing and i’ll see what i can do”

after a week your sword was almost new again. lighter and sharper. in the meantime, you asked leo to let you watch him work, mostly so you could try to understand how to fix it new time or tips on the most efficient way to keep them glossy and not dull. by chance, leo started to get more comfortable around you and vice-versa. lazy mornings, calm afternoons and busy nights. if bunker 9 wasn’t so far from camp for sure the two of you would get in trouble from noise making past midnight. leo joked that by the night time you should help him, because your mom being who she is you’re supposed to be the most productive in the room. you laughed at his suggestion, but ended up helping him with his projects the minute the sun sets.

his work was so good that you ended up taking your dagger, your helmet, your other sword, and another dagger for his treats. you may have made the blade of your daggers go blind and getting the pegasus to kick your helmet, but that doesn’t really matter does it?

[starsstuddedsky]

Tangled in Love

vernon x reader

summary: there's nothing in the world that vernon loves more than cats. at least, that's what you think

genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst, non-idol!au, uni au, f2L, idiots to lovers, fake dating if you squint, technically university au

warnings: none!

wc: 3.8k

a/n: started this a WHILE ago and finished it like a month ago but i wanted to let it sit lol,,, may or may not have been the other option for the poll i put out and then i may or may not have forgotten to post.... anyways i am working for literally the whole summer until school starts again so i can't promise i'll be writing a whole bunch </3 so basically: enjoy bc idk when anything else will come lol (not going on official hiatus though!! just like... limbo) pls pls feel free to drop in anytime and chat!! also requests are open but again,, i'll write when i write lol

tldr: adulting sucks, i love you all, none of this has to do with the actual story lol

Vernon’s car sits in your driveway. The sight of his little red sedan evokes a strong sense of familiarity, almost as if it’s yours. It’s survived high school and his first three years of college, up till now, though the engine sometimes shakes the car a little too much and the air conditioning chooses to work less often than you would prefer. Still, the one time Vernon mentioned getting a new car, you nearly cried, so you don’t let yourself complain too much. 

He waits for you, keys in hand, as you tug on your shoes and sprint out the door with a shout of goodbye to your parents. Your shoes nearly slip off because you didn’t put them on all the way and they’re still untied when you make it to the front seat, slamming the door shut behind you and pulling on your seatbelt. 

“You didn’t have to rush,” Vernon says, barely sparing a glance at you. You do a supreme job pretending it doesn’t bother you. 

“Yeah, but my dad is watching hockey,” you say. Though it’s been years since Vernon has been to your house for a “play date,” you know the memory of your father yelling at the television as if the players can hear him isn’t one that Vernon (or anyone for that matter) can forget easily. 

“You know if you move out, you don’t have to hear them,” he says, finally glancing at you before turning his head to watch the road as he backs down the driveway. 

“If I move out, I also have to pay my bills on my own,” you say. 

“You have three job offers and you haven’t even graduated yet,” Vernon says. “Of all our friends, you are the most financially stable, so don’t you dare try that argument on me.” This debate has been going on ever since Vernon announced he was moving out; two years in the dorms on campus proved more than enough for him. 

You don’t understand why he’s so insistent about you moving out. Sure you complain about your parents occasionally but not enough to really matter, and he knows how grateful you are that they’ve let you stay in your childhood room and rarely let you pay for anything. 

So why? You set your eyes on him, with his annoyingly perfect features that you’ve known most of your life. He studies the road, indifferent to your glare and undistracted. 

That’s the Vernon you know: focused on the moment, and never noticing you. You know how pitiful you sound, pining for someone for so long who has never once spared you a second look. Still, before everything else, he’s your friend, your best friend. You won’t ruin that just because you caught feelings. 

“Why are we going an hour away again?” You ask, resting your back against the cushioned seats and turning your head to the window to watch the scenery pass by. It’s easier to avoid thinking about those feelings when you aren’t staring at him. 

“Because the people running the rescue needed a volunteer to pick up the kittens.” 

“And why am I here?” 

“So I don’t get kidnapped or murdered,” Vernon says nonchalantly. 

“How am I going to prevent you from getting kidnapped or murdered?” 

“Strength in numbers?” He takes his eyes off the road for half a second to flash a smile at you. 

You rolled your eyes, plugging your phone into the aux. “You should have asked Jihoon. Between his gym obsession and unbridled rage, the nonexistent potential kidnappers-murderers would never stand a chance.” 

“And he has good taste in music. Bump,” he says, bracing his arm in front of you as he hit a particularly large pothole. He drops his arm as soon as the car stops shaking and you ignore the urge to catch his hand in yours. 

“He does not, and you better not be implying I have bad taste!” You dig through your playlists, trying to find the Vernon-approved one. 

“I was implying but now I’ll outright say it.” 

“His playlist is just Bruno Mars and Harry Styles and one random Ariana Grande song.” You hold up the shared playlist for good measure. Vernon ignores you, refusing to take his eyes off the road. 

“Okay, not good taste, but better than yours.” 

“What is wrong with my taste in music?” 

“No comment.” 

“How have we been friends this long?” You ask. You can’t quite say it with a straight face; the idea of not having Vernon in your life is an absurdity you can’t imagine. 

“By the way, you need to give directions,” Vernon says. “I sent you the address last week.” 

You shake your head but dig through the messages to find the address, putting Jihoon’s playlist on to prove your point. Vernon pretends not to care, singing along to “Leave the Door Open,” as if he didn’t make fun of Jihoon a week ago because he played the song on repeat during his four hour shift at the cafe. 

When you’re being honest with yourself, you know you want more than riding in Vernon’s front seat and making pointless jokes. More than once, you’ve imagined what it’s like to go home with him and stay there, to wake up in his bed because you share it with him, instead of the times you drank too much and he slept on the couch (because of course Vernon is the type of person to give up his bed for his friend). Moments like that make it harder to remember that he doesn’t feel the same way. 

You were doing a great job of paying attention until the second half hour, when you got stuck in standstill traffic. In your mind, only a few minutes pass, but suddenly Vernon shakes your shoulder and your heart shoots bolts of adrenaline into your veins to wake you up. 

“We’re here,” he says softly. He holds your phone with the directions still open. The engine shakes the car; he must have literally just stopped. It takes a couple moments to remember that he drove you into the middle of nowhere to pick up some kittens to foster them (another bullet point in the ever growing list of why you love Vernon: he does absolutely insane things for what he loves. What would it be like to be the person he loves?). He stares at you for a moment and for some godforsaken reason, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

He points to the corner of your lips. “You drooled.” He laughs at your groan, turning in his seat and cutting the engine, tossing your phone into your lap. 

The door creaks when you pull on the handle but it swings open. You are extra careful when you swing it shut, being as gentle as possible. Vernon raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment on it. You stretch until your back finally pops, jogging to catch up with Vernon who didn’t wait for you, striding up the smooth driveway. 

Warm pastel yellow greets you, a cute door that matches the array of flowers on the front porch perfectly. Vernon sneezes and presses the doorbell, stepping back to wait, shoulder pressing against yours. Even though his jean jacket and your cotton t-shirt separate you from really touching him, you feel a different sort of warm, a tingly feeling that spreads from your insides and makes you feel giddy. 

After a couple minutes, the door opens, revealing a smiling woman and a child that can’t be more than five clinging to her leg. “You must be the fosters! Sorry, it’s a little hectic today, but come on in!” She ushers you in, picking up the child. 

Some psychopath. You glance at Vernon but he turns his back on you, following the woman down the hall to a closed door. Whatever, it’s not like he needs to see you to know the jokes you make. 

“We’ve been keeping them away from the rest of the house since it gets so chaotic,” she says. “I’d love to keep them but we’ve got two toddlers and a hyperactive dog.” She sounds genuinely regretful, which you understand as soon as you step over the baby gate and into the room. It looks like it was a spare bedroom (you can’t help but think it’s for the children when they get too big to share a room), but the bed has been stripped and there isn’t any other furniture. In the middle of the room, in a nest of blankets, a grown cat sits and licks tiny balls of fur that mewl softly in protest. The black cat pauses in her grooming, studying you and Vernon while the woman and her child watch from the door. 

“Do you want to tell the lovely couple what we named them?” She asks the child. 

You freeze. Did she just call you a couple? “We’re not–” Vernon stops you with a hand on your arm, sitting cross legged on the ground and facing the woman and her child. 

“The momma is Pinky,” the child mumbles, barely audible. “‘Cause she has really pink feet.” 

You smile at her, though you’re still reeling from Vernon’s hand, which slips from your arm to interlace his fingers with yours. “Did you name her?” 

The child grins. “Yeah! But my brother named the babies.” She pouts. 

“I think Pinky is a great name,” you say. Vernon grunts in agreement. Pinky stands and wanders slowly toward Vernon’s hand (the one not holding yours), which he holds outstretched while looking away. Looking at you. You get to see the exact moment Pinky brushes her head against his fingers, watch the corners of his mouth creep up in satisfaction, watch his eyes slip away from yours as he strokes her head. She lets off a low rumble as she purrs, brushing her whole body against his foot before leaving him to study you. 

You’ve never thought of yourself as a cat-person or a dog-person (you love them all the same), but a life-time as Vernon’s best friend (and an abundance of cat cafes) have trained you in how to get cat’s to befriend you. You let Pinky move however she wants, hyper aware of Vernon’s hand squeezing yours once before letting go. 

He shifts to look at the kittens, earning a wary glance from Pinky. She watches him for a moment before turning back to you, brushing against your hand and eventually turning her back on you, purring like the engine of Vernon’s car the entire time. 

“What’s this one called?” Vernon asks, pointing to the orange colored kitten. 

“That’s Muffin, Momma named her,” the child explains. She stands at the baby gate alone, her mother off somewhere getting all of their supplies so that you and Vernon can leave with them. Her little fingers curl around the metal. “The black one is Fried and the white one is Egg. That’s what my brother named them.” 

Vernon nods, smiling over the tiny kittens. Pinky finally decides she doesn’t want him quite so close, leaving your side to place herself between him and the kittens. He laughs, sliding back to sit next to you. 

“There’s no way you don’t end up adopting at least one of them,” you whisper. 

“I have self-control.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Vernon turns to look at you except he’s much too close, nose just barely brushing against yours. It takes all of your willpower not to glance at his lips, infinitely harder when you realize you can feel his breath on your lips. Would he kiss you back? You push that fantasy away immediately: it’s Vernon. He’d push you away and call you weird, or do that judgy-eyebrow-wiggle-thing that he reserves only for special occasions (most recently used when Soonyoung was talking about a hookup gone wrong). You’ve always been the one he looks at when someone does something weird; what would he do if it was you being weird? Your stomach turns, the butterflies eating each other alive. You can’t do that to him, no matter how perfect his lips are. 

You jump at the sound of someone clearing their throat. You turn back to the door to see the woman holding a cat carrier doing her best not to smile. 

“Not trying to rush you two, but the sooner they settle into a nice loving home, the better,” she says, winking at ‘loving.’ You really should correct her. Actually, Vernon should correct her. He always does, the very few times that you have been mistaken as a couple. He never hesitates, so why isn’t he doing it now? Does he really not realize what she’s implying? 

He stands up, turning to face you and extending his hands to pull you up. You roll your eyes but take them anyway, ignoring the way your heart sinks when he lets go this time. He takes the carrier and gently picks up the kittens, blankets and all, and tucks them inside. Pinky follows immediately after, as if she couldn’t bear to be away from her children for more than a second. 

“I have a box ready by the door with their food, and toys, and other supplies, and I know you said you have a litter box and you’re ready, but I just wanted to make sure that they settle in nice, and I added a blanket in case they’re homesick, and–” She pauses, peering at the dark holes of the carrier as if she can see the little kittens inside. She takes a deep breath, picking up her child again, stepping to the side so that you and Vernon can leave the room. “I know you two will take good care of them, I do, I just– I’m going to miss them.” 

“Me too,” her child says, clinging to her mother’s neck. 

The woman smiles. “But we said our goodbyes already, and they’re going to be so happy with these two, right?” 

“Of course,” you say when Vernon doesn’t answer. “He’s been obsessed with cats since he was smaller than you!” You wink at the child, who giggles. 

You pick up the box at the door, grunting at the heaviness. 

“We can switch,” Vernon says softly but you shake your head. 

“It’s just to the car, it’s fine.” Vernon looks like he’s going to argue more, but finally he steps onto the front porch, moving as gently as possible, trying to disturb the precious cargo as little as possible. 

“Thank you so much again,” the woman says, setting her child down. “We really do wish we could keep them, but it makes me happy knowing that someone capable will be taking care of them, especially an adorable couple like the two of you. Do keep me updated on their adoptions.” 

You force a smile and choke out a “thank you,” following Vernon mindlessly down the driveway after she closes the door.

Adorable couple, were her exact words and Vernon said nothing. Why? The word hangs on your tongue, threatening to spill out if you so much as open your mouth. You watch as Vernon sets the carrier in the backseat, then takes the box out of your arms and places it on the floor. You force yourself to move to the passenger side when he raises his eyebrows at you, but once you’re sitting down and the seatbelt is across your chest, you’re frozen again. 

Vernon takes your phone when you don’t move, putting in your passcode (the sum of his birthday and yours). He pulls up his own playlist, a collection of hyperpop and indie artists that you normally enjoy listening to. Today it takes all your concentration not to burst. 

You almost make it the whole drive, all the way to his block, the apartment building he’s spent the last year and a half in that’s become far too familiar to you. How much time have you wasted away on the floor of his living room, drinking, doing classwork, listening to him talk about the future, rambling to him about the midnight thoughts that threaten your heart? He knows everything about you, except what you need him to know the most. 

When the question begins to burn in your heart, you can’t hold it anymore. Vernon pulls into his parking spot and it falls from your lips before you realize it. “Why?” 

He has the audacity to feign ignorance, blinking at you before finally asking, “Why what?” 

“Why did you let her think we are a couple?” 

One of the kittens mewls in the silence, a soft cry for help, sounding pitifully like your own heart. 

Vernon stares ahead of him at the concrete wall, the fading red number 19 that designates this spot as his. Just say something, your heart begs him. Stop giving me hope where there is none. His shoulders rise in the tiniest shrug. “I guess I was just curious.” 

“Of what?” 

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He glances at you, just once. “What it would be like.” He sighs. “This really isn’t the time for this conversation.” 

Your grip on the door handle is so tight your knuckles are white. So desperately, you want to believe he’s trying to say what you think he’s saying but you refuse to give yourself hope unless it’s real. “What conversation?” 

“Okay, for the record, I did think this through,” he says, “a lot. Like, for months. This isn’t coming out of nowhere, I really did try to figure out if it’s just a passing thing because the last thing I want is for things between us to be weird because you’re my best friend and I tried to imagine my life without you and that was worse than anything, so I decided I wouldn’t ruin anything except I can’t stop thinking about–”

“Vernon.” 

He pauses, turning to face you again and this time he doesn’t look away. You’ve never felt self-conscious under his gaze, not when he’s seen every awkward stage of your life and stuck with you anyways. His eyes have always been familiar to you, an oasis of comfort that you always find yourself drifting toward. But the longer he stares at you, the more you want to run away, hide from the heartbreak you see in his eyes. 

“I think I like you,” he says. “No. I do. Like, as in more than a friend. God, none of these words are working.” 

You stare at him. He’s saying everything you want him to say. He’s saying he likes you. Why can’t you move? 

Vernon runs a hand through his hair, and sighs. “Like I said, I don’t want to ruin things between us, you're still my best friend first. But I’m also sure about how I feel and I don’t want to keep it from you any longer. I can’t stay in this limbo of holding onto something that doesn’t exist, so, I’m really sorry.” 

“Sorry?” You repeat, frowning. “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because… I like you. And that ruins… this.” He gestures between you and him and that’s when you finally realize that he doesn’t know. 

“You dumbass,” you say, “I like you, too.” 

Vernon frowns, mouth hanging open a little, and you have to wonder if you looked this goofy when he was talking. Your heart swells when you realize you’re the reason for it. “You do?” 

“Yes,” you say, grabbing his hand. Your cheeks ache a little, and you realize that you’re smiling wider than you ever have before. You’ve never been this happy, not when you graduated high school, not when you and Vernon found out you got into the same college, not when you got a perfect score on that notoriously impossible chemistry final. “Vernon, I am an idiot that always thought you didn’t feel the way I did so I did everything I could to hide it. But I like you, I really, really do, and I’m sorry I never let it show.” There’s another word for how you feel, but you aren’t quite brave enough to use it yet, even if it’s what you really mean to say. 

Vernon leans closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “We really are dumb, huh?” 

“I can already hear Jihoon’s gloating.”

“He’s been nagging you too?” Vernon groans softly but the smile never leaves his lips. “He’s going to be insufferable.” 

You’ve grown used to silences with Vernon. Sometimes they are painful, like when he tells a joke and only you laugh. Usually they’re peaceful, comfortable silences that can only exist between two people that have nothing left to say but stay together anyways. But this silence is heavy, a weight on your shoulders pushing you to do something, move closer. You’ve known him your whole life but this is foreign territory. 

His breath kisses your lips again and this time you have the bravery to lean forward, just a little. His lips are soft, bottom lip chapped a little more than the top but it is warm and it feels like a first and thousandth at the same time, like unlocking the door to a house you know you’ll spend the rest of your life in. Your mind floats farther and farther away, in some place of impossible happiness that can’t quite believe that this is real. 

A soft cry from somewhere to your left brings you back to earth. You pull away at the same time he does, glancing at the backseat. Right. The kittens. You glance at Vernon, whose mouth is still a little open, eyes wide and flustered. It makes you want to kiss him all over again but you settle for laughing. 

“I guess we should go inside,” he says, leaning away from you though he doesn’t turn his back yet. 

“We should get them settled,” you say, glancing at the carrier again. 

Vernon nods, opening his door and grabbing the heavy box, pausing by the entrance to the building to wait for you to grab the carrier. Silence falls again as you ride the elevator up but you’re more than familiar with it. 

It doesn’t take long to settle Pinky and the kittens, not when Vernon already had a room set up for them. He figures there’s been enough stress for the day and they should get some peace and space to relax, so you stretch out on the couch, taking your usual corner. Vernon sits next to you, the inch of space separating you feeling like a mile. 

Vernon glances at you, chewing on his lip before asking, “You’ll stay?” 

“Always.” 

The grin that splits his face has you swooning all over again, so when he throws an arm over your shoulder, leaning into your side, your brain fully stops functioning. You have to will thoughts into existence, which is silly because it’s Vernon and he’s done this a million times. But when you tuck your head onto his shoulder and he kisses the top of this head, you know everything is different. And exactly how you want it. 

“You’re definitely going to adopt Fried,” you say. 

His laughter bounces you. “No way.” 

“It’s Fried or Muffin. You can’t handle their cuteness, I saw you baby talking at them.” 

“I'll stay strong.” 

“What if I want a kitten?” 

Vernon doesn’t hesitate. “Egg is pretty cute.” 

“Sucker.” 

“Only for you.” 

thank you for reading <3

[ugh-yoongi]

she, by proxy | myg, kth

(or, the one where yoongi gets what yoongi wants, even when what he wants is taehyung. especially when it's taehyung.)

✤ pairing: yoongi x reader; taehyung x reader; yoongi x taehyung ✤ genre: est. relationship (yoongi x reader), pwp ✤ rating: explicit; minors dni ✤ warnings: a lot of swearing, drinking but no one's drunk, a friend group in which everyone is queer and has fucked at least once probably, taehyung is a messy hoe but yoongi's an entire disaster, pining, open relationships, polyamory that is discussed briefly, i have been told there are some feelings involved. the most important: there is gay stuff in here!!! i repeat, some of this is VERY GAY! please do not read if that isn't your thing! ✤ smut warnings: girls making out, a threesome, dudes kissing, oral sex (m. receiving), anal fingering, vaginal fingering, taegi get pegged, dirty talk, dudes touching themselves a lot, come as lube (but there's also real lube dw), come eating, voyeurism, a lil slapping (thighs/clit), the dom/sub dynamics shift throughout the fic but mainly dom!reader, very mild degradation, a lil begging, taehyung cries, fingers always seem to wind up in mouths, hair pulling, frottage, yoongi accidentally gets edged, praise, protected sex, dp (fingers & piv at the same time). i think that's it :') but let me know if i forgot anything. ✤ word count: 8.3k ✤ credits: thank you to @effortandmore / @the-boy-meets-evil / & @here2bbtstrash for beta'ing this for me. my personal porny fairy godparents. i appreciate you all a whole lot. ✤ author's note: can you believe my degenerate brain dreamed this up and then i wrote all of it in two days in a delirious haze, opened the doc this morning to make final edits, and added almost 2k more. idk who i am anymore. if i missed anything it's bc i finished & edited this during jk's live and i was distracted, to say the least. anyway this is embarrassing i feel like a prude so i'm gonna go hide. pls come scream in my inbox with me unless it's to yell tired shit at me abt writing mxm/pegging/whatever else i warned you this is gay.

You hadn’t been surprised the first time, and you’re not surprised now, countless times later.

A girl slides into Taehyung’s lap—long hair, bubblegum pink, almost certainly a wig—and his hands immediately go to the small of her back. Large, nearly swallow her up, and they move to rest possessively at her hips, his grip tight as he pulls her closer. Her top is cropped latex and leaves very little to the imagination, which isn’t an issue for you or Yoongi because she’s not what Yoongi’s looking at. His eyes are locked on Taehyung’s hands; locked on the way the tendons flex as he manhandles the faceless girl in his lap, hikes her over one thick thigh.

Ten more seconds of this and all of you will be looking for a new club.

The air is hazy and thick, the floor sticky with god knows what, and Yoongi reaches for you beneath the table. His own large hand finds your smaller one, those knobby knuckles almost uncomfortable when he twines your fingers together. He’s still staring at Taehyung, and you want to do something, say something, it’ll be someone else soon, stop watching, you’re only gonna hurt yourself, but you know him, and you know when he gets like this it’s best to just let him ride it out. Suffer a little.

(Right now, it doesn’t seem like it’ll be tortured as last time, at least—when all of you had gone someplace else, some seedy spot in an Itaewon basement, and Taehyung had some girl pressed against the wall outside the bathrooms, fingers buried deep in her cunt as she shook and came. And Hobi, smarter and sharper than any of you but still so fucking stupid, had just—

“Fuck, man, they’re gonna need a mop and bucket for that. I mean, shit, it was so much? The sound when it hit the floor—”

Jeongguk had pulled a face. Half doe-eyes, half mortified terror. “When what hit the floor, hyung?”

“Her fucking squirt, Jeonggukie, what the fuck do you think—”

And Namjoon, just as wide-eyed and terrified as Jeongguk but for an entirely different reason, had laughed awkwardly and said, “Haaa, maybe we should talk about something else?” as he looked between Hoseok and Yoongi.

That night had been shit-tier, nearly unsalvageable, so at least it doesn’t seem like Taehyung’s in that kind of mood. At least the girl in his lap still has her clothes on. At least his hands are someplace you can see them. At least Yoongi’s still beside you.)

So you bide your time. Take stock of who’s still here and where they are, because the girl in Taehyung’s lap has her lips on his neck and things might go south faster than you’d originally anticipated. Hoseok and Jimin are on the dance floor, hips doing something sinful and too much; Namjoon’s at the bar, jaw clenched as the bartender passes him over for the fourth time in a row; Soyeon and Hyungseo are in the other side of your booth, tongues sloppy as they kiss just because they feel like it; Jeongguk, shoved in the corner on Yoongi’s other side, is slack-jawed as he stares at them, and Jeongguk is a fucking pervert so you know he’s hard.

“Put your dick back in your pants, Jeonggukie,” you say, loud enough for him to hear you over the music. The bass is heavy as it drops, feels like it’s thrumming through your veins, and Jeongguk startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his panic, and Soyeon and Hyungseo don’t bother breaking apart to look. “You want another drink?” you ask Yoongi, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

He shakes his head, finally drags his attention away from Taehyung. There’s someone new in his lap: chin-length silver hair, thin legs that go on for miles, tan skin covered in boldly-colored tattoos, could be anyone. Yoongi isn’t looking anymore, but you are, so you catch it when Taehyung looks up. Looks right at Yoongi, wants to see if he’s watching, but instead he just finds you. “Gonna go smoke,” Yoongi answers, and you slide out of the booth to let him leave.

“Is hyung okay?” Jeongguk asks when the two of you are pressed back together. He sips leisurely at his drink, trying to make it last until Namjoon makes it back from the bar with another one. Something baby blue and shockingly green, a little umbrella on top. Two cherries. “He seems sad. Hey, watch this.” Jeongguk pops one into his mouth and presents the knotted stem to you seconds later.

This is the part you never know how to explain: that Yoongi loves you but sometimes he wants someone else. Not instead, but too. That you love Yoongi and want him to have whatever he wants, and that jealousy is foreign to you. That you and Yoongi love each other but do things a little unorthodox, which is not out of the ordinary for a friend group as ran-through and commingled as yours, but still takes patience and care to explain.

So you just ruffle Jeongguk’s hair, laugh at his squawking protests, and wrangle him so you can press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t worry this pretty little head about your hyungs, okay?”

Jeongguk surfaces with a glare, surface-level because you’ve embarrassed him in front of two hot girls that are still making out, and hides his flushed cheeks behind his drink. “Is it about Taehyungie-hyung?”

“What’d I just tell you?”

He pouts, but you’re saved from another interrogation by Namjoon’s unceremonious return to the table. He’s so flustered by his one-sided feud with the bartender that he slams the blue-green drink down a little too hard, spills half of it in Jeongguk’s lap. “Move over,” he says to you, and you cock an eyebrow in return. “Please,” he amends, like that’s what you’d been looking for, but when you still don’t move he gets a little whiny and panicked. “They’re relentless,” he says, pointing his thumb at Soyeon and Hyungseo like you can’t see them. “Don’t make me—”

“What about me!” Jeongguk wails, pressing his hands pathetically to his groin like he’s trying to stem bleeding, at the same time you roll your eyes and fire a, “Says Mr. Eight-gigabyte Porn Folder,” at Namjoon.

You receive another glare, this time from Namjoon, and he doesn’t hesitate to steal Jeongguk’s spot against the wall when he goes to the bathroom to deal with his soaked pants, only to start swearing when he realizes the seat is wet, too. “Jesus fuck—”

“That’s what you get.”

“Fuck off,” Namjoon fires back. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

“Outside smoking.”

“Smok—why is he smoking?” At your silence, he jerks his head up, intent on getting an answer out of you. Instead, his question dies on his tongue as he follows your line of sight. Another new person in Taehyung’s lap, sucking Taehyung’s fingers into their mouth. “Ah, yeah. That fucking guy.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Be nice, Namjoonie. You know Taehyung would hook up with a microwave if it gave him attention.”

“What number is that, then? Hasn’t he gotten enough attention?”

“Third I’ve seen. The first one was cute. I thought for sure he was gonna leave with her.”

Namjoon huffs, shakes his head. Takes a long pull of his beer. “He’s not gonna leave with anyone. He just does this to piss off hyung.” Then, like he’s coming to a realization, he turns to look at you with a quizzical look. “Wait, where’d Seokjin-hyung go?”

You stare back in disbelief. “How long were you at the fucking bar? He left hours ago.”

“Did he?” Then, quieter and to himself, “How long was I at the fucking bar?”

Whatever game Taehyung is playing, Yoongi is woefully inept at playing along.

Doesn’t know when it’s his move or when it’s time to sit and watch. Doesn’t know the rules. Doesn’t really listen when you try to explain it to him; probably doesn't want to hear it. Yoongi seems to think he’s at his best when he’s a little sad, a little miserable and yearning. At its core, that’s what the game is, and as much as he keeps touching the thorns to see if he’ll bleed, you know he still enjoys it.

(Know he gets off on it, too.)

Yoongi reaches for you. Steadies himself with his hand on your shoulder, pupils wide as saucers—dark dark dark in the corner of this grimy club—eventually breaking into a smile when you grab his sweat-slick hands and guide them to your waist. Your bodies move together like waves, pushing apart only for Yoongi to continuously pull you in closer, dazed from the feeling of you pressed against him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, words impossible to hear over the music, “look at you. So fucking pretty.”

He threads a knee between your legs, the sound of his groan drowned out as you roll your hips against him. Maybe Yoongi doesn’t know the rules to this game, but you do, and you make sure Taehyung’s watching when you drag your core against Yoongi’s thigh. He groans again, and his hands grip your hips tighter, moving you back and forth on him the way he does when you ride him.

You watch as he drags his eyes upward, see the exact moment he spots Taehyung across the club. His profile is lit up by the strobe lights, filling in the contours of his bone structure with greens and blues. He’s with Jimin and Hoseok now, dancing with the girl from earlier with the pink hair, her back pressed to his chest. He leans down and whispers recycled filth into her ear that she seems to buy. You watch as Yoongi closes his eyes tight; watch him pretend it’s Taehyung dancing with him; it’s Taehyung’s hips he’s gripping onto; it’s Taehyung who’s moaning and desperate for him in this moment.

You watch as his eyes snap open again.

You watch as he realizes he’s in this daydream alone.

And you wonder, briefly, if this should bother you. If this is fucked up, that Yoongi’s hard against you because he’s thinking about someone else, and you find that you don’t care. What you and Yoongi have doesn’t need to make sense to anyone except the two of you.

“Wanna go home,” Yoongi slurs into your ear, fucked up from the feel of you, the thought of Taehyung.

You smirk, tangle your hands in his hair and tug a little just to fuck him up even more. “Yeah? What d’you wanna go home for? It’s still pretty early.”

“Wanna fuck you,” he whines. Tries to hold you in place to grind harder against you and whines again when you move just out of reach. “Baby.”

“You know the rule.” There’s a drop of sweat that rolls down the side of Yoongi’s neck that you chase with your tongue. “Tell me what you actually want and we can leave.”

The breath he sucks in is harsh, fractured, like your question is a special kind of torture. You know it is. Unlike with Taehyung, this is a game both you and Yoongi know the rules to. Unlike with Taehyung, this is the game Yoongi plays to win. The song changes again, this time to something filthy and slow, and Yoongi fits himself to your back, moves until both of you are facing Taehyung. “Want you both,” he says into your ear. Nips at the lobe. “Want to watch you fuck him the way you fuck me.”

“Don’t wanna fuck him yourself?”

You feel him shake his head. “Not this time.”

“What are you doing, then? In this fantasy of yours?”

Yoongi presses closer, the outline of his hard cock pressing into the small of your back now. “Watching, at first. Wanna see you ruin him.” His hands skim along your skin, dip beneath the hemline of your shirt, dance across your stomach. “Wanna watch you make him fucking cry.”

“Are you telling me how?”

Yoongi’s laugh is low, a little caustic. “I won’t need to. He’s so fuckin’ easy.”

“And yet you want him this bad,” you taunt. “Someone easy like that—doesn’t seem to be your type.”

He bites along your neck. “Watch yourself.”

“I’m not the one all fucked up over Kim Taehyung.” You make eye contact with the man in question. Watch as the look on his face fades into a smirk, syrupy and slow. Sleezy, you think. He probably is as easy as Yoongi says. “I should tell him how fucking hard you are. Should tell him you’re gonna take me home and fuck me and come thinking about him. That’s pretty fuckin’ dirty, Yoongi.”

It’s nothing you haven’t said before. Sometimes you press even harder, humiliate him a little when he seems to be in the mood for it, but this time he goes stock-still. Silence stretches between the two of you, the only people standing still on this dancefloor, and you’re halfway turned around to see if Yoongi wants to fuck or cry when he says, “Do it, then.”

You laugh. All part of the game. But then Yoongi grabs your hand, moves it to his cock, straining against his skin-tight jeans, some kind of message that’s gotten fucked up in translation. “Yoongi—”

“Tell him,” he says, expression shuttered and serious.

“You wanna think about this for more than ten seconds? You haven’t talked to him since the last time you guys hooked up and you want me to go tell him you… what? That you want to have some weird cuck threesome with him?”

That’s exactly what you told him.

(Because you know Yoongi, and you also know Taehyung. Your dig at him to Namjoon was very much based in truth, and with how fucked up the dynamics of your friend group are, it hadn’t taken much more than sending Yoongi out into the cold to order a taxi, swaying your hips a little, re-glossing your lips, and disposing of the girl with the bubblegum pink hair. No one had batted an eye.

“I’m going home to fuck my boyfriend,” you said, leaning into Taehyung’s space. He was draped on the couch again, legs spread in a way that was frankly obscene. “Would you like to join us?”

“That depends, angel. How do you fuck him?” he asked, spreading his legs wider.

You stepped closer. Cupped his cheek, dug your nails into his skin a little, and said, “Better than you ever did,” all condescension.

Taehyung had just laughed. Pressed his tongue into the fat of his cheek. “I guess we’ll see about that.”)

And now you’re here, Taehyung sprawled on the bed beneath you. You can see why a sight like this would have Yoongi fucked up as long as he has been: Taehyung’s golden skin contrasting against the crisp white of the sheets, dark hair fanning against the pillows, curls falling into his eyes, chest heaving. Each time he throws his head back you’re torn between sinking your teeth into the column of his throat and wrapping your hands around it. It’s easy to ruin him when he looks like this; easy to give Yoongi what he wants.

“What should I do with you?” you think out loud, and Taehyung’s responding whimper draws a laugh out of you. “Yoongi wants to watch me fuck you,” you continue, hands teasing toward the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. You pinch, slap away the sting. “Would you like that?”

Taehyung’s cock—long and thick, still glistening with spit from when you sucked him off—twitches at the thought. “Y-yeah, fuck, want that,” he answers, hands moving to fist the sheets. He’s been so good. Has done exactly as you said. “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

“Should I fuck you the way you used to fuck your hyung?” Both Taehyung and Yoongi moan at the same time, and it’s so stupid, you think, this game they’ve been playing. Cat and mouse, as if the conclusion hasn’t been inevitable this whole time. “Use your words, Taehyung.”

“Yeah,” he says again, Adam’s apple bobbing heavily in his throat. “Y-yeah, like that.”

You hum, reach behind you for the bottle of lube. Yoongi mutters a quiet shit from the other side of the room and you glance over. Mouth hung open, lips wet; jeans pushed halfway down his thighs, the outline of his cock visible through his briefs, hand squeezing at the base. Cheating a little, but still not touching himself the way you know he wants to. He’ll be the first to cry, at this rate.

Eyes back on Taehyung. You wonder if he’d normally preen, put on a show. You wonder if he did that with Yoongi, some whole thing. “He’s told me about it, you know,” you say, clicking the lube open. Sounds more like a gunshot in the small space of your bedroom, where the only other sounds are labored breathing and the city outside. “Told me all about how you used to split him open with that big cock.” You tip the bottle sideways, let the lube dribble out and over Taehyung’s balls. He hisses at the cold, mutters a swear. “Told me he’d struggle to take it sometimes.”

“You two are—fuck.” Whatever Taehyung was going to say is cut off as your finger follows the lube, trails down to his hole. You circle it there, make sure it’s wet, press a little just to watch his hips jerk. “You two are fu-fucking weird.”

“Mm, maybe,” you concede, “but you should see how hard he comes when he’s thinking about you.”

You gather more lube on your finger, then, and press it inside. Just to the first knuckle, just enough to make Taehyung whine. “I guess you already know that, though,” you continue. Pour a little more lube on Taehyung’s skin. Pull your finger out enough to slicken it, push it back in a little further. “Was it good for you?”

His moan is broken and low, deep and heady. A sound that makes the world feel like it’s tilting; a sound that makes you want to chase it. “Yeah,” Taehyung answers, and it could be a response or a declaration when it’s followed by, “so fucking good.”

“Yoongi is good, isn’t he? He listens so well.” With your free hand, you grab Taehyung’s face roughly, turn his head in the direction of where Yoongi’s sitting. “Look at him,” you instruct. He already looks fucked-out. Cheeks flushed, breathing hard, knuckles white where he’s gripping onto the arm of the chair. “Look at how good he’s being, not even touching himself.”

And Taehyung… Taehyung almost looks ashamed. Won’t meet Yoongi’s gaze, now that they’re so close, now that it’s real, and this won’t do, will it, so you dig your nails in a little harder, drag them down his cheek, tell him again to look at his hyung. Then—

For the first time all night, their eyes meet at the same time.

Yoongi’s whimper is loud. The loudest you’ve ever heard him outside of actual sex. You work in a second finger alongside the first, build up a steady rhythm, and Taehyung isn’t faring much better. Little by little he opens up for you and you’re thankful for the way he sucks you in, adjusts. It’s getting harder to ignore the heat between your own legs, watching two beautiful men fall apart in vastly different ways, even though you want to drag this out, want to make Taehyung cry and give Yoongi exactly what he wanted.

And, god, Taehyung is so fucking pretty.

You tell him as much, and his smile is greasy, looks even more lewd when you crook your fingers and his eyes roll back. He’s still tight around you when he asks for a third so you shake your head, tell him no, tell him he’s greedy, and you think people must not make him beg much, the way he’s pouting. Taehyung has a face that gets him whatever he wants and a cock to match, and you’d understood it before, why Yoongi couldn’t really let it go, but it’s different when it’s right in front of you, making a mess of your sheets.

“I must be going soft on you,” you tell him, working in another finger the next time he asks. “Yoongi wanted me to make you cry and here I am, giving you whatever you want. Maybe I should let him decide what you get.”

Taehyung shoots a hand out, grabs at your forearm. “Don’t,” he says, voice hoarse, bordering on pleading. “Please. He’s still mad at me, won’ give me anything.”

A huff of breath escapes you. “He doesn’t look very mad to me. Looks like he could probably come on command if you told him to.” It’s not an exaggeration, not really; Yoongi is gone, looks like a stiff wind could have him spilling all over himself. “But maybe that’s what you deserve.”

You nail Taehyung’s prostate the next time you crook your fingers and he sobs. You do it again, then a third time. Precome oozes out of his cock, deepens the pool on his belly. You keep it up until tears pool on his waterline, until he’s reaching for you again, begging you to stop, words cracking as he tells you desperately that he’s going to come. “Angel, fuck, please, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” you tell him, all authority. “You’re not going to come, are you, because I haven’t told you to. Yoongi hasn’t told you to.”

The first frustrated tear streaks down Taehyung’s cheek. “Oh my fucking god,” he chokes out, forcing his hips flat to the bed, tries to force you to stop moving. But your rhythm is steady, confident, three fingers working with the space he’s left you, and it isn’t until you watch his balls tighten that they slow. Taehyung’s sweat-slick, looks even more golden under the amber lamplight, and it’s dizzying, the way the color shifts as his chest heaves with his ragged breaths.

There’s only enough time for you to slip your fingers out, grab the lube, slick up the strap-on that’s fastened around your hips, before you’re pressing the head against Taehyung’s hole, still dripping wet. “It’s so big,” you muse, grinning wickedly at the man beneath you, “I don’t know if it’s going to fit. What do you think, Yoongi? Is this how you used to feel?”

When you look over this time, Yoongi has his cock out, briefs tucked beneath his balls, stroking fast. Clicking your tongue, he looks up through half-lidded eyes, hand stilling immediately. His nod is almost imperceptible, too disoriented to answer, and you’ll give him this one. Won’t push it. What you will push, though—

“Shit.”

You’re not sure if it comes from Yoongi or Taehyung. It might’ve even come from you, because you’re transfixed, can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of your stupid flesh-colored dildo disappearing into Taehyung’s body. Fucking greedy, you think, mostly at yourself, because if this sight is good you can only imagine what you’d see if you were watching his face. Brows furrowed, mouth pinched. A look not far off from that night in the club, the determination on his face as he fucked that girl with his fingers, uncaring who heard or saw.

But this is your show. Yoongi’s fantasy. Whatever girls—people—Taehyung has fucked in seedy clubs across Seoul are of little importance here. All that matters is the steady push of your hips, the slow roll once you’re fully buried, the pleasure that jolts through you when you’re able to grind a little against the toy, the way Taehyung thrashes against the sheets, incoherent as he babbles, stuck between more and too much.

“Okay?” you ask, hands skimming along his warm skin. Goosebumps trail in their wake, and you settle them on his thighs. Press them up and to the side as he nods, giving yourself more space, and Taehyung’s moan is loud, unabashed. His cock lies neglected against his stomach, begging you to reach out and grab it, stroke him, make him come too fast so you have another bruise to press on, some way to embarrass him.

But this is your show, Yoongi’s fantasy, and you don’t have to look because you can hear how close your boyfriend is to getting himself off. Can hear the way his breath hitches, can hear when his rhythm changes. Quicker, now. More insistent. If Taehyung looked over at him, it’d be all over, and you almost tell him to do that, too.

“Stop touching yourself,” you say to Yoongi. A second time when he disregards the first, too far gone, too close. “Yoongi.” He whines but he listens, shoves his fingers in his mouth to stem the urge, and Taehyung watches it all.

You’re still thrusting, thighs burning, sticky where they meet Taehyung’s, and it won’t be your lengthiest performance, that’s for sure. So you call Yoongi’s name again, beckon him over, and he hesitates, looks so unsure. But it’s so stupid, the way he and Taehyung dance around one another—and you know, you know Taehyung wouldn’t be shaking like this if it were just you, if Yoongi wasn’t in his head, wasn’t watching—so you’re insistent. “Come here,” you tell him, and you make sure your voice is spun sugar when you say it.

Yoongi listens. Stumbles over on unsteady legs, knees nearly buckling when he gets close enough to also watch the way the strap-on fucks into Taehyung’s hole, the way it stretches obscenely to accommodate it. “Baby.” He threads his hands into your hair and kisses you hard and messy. Taehyung moans beneath you so you know he’s watching, and you will your body to move faster, fuck him harder.

When Yoongi pulls back, it’s obvious. The longing in his eyes. “Tell him,” you say, and he looks caught-out, would almost look angry if he were capable of it. “This is your fantasy, isn’t it? So tell him.”

“I—” He looks down at Taehyung again, meets his gaze again, and he must see something there you can’t, because all the hesitation is gone when he says, “I want to kiss you.”

And you know what it means.

Because that had been the rule between the two of them. No staying the night, no kissing. You know what it means for Yoongi to ask for that, what it’d mean if Taehyung allowed it, and it nearly cracks your heart in half that it’s the only thing he’s willing to ask for when his wants are endless when it comes to Taehyung.

“Oh my god,” Taehyung moans. “Fuck, hyung, yeah—yeah, c’mere, kiss me, please, fuck.”

Yoongi looks like he’s been punched in the gut. Looks overwhelmed, given this kind of permission, so he goes about it all wrong. Starts to kneel at the side of the bed before you tsk and grab him by his own hair. “Do it right,” you instruct.

He moans. Aborts whatever he was about to do and climbs over Taehyung on the bed, straddles him, fitting in between both of you perfectly, close enough for his cock to slot against Taehyung’s. They both moan, and their game had been so fucking stupid it sends a lick of anger through you. Yoongi ruts his hips once, twice, and then he’s leaning down and cupping Taehyung’s face and pressing his lips—still wet from you, still wearing your spit—to Taehyung’s.

And Taehyung comes immediately, nearly untouched. Spills all over himself with a loud, broken sob.

“Holy shit,” you say, hips slowing until they’re still. “Holy shit, that was fucking hot, what the fuck.”

Taehyung trembles in the comedown and Yoongi presses in closer, kisses him through it. Can’t seem to stop now that he’s allowed. He’s still rutting, has Taehyung teetering on oversensitivity, so you grab Yoongi’s hips to slow him. “Careful, baby,” you say softly into his ear. Press a kiss to the nape of his neck. Give him a minute to back away from the ledge again and get himself under control, let Taehyung catch his breath. “Are you okay, Taehyung?” you ask, hands once again touching any of his skin you can find. You knead at the muscles in his calves.

There’s some garbled response. Something you think is supposed to sound like an affirmation. “Words, please.”

“Y-yeah,” comes his response.

“Okay. I’m gonna go grab something to clean you up, all right?” You press another kiss to Yoongi’s shoulder, turn your attention to him. “Then we’ll finally give you what you want, yeah? Finally let you come.” A shiver runs up his spine and he nods weakly. “Can you prep yourself while I’m gone?” Another shaky nod. “Good boy. Gonna pull out now, Tae.”

You do so slowly. Taehyung hisses, sucks in a breath through his teeth. Hisses again when you replace the toy with your thumb, try to ease the discomfort of being so suddenly empty. With another kiss pressed to Yoongi’s shoulder, you mumble an I love you into his hair, and then you’re gone.

There’s always been something about the way Yoongi touches himself.

Like the goal is more than simply getting off. Like there’s reverence in it, something beyond purpose. Yoongi touches himself the way other people drop to their knees at church and pray.

Sometimes it’s long and drawn out. Sometimes his hands skirt over every inch of his own skin before he finally brings them to his cock. Sometimes he rests on his haunches in the middle of the bed and angles himself toward the mirror and watches, his cheeks aflame the entire time because he’s embarrassed to see himself like that, three of his own fingers fucking himself, but the embarrassment almost feels just as good. Sometimes he has you beneath him, raining down praise as his fist works the length of his cock.

Sometimes he does it entirely wrong, like now.

Two pale, lube-slick fingers work in and out of his hole. His own, then, and not Taehyung’s. Just like you’d asked. You’re a little surprised, thought maybe Yoongi might panic and retreat with you gone, but they’re both where you’d left them. Taehyung’s talking all the while, saying god knows what in that deep timbre, and it’s straight up pornographic the way his large hands rest on the cheeks of Yoongi’s ass, pull them apart.

The damp cloth in your hand feels useless. Is useless, you think, because Yoongi had told you something, once, deep in the throes of another cerebral fantasy—

“I can’t believe I have to keep telling you this,” you say, and everything immediately goes still at the sound of your voice, “but do it right, Yoongi.”

Taehyung lifts his head, stares at you skeptically. Probably mirroring the look on Yoongi’s face that you aren’t privy to with his back to you. “We’ve talked about this,” you continue, stalking closer. All eyes on you as you drop the cloth to the floor. “Are you clean?” you ask Taehyung, and he nods, expression still dubious.

And then you’re reaching between both of them, swiping your fingers through the mess of cum on Taehyung’s stomach, and he understands immediately. “Are you gon—fuuuck. Fucking christ.” The first swipe goes to Yoongi’s mouth, and there’s no hesitation as he sucks your fingers clean. Your free hand finds Yoongi’s, the one he’s working himself open with, and pulls it away. Replaces it with your own, your two longest fingers covered in the second swipe of Taehyung’s cum, and you fuck them in and out faster than Yoongi had been.

“Filthy,” Taehyung chokes out, clearly overwhelmed; another groan when Yoongi starts sucking at his neck, biting, claiming.

It’s primal, the way Taehyung reacts, the way Yoongi embeds himself under his skin, tries desperately to make a home there. Something permanent this time; or, at least, a home that won’t burn down like the last one. Won’t be reduced to a smoking heap of bitter ash. And you wonder, as you watch the way these two beautiful men fit together, if Taehyung will be holding the match or the key this time.

You press slow, open-mouthed kisses along the knots in Yoongi’s spine. Drizzle more lube on your fingers, work him open more. Whisper I know, baby, I know when he gets impatient and a little too demanding. Swap the condom on the strap-on and slick it up, just like last time, and then you’re pressing into Yoongi instead of Taehyung, the way you’ve done so many times before.

Everything is familiar and different: the drag, the pull, the noises spilling out of Yoongi’s mouth. Those staccato whines varied in pitch, sometimes drawn out and sometimes punched and short. This is what you know. This is your home, and you think, as Taehyung looks at Yoongi, so fucking endeared, as he gently cups his face, as he says—

“Hyung, you look so pretty. You’re doing so well, hyung, fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever see you like this again.”

—you think your house might look nice with an addition. An extra space carved out only for Taehyung. A room where Yoongi can exist in endless adoration.

“Make yourself useful, Kim Taehyung.”

Because Taehyung listens. Because Taehyung is good in all the ways that Yoongi is good, and he doesn’t have to be told twice when the order deals in Yoongi’s pleasure. So all of you adjust until Yoongi’s on his hands and knees, gripping tightly onto the headboard, and Taehyung shuffles down the bed until he can get his mouth on Yoongi’s cock.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” you say, and Taehyung moans at the praise, the vibrations making Yoongi gasp and jerk.

You know when you hit his prostate, too; know this is going to be over soon from the way he buries his face in the crook of his elbow and screams. You know it from the way he starts to shake. From the unintelligible filth that pours from his mouth as Taehyung swallows him all the way down. From the way he stutters out a, ba-baby, wha’bout you, gonna come like this, and you pet his hair, voice soft again when you say, this is for you, Yoongi, you can come, I know it’s so much.

There’s a final husky, drawn-out moan, and then there’s quiet.

Lucidity returns slowly.

The heat kicks on. A police siren wails in the distance, seven floors below you. You re-wet your cloth and do your best to clean the dried cum from Taehyung’s skin, your smile fond as he whines at the cold, tries to squirm away. Yoongi doesn’t move an inch, just collapses face-first onto the mattress and lets everyone fuss over him. Starts snoring a few minutes later, after you’ve pulled the duvet up to his ears and he’s tucked in and warm.

You move to the dresser. Pull out two t-shirts—oversized on you, tight in the shoulders on Taehyung—and clean underwear. And then you pause, because Taehyung’s already plucking his own clothes off the floor, already has his fucking socks and briefs on, and it’s… it doesn’t feel right, is the thing. Doesn’t feel like he should be leaving. Not tonight, maybe ever.

“Where are you going?” you ask, and you do a good job of keeping the hurt out, at sounding normal.

Taehyung doesn’t get it. Looks at you like you’re a little stupid and a lot crazy, because he looks at you, then at the world outside the window, and finally at Yoongi before answering. “I—leaving?”

“Why?”

Taehyung looks at you like you’re a lot stupid this time. “I don’t…” Pauses. Tries to sink into the floor to no avail. “Look, I think maybe this was a mistake? Hyung and I—I don’t think this is what he wants.”

“And how do you know what he wants?”

“Because we’re here,” he answers, anger seeping in. “Because I’m standing in your apartment. His girlfriend, and—”

You sigh. “If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you, but I think it’d really hurt him if you left.” You leave off the again. It’s not your trauma to dredge up. Yoongi wouldn’t want you to, and that’s reason enough. “I would like it if you stayed, if that means anything.”

“The two of you are fucking weird,” he says again, but he looks less torn. Looks less like he would plow you over to get to the door, and it’s… progress. It’s good. You can work with a halfway thing. “Hyung would really—you think he wants me here?”

It’s spoken about in the way a broken thing always is: delicately, hesitantly, like Taehyung’s afraid of the answer, afraid to find out the results of this stupid game of his own design. “He does. It’s not my place to say much more than that, but I think the two of you are overdue for a conversation, if nothing else.”

Taehyung nods. Starts looking less and less like he’s out of place; starts looking like object permanence, takes a corporeal form within the four walls of your bedroom. “There’s space here for you,” you say, with the amount of care words like these require, “if you want it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to. Nothing has to be decided right now, but I know Yoongi. You know him, too. I just don’t want to see him hurt again.”

Taehyung nods again. Peels his socks off. “You’re sure?” he asks, and when you nod, he climbs back into bed, seems to somehow know which side of the bed is Yoongi’s, two magnets drawn together. Something inevitable.

You breathe out a sigh. Finally slip the t-shirt and underwear on. Flick the lamp off and let yourself have a minute to enjoy the calm, Yoongi’s body heat next to you, still snoring softly between you and Taehyung. And then, because you can’t resist—

“You two are really fucking stupid, you know that?”

You hear Taehyung swallow. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sounding the part of a scolded child, and as much as you try not to, you’re smiling again, fond and endeared, into the dark. “I know.”

“Okay. Go to sleep, Tae. I expect a very nice thank you gift in the morning.”

It doesn’t happen in the morning. Not really.

It happens sometime in the middle of the night. The light streaming in through the sheer curtains gives away nothing more than silver-amber light, the moon and the city. Could be minutes since you fell asleep, could be hours; all you know is Yoongi’s at your back, arm slung possessively over your middle, and his heat is stifling.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, because it’s not just his heat. He’s hard again, cock pressing against the swell of your ass just like it was in the club, and you feel him smile against your neck when he realizes you’re awake. Feel him rock his hips, just a little.

He nips at your lobe, your jaw. “Hi, baby,” he says, like this is just another morning. Like he’s about to present your favorite mug to you, coffee fixed exactly how you like it. “Why didn’ you wake me up?”

“For what?” you breathe out, voice already wavering. All Yoongi has done is skim his warm hands under your oversized t-shirt, swirl a finger around your navel.

Yoongi tuts. Feels weird to be on this side of it, the illusion of condescension. “To fuck you. Make you come. You didn’t earlier.”

“I meant what I said—”

“I know you did,” Yoongi interjects, “but I don’t find that to be a very acceptable excuse.”

You roll your eyes, no heat in it, but then Yoongi’s hand moves to the hem of your underwear and slips inside. Your hips jerk when he moves two fingers lightly over your clit, jerk again when he finds you already wet and groans deep and husky into your ear. And it’s not loud, but it’s loud for this room at whatever-the-fuck time it is. “Gotta be quiet,” you whisper to him, and he laughs, thinks you’re joking. “I’m serious,” you say, and you want to sound authoritative but it comes out as a whine when he sinks those fingers into your cunt.

“Why would I need to be quiet?” he asks. Crooks them as best he can from this weird angle, you on your side with your back pressed to him, Yoongi halfway on top of you. “Shouldn’t I be loud?” He hits a spot that whites your vision. “Shouldn’t everyone in this fucking place hear it?”

Usually you wouldn’t care. Your apartment building has heard worse, including whatever debauchery the three of you had gotten up to mere hours ago, but—“Taehyung’s asleep.”

Yoongi startles, goes still. “What?”

“What.”

“What d’you mean Taehyung’s asl…” You feel him turn. Feel him realize, for the first time, that there is a very-asleep Taehyung on his other side, and you want to ask how he hadn’t noticed before, want to say didn’t you realize how cramped this bed is, it’s not big enough for three people, we’ll have to get a new one, but. Yoongi hadn’t expected him to stay, hadn’t expected it to even be an option, so of course it would’ve been a blind spot.

Your heart cracks in half again.

“What’d you say to him?” he asks. Not accusing, almost awed, like you knew a code, the secret passcode to getting Taehyung to stay that Yoongi hadn’t had before.

You reach back, find Yoongi’s hair. Scratch gently at his scalp. “Just that I thought you’d like it if he stayed. That’s it, nothing else. I wouldn’t.”

“I know, I wasn’t…” He sucks in a deep breath, holds it, lets it go. He’s okay. “This is okay with you?”

A laugh spills out of you. “You’re asking me that now? I was nearly fist-deep in his ass a few hours ago but him sleeping in our bed is crossing some kind of line?”

“Sex can be different,” Yoongi argues, “and it’s me, you know, like it’s my hangup, not yours—”

“I want you to be happy,” you answer honestly. “Whatever that looks like. I told him there’s room for him here if he wants it, but they’re not my knots to untangle. If he wants to stick around, if you two can get your shit together… we’ll figure it out. It only needs to make sense to us.”

Silence. Then—“I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my fucking life,” Yoongi groans. “Jesus Christ.”

“I should’ve known hyung was the type to get a boner from open and honest communication.”

Yoongi startles again at the low rasp of Taehyung’s voice. “And that’s exactly why I said I fuck him better than you,” you fire at him, deadpan. He laughs. You don’t have to look at Yoongi to know how red he’s turned.

“You said that to him?” he chokes out, all mortified disbelief, at the same time Taehyung says, “Maybe you’ve got a point, angel.”

The mattress sinks under Taehyung’s weight as he shuffles closer to the two of you. Must touch Yoongi somehow, because there’s a high-pitched whine from the back of his throat, so loud in your ear, has heat coursing through you. “Finish what you started, hyung,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi’s nod is jerky, his hands uncoordinated under Taehyung’s watchful stare.

Yoongi moves over you fully, wastes no time before he’s working his fingers in and out at a steady rhythm, sucking at your skin. Taehyung groans quietly, doesn’t need to be told a goddamn thing; rids you of your shirt so Yoongi can mouth his way from your jaw to your neck, collarbones to chest, one nipple and then the next. Pleasure licks up your spine, outweighs how overwhelming it is to have Yoongi this geared-up, wound this tight; to have Taehyung’s hands roaming over every inch of skin his hyung doesn’t have his mouth on.

“Yoo-Yoongi,” you choke out, because this has really gone from zero to a hundred and he’s been pressing incessantly on your g-spot for too long to remain unaffected.

It’s building, building, building, and you’ve fully lost control of your hips, grinding against the heel of Yoongi’s palm like you’re desperate for it. (You are.) And Taehyung just laughs darkly, says, “Think she’s gonna come, hyung,” just to get under your skin.

“Mm, yeah. Might make a mess.” He slaps at your clit and that’s it, that’s what does it.

And Yoongi knows you, doesn’t he, because he knows how you like to get fucked. Knows to click his tongue at you, give you that disappointed look; knows to wipe your release on your thighs. Knows to barely let you catch your breath before he’s slipping on a condom and pushing inside of you.

After his fingers, the stretch from his cock feels dizzying. Feels on the edge of too much, and Taehyung’s commentary is doing fuck-all to help you come back to earth. Keeps saying shit like goddamn, hyung, yeah, fuck her like that. Maneuvers you so your back is pressed to his chest, now, your head on his shoulder, so Yoongi can slip his tongue into Taehyung’s mouth while he ruins you. It’s filthy, it’s so fucking filthy, and you think, selfishly, that a room won’t be big enough. You’d build Taehyung an entire goddamn house to keep it like this, to keep the three of you safe in this bubble.

“Imagine, hyung,” Taehyung starts, and you know what comes out of his mouth next is going to be nasty. Yoongi knows it, too, eyes starting to go glassy. A million constellations reflected as he looks at the two of you. “If we fucked her at the same time. Both of us in that tight pussy. Our cocks togeth—”

You’re not sure if the deafening moan comes from you or Yoongi. Either way, his hips falter, cadence reduced to stuttered thrusts as he tries desperately not to come just from Taehyung spewing more filth out of his devilish mouth. But you want to see it. Want to see what happens when he’s pushed to the brink of horny delirium, so you say—

“Do it.”

—and Yoongi has to stop altogether. Grips your hips so hard you know they’ll bruise, and you think, for a second, that he actually did come. Everything is quiet for a second, just more labored breathing, and then Yoongi picks his head up. Looks more fucked-out than you’ve ever seen him, even more than earlier, and looks straight at Taehyung.

“Put your fingers in her.”

Taehyung breathes harshly through his nose. Waits for you to nod, give him the okay, and then his hands leave your hair and skim down your body. They’re so warm, so large, cover so much skin that it truly feels like he’s everywhere, like it’s more than just him touching you. The closer he nears to your cunt, the more overpowering it is, the harder it is to breathe.

“Is this what you want, angel?” he asks, words warm on your skin as he presses them just below your ear. “You’re a greedy girl, getting hyung’s cock and my fingers.” He rubs circles into your clit, sends you spiraling. You’re dangerously close to a second orgasm (could be a third, could be a hundredth, considering Yoongi never let you come down from the first) and there’s a split-second right before he dips his fingers into your cunt, works them in alongside Yoongi’s cock, that you feel engulfed.

Everything is on fire.

You, most of all.

Taehyung sucks his fingers into his mouth, gets ‘em wet, works in slowly. Just his middle finger at first, and Yoongi falters again, moans out an oh fuuuck that betrays exactly how far gone he is. And you aren’t far behind, the stretch from both of them unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You can’t imagine how it’d feel if it was more than just Taehyung’s fingers, except you can, and Taehyung notices when the thought has you clenching, has you a little wetter, because he laughs at you, tells Yoongi like he can’t tell on his own. Like your boyfriend is a little dumb, like he’s never fucked you before, and that does something to both of you.

One finger turns into two. Yoongi’s a fucking mess, absolutely gone of the feel of them inside you, against his cock, can’t stop moaning. The tight fit has Taehyung’s fingers pressed snug against your g-spot, exactly how Yoongi’s had been, and it’s too much. Too much.

“I’m, fuck—I’m gonna—”

When you come it feels like the end of the world. It feels like rapture. It feels like every atom in your body has been rearranged, like the gods themselves are rewarding you specifically with the sound of Yoongi following right behind you, moaning low and ragged, spilling into the condom.

In the comedown, he kisses you—soft, tender, with every iota of love and affection contained in him. “I love you,” he says. Presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You okay?”

“Not sure,” you answer honestly. “Give me three to five business days to decide.”

Yoongi’s smile is shy, almost embarrassed. More gums than anything else. Behind you, the rumble of Taehyung’s laughter against your back, rattling your ribs. Rattling your heart, maybe, lodged safely between them.

It expands, makes more room—the one for Taehyung, that house—and Yoongi’s lips find Taehyung’s next and you know it’ll be okay. These two stupid boys, they’ll figure it out, put a cease fire to their foolish game.

Yeah, something inevitable.

as always, thank you for reading! my inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. i’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Deep, Deep Down (Broadchurch One-Shot)

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Your menstrual cycle was always the worst, but Alec does his best to make it better.

CW: reader is gn but has periods (rip- readers just like me fr), tooth-rotting fluff, comfort, idk what else to tag this

Broadchurch Tag List: @clarina04 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @yeethaw13 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Deep, deep down inside you’re aware that everyone’s experience is relative to their own situation and tolerance. You know this, but you’re also not entirely sure that anyone else could possibly have a period this bad.

They’re always like this. Agonising, debilitating, and very, very heavy. Alec was quite concerned when he witnessed his first one of yours. He was fawning over you and itching for his keys to take you to the doctor at any given second. It had taken a fair amount of convincing to get him to stand down. This was your normal. You’d gotten used to it (sort of) and now so would he. 

So month in and month out you spent at least one week a month curled up in a blanket fort cradling a heat pack like it was the only thing holding you back from death. Not even a hot chocolate made you feel better on your worst days. Not even the fancy ones with the whipped cream and the marshmallows. It was truly a cause for concern. 

Alec had started keeping mental track of your periods. Not on purpose, but it was hard not to notice when you basically stopped being able to function like a regular person for a minimum of a week per month. 

Alec knew your cycle was due to start any day, and he’d been trying to think of something to do for you to help you through it for at least three days. There was the standard, of course- the flowers, the chocolates, the hot water bottles- but he wanted something else. Something special. But what? 

Alec had thought about it for a little while before it came to him.

 

He prepared as many of your favourite things as possible. Your favourite snacks, flowers, plushies, blankets, foods. He’d even gone to the effort of grabbing all of your favourite restaurant meals and portioning them up for you so all you had to do when you got hungry was pop them in the microwave and start snacking. 

When you’d deemed yourself well enough to emerge from the bedroom and flop down in the lounge room, you’d almost cried at the sight that met you there. 

Soft blankets ready and waiting to cuddle into. A couple of your favourite plushies to keep you company. A little wicker basket of your favourite snacks. He’d even brought home Indian food for your lunch. The lights were dimmed and your string lights across the top of the TV cabinet were on and flickering softly. 

“I- erm, I’ve got t’go back to work, love,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. He was genuinely apologetic, you could see. And you chewed back the grateful tears. “But this should keep you goin’ till I get home, yes?” 

You looked around at the piles of things. He’d even teed up your favourite comfort film. Wow, maybe it wasn’t all men. 

“Y-yeah, Alec- I- this is amazing,” you breathed, rubbing at your tummy softly. 

Alec clocked the movement and turned around to pass you a bottle of water and some painkillers. Behind him, there was a hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream. Right next to the remote. You were a little in shock, to be completely honest. 

“Here, take these. Erm- once I get back, I’ll run you a bath an’ we can watch a movie or cuddle or something,” his cheeks flushed the palest shade of pink. You nodded, taking the pills and swallowing them down. “Whatever y’want. I want that water done, though,” he said pointedly. “Keep y’fluids up, y’ken?” 

You sighed and took an extra large sip just to appease him.

 

“Yessir,” you said cheekily, followed by a much softer, “thank you, Alec. Really. This is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me.” 

“Low bar,” was all he replied. You reached out for him and pressed a loving kiss to his lips. Alec hesitated to pull away, and you chuckled sadly. 

“Go on, now. Off to solve some crimes, hey?” 

“Tha’s me. Alrigh’, take care, love, yeah?” 

You plop down onto the couch, pulling a blanket close.  “Always, sir.”

[dreamydrifts]

hear me out, a one shot of Charles x Reader based on Casual by Chappell Roan.

I personally having been listening to Casual on repeat for the pass couple days and I am in the mood to cry and be upset, idk why but I feel like this song is very charles coded, maybe that’s just me, but yeah that’s my idea!

-🦥

note 💌: anon you made me obsessed with this song, ever since you wrote this request, i started listening to it. i literally cried while making this, so i hope this feeds your delulu soul and heart, and yes the song is so charles coded🫶🏻

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romeo, come and save me | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader | genre: estaished relationship | warning: angst, smut (a bit), minors dni | word count: 1.3k

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

Living in Monaco could be considered everyones dream, and it surely was yours. Every weekend, one of the drivers would host a part at their house, or in the biggest clubs in the country. That's where you found yourself talking to several of them and even hooking up.

Tonight you were in Charles Leclercs bed, with the pretext of "no attachments". You were moaning out his name as he was eating you out like there was no tomorrow. Gripping his hair as he continued to lick and suck. You knew he was bad for you, but the moment your lips touched, it's like everything you knew was forgotten.

The weekend after, he was eating you out in the backseat of his car, not even waiting to arrive home with you. You liked it, you couldn't lie, but you hoped that this time it wasn't just to help him leave the stress out before the race. He was like a drug and you were addicted to him. He was angry, you would help. He was happy, you would be there. But if someone asked what the two of you were, his answer would always be "We're just friends"

Sooner than you expected, you found yourself being in a relationship with him, but to say the least it didn't meet your expectations. Charles was distant and when he was there you barely talked. Now you were getting ready to have dinner with his parents. Finishing doing your hair, you walked into the living room to find him.

"Charles, do you really want me to go?" You asked seeing that he didn't even bother to look at you. He got up, kissing you without even looking at you. He kissed you, thinking that it would fix everything.

"I think it's better that we don't go..." You sight, pulling away, looking at him not feeling in the mood to lie to his parents about your relationship.

Charles sighed, he didn’t know what to do, he loved you. He just didn’t want to admit it. He looked at you, his eyes filled with emotion. Seeing that you didn’t want to lie he agreed. "It’s best we don’t go." He replied walking back to the sofa, picking up his phone and getting distracted by a text message from a girl.

The moment he looked at his phone, you knew that he was talking to another girl. Your best friend warned you about him, but you didn't listen, hoping that you can change him. You decided to go back to your room, not wanting to be in his presence longer than needed. Since the two of you decided not to go to his parents house, now you had to take your make up off which you have been working on for hours. Not only, he was talking to someone else while he was dating you, but he seemed happier.

He noticed that you were heading to the room, after a little debate with himself, he followed you, hoping you didn't know about the text message. "Where are you going?" He asked stopping you from going in.

"Home." You said looking away not wanting to meet his gaze. "I'm going home."

Feeling that this was about to be a discussion, he grabbed your wrist with one hand not letting you go. "No you’re not" He said his voice sounding firm almost angry but his eyes had a sense of hurt and sadness in them.

"Yes i am, i can't do this...anymore." You said sitting down on the couch. "I can't..." You keep looking away, trying to keep yourself from crying. "We act like we are strangers and then pretend to be in love for a minute...it's killing me..." Finally you let a tear escape your eyes.

He listened, his grip got tighter when he heard you wanting to go and when you started crying he pulled you into his arms hugging you tight. "You’re not going anywhere." He said, his tone now a bit kinder but a lot more protective as he brushed your hair from your face.

"Yes i am...we've been fucked up for a long time...this has to stop." You looked at him with a face full of tears, which was getting redder and redder. "All we do is lie..."

Even though he disagreed with you, he knew that it was the truth, but that didn’t mean he wanted to lose you. "No." He said shaking his head, still holding you tightly. He didn’t want to lose you at all. Even though you both were lying to each other he still felt as if you were the main purpose in his life. It was a selfish thought but he couldn’t help it.

"Yes..." You said looking at him and then away to wipe your tears. "We aren't even that close anymore..."

Charles stayed silent, he couldn’t handle the truth. All the times he avoided you, all the times he talked to another girl, all the times he lied all came crashing down on him and he wished he had done things differently. "We can fix everything." He said still holding you, not wanting to lose you, not wanting the person he loved to leave him. "I’ll be better I promise.."

"I know about her..." You said reffering to the girl he has been seeing and talking to for the past few weeks.

He froze, he felt a pang of guilt hit his chest. He didn’t expect you to know about her. After a few seconds he spoke not looking at you. "She was just a distraction.. she means nothing, I just wanted to forget things."

"Forgetting about us?...about me?" You looked away, not being prepared to face the truth. "Sure, she does...that's why you smile at her texts...are happy...unlike with me...when you act like i'm a ghost..."

He stayed silent, he didn’t want to answer that. He knew that when you talked about how he acted with the other girl that it was the truth. He knew that he acted different and happy with the other girl, unlike you. His gaze dropped to the floor. He was scared of losing you. "I’m sorry it will stop, I’ll stop" He said, trying to make it seem as if he really meant that, as if you could believe him.

"No, this has to stop..." You said showing to you and him, getting up finally ready to go to the room that the two of you share. One last time you wipe your tears, finally going upstairs.

He looked at you with sadness, he didn’t want you to go, but knew that he really messed things up a long time ago. He should have given his all to you, treated you better and been a better boyfriend. He tried one last time to get you to stay. "Please, stay."He said, trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check.

"Don't do this to me..." You said putting the clothes in the lagguage, wiping away your tears.

He sighed, he knew he didn’t have any other card to play. The moment you grabbed your things he knew that he really lost you, this time no excuses, no lies, no tricks, nothing could make you stay and he should have realized that sooner. "Fine, just tell me one thing." He said looking at you with sad eyes.

"What?" You looked at him with the lagguage in your hand, coming closer to him to hear him better.

He gulped, he hoped he was wrong but he had to ask the question. He didn’t want to but he just had to know. "Do.. do you still love me?" He asked, he didn't expect you to answer it honestly but he couldn't resist to ask the question. He knew that he was putting himself in a vulnerable position by asking such a bold question. He bit his lip out of nervousness.

"I never stopped." You whispered looking at the ground.

© DREAMYDRIFTS — do not translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[babydollmarauders]

Baby au does she ever go through that clingy stage where all she wants is jack and nobody else can hold her?

omg okay idk if this was supposed to be a blurb or just a general question, so i’ll answer it both ways! she DEFINITELY does! el is such a daddy’s girl and y/n 100% blames it on how stingy jack is with her. but there was a good 6 month period where she literally didn’t want anything to do with anyone other than jack. which made it rough on poor y/n because when jack was on roadies or at practice or a game, el would be SO fussy.

———

Jack and i were on the couch, him horizontally, his back against the arm of the couch and his legs sprawled out along the cushions with me laying between them, my back against his chest. a movie plays on the tv but neither of us pay attention, rather doing our own things in our phones instead. he scrolls through instagram, liking his teammates and friends posts while i scroll through tiktok.

my daily tiktok break is interrupted by the sound of El crying from her crib, having awoken from her nap.

“i’ll get her.” i heave out a sigh, rolling myself over Jack’s leg and off the couch before standing up. Jack just nods, his eyes never leaving his phone, and i make my way over to my 11 month old’s room.

“hey sweetheart. mommy’s got you. mommy’s here.” i coo as i walk in. she stands in her crib, whining with tears welling in her eyes, but she shakes her head when i come closer.

“dada!” she screams as i scoop up under her armpits. i heave a deep exhale, very tired of this phase.

for the past two months, the only person El has wanted is Jack.

i pick her up? “dada!”

Luke picks her up? “dada!”

she’s mad if i’m feeding her instead of Jack. she cries when he’s not in her sight. he must be the one to get her when she wakes up in the middle of the night, in the morning, or from nap.

it’s made it incredibly hard for me since he’s not always here.

“dada!” i startle at the volume of her voice in my ear, fast-walking back to the living room. i stop at the edge of the couch, El’s whines still blaring in my ear.

Jack doesn’t seem phased, just holding an arm out so i can place her on his chest.

“take your shadow.” i grumble, laying her on his chest. she immediately quiets, putting her face in his face and smiling. “i think she ruptured my ear drum.”

Jack chuckles, shutting his phone off and setting it on the couch beside him. He grins at our daughter, picking her up by the hips and hovering her over his face.

“hey, El-Bell! you giving mama a hard time?” he coos, making her giggle.

“dada!” her tiny hands smack his cheeks, squishing and pulling at them.

“yeah? you just wanted daddy, huh?” he asks before smooching her cheeks repeatedly.

“yeah, that’s because, when you’re home, you never let her leave your sight.” i sigh, dropping on the couch by his feet.

“can you blame me? she’s my world. i hate leaving her.”

“nice to see where i rank.” i joke, making him chuckle.

“you’ll always be my love, my wife. but sorry, she’s stolen your previous number one spot in my heart.” he tells me. “not by much, you’re actually pretty tied, but i’m just saying if our apartment burned down, i would go for El first.”

“that’s okay, i wouldn’t expect any less.” i pat his foot, smiling at the sight before me. El sits in between his legs like i did mere minutes ago, playing with his hands. “besides, Luke would save me. at least i’m number one in his heart.”

“of course you are.” Jack tells me. “you baby him.”

“i do not!” i mock offense, holding a hand to my heart.

“LUKE!” he yells out.

“WHAT?” Luke calls back from his room.

“WHAT DID Y/N MAKE YOU FOR LUNCH YESTERDAY?” Jack asks.

“GRILLED CHEESE AND TOMATO SOUP AND A GRILLED CHICKEN BREAST!” Luke replies. Jack levels me with a stare.

“and i’ll bet you cut the crust off for him too.” he raises an eyebrow in questioning and my cheeks flush slightly.

“i plead the fifth.”

[hauntingjs]

no fr taehyun this mf would be so shameless and def try to sneakily finger you on the beach @.@

idk if i see yeonjun much of an exhibitionist type, like genuinely idk but he for sure has the confidence to shamelessly check u out

okay this is from june but still trying to answer older asks too <3 thank u for being patient~~ (taehyun and yeonjun below cut)

(nsfw + minors dni, yeonjun n taehyun being touchy at the beach, fingering, cockwarming, teasing, public, unprotected)

taehyun

shaded from hot rays of sun by a large umbrella, towels covered in sand and hot air pervading every crevice and space,,, summer on the beach is something else. and maybe it’s a bit much to be sitting in the sun or doing beach activities,,, and taehyun’s content with sitting next to you under the sun umbrella and taking in the scenery, the beach busy with couples. or at least you probably thought~~ his arm wrapping over your shoulder, tugging you closer as he leans your form against his shoulder, hot skin touching, resting his other arm on top of his folded leg, sunglasses resting nearby and chain hanging from his neck,,, as if anything was different. but the moment you look away, taehyun’s hand rests itself on your thigh, gently rubbing the soft skin,,, calloused fingers climbing up a touch too far.

“what?” his casual tone, completely unbothered,,, as his fingers slip under the straps of your bathing suit, a slight smirk on his lips as he sees you tremble,,, what if someone sees? no one’s looking,,, unless you make them, he replies, voice cool without concern as his fingers slide over your folds, wetter by the second as his thumb rubs your clit,,, cute to see your eyes darting around as your hand grips his wrist weakly, both shy but unwilling to pull him away~~ and how cute, in a matter of moments,,, your shy, embarrassed expressions trying to hide the lewd ones threatening to surface, stifled whimpers as you bite your lip to contain the cute, restrained cries as taehyun slips a third finger in, fuckign you on his fingers deftly,,, his thumb rubbing the sensitive bud as you bury your face in his neck, shaky breaths and trying to hide his hand between your thighs with your bent, trembling legs,,,

think you’re making it so obvious, sugar, taehyun murmurs in amusement, the tent in his swim trunks showing more by the second,,, what can he say~~? he’s turned on by your cute and completely obvious display of arousal,,, you can’t hide anything for your life~~ and fuck, the teary moan as you come undone on his fingers, juices making such a mess on his hand, soaking through your swimsuit bottoms as you gasp, so embarrassed and shy but unable to ask him to stop,,, and taehyun who leans over your shoulder, whispering in your ear to sit on his lap,,, gonna cockwarm him~? bet you can’t think of anything but his thick cock now <3

yeonjun

yeonjun’s a tease,,, so obvious as his hands roam your curves and slip into places they shouldn’t~ sitting on his lap on a lounging chair at a beach party, the dark night concealing… his actions, loud noises and cheers covering up sounds. can’t help it after all, dressed so pretty for him in a swimsuit~? a beer in one hand and your hand in his other, yeonjun’s stiff hard on prodding your cute ass as he licks the line of your ear, murmuring quiet, flirty comments, his thumb running over the back of your hand,,, and moving it to rest above your core. y-yeonjun, what if someone sees? so what? they know you’re mine anyways… and no one will know if you behave,,, c’mon darling, know you want it~ yeonjun smirks, his both breath fanning over the sensitive spot on your ear, hand pushing down to make your cute ass press against his erection harder, heading your hiccup of nervous arousal. and yeonjun letting go of your hand for a moment, slipping right into your swimsuit bottoms as he cups your pussy,,, fuck, so wet already,,, admit it, love.

squirming in his lap as his stiff cock fills you up so full, curling up to try and hide it, yeonjun’s so amused by your cute mannerisms, taking another sip of his beer before pressing a long kiss to your cheek and jaw,,, pretty pussy’s so full, isn’t it~? and you’re in for a long night as he intentionally shifts, cock twitching in your cunny as you tremble and flinch,,, shhh, doll, gonna have to behave if you wanna get fucked later <3 pressing kisses to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot,,, and even having the nerve to call over soobin to chat, as if you werent stuffed full n becoming needier on his cock, yeonjun’s hand so casually resting over your shoulder and so close to your cute tits,,, what? know you want it,,, gonna have to beg me if you want to go back so soon, party’s just started. and it’s his favorite game,,, making you whisper and beg him to please, please take me back to the hotel, struggling to maintain a semblance of composure and decency as his cock twitches in your clenching cunny, wet arousal coating him so nicely,,, so will you~?

[lowkeychenle]

Is It Over Now? [ZCL] fic teaser

Description: Your relationship with Chenle is nothing but fight after fight. Amidst the toxicity, infidelity comes into play--except you're determined to one up him...but is it ever truly over?

A/N: this is inspired by Taylor Swift's Is It Over Now? and I highly recommend listening to it because omg...but also...y'all voted for Jisung and this is what it was for so...................he is for real a willing accomplice that's so crazy chenji who

Genre: Smut/Angst (there is no smut in the teaser, the teaser contains an argument that can be triggering for some readers. PLEASE!!! Read with caution)

Content Warnings: This is very dirty idk y'all i'msosorry...but basically content warnings are infidelity (both reader & chenle, explicit on reader's part), some very crazy arguments (there are no physical fights but these can be triggering), explicit, unprotected sex, overall just a big, big crazy cluster fuck where these two are just trying to hurt each otherimsosorry

Expected Word Count: 10k

Release Date: 5pm EST 2023.3.2

Taglist: Open!! Please let me know if you want to be tagged when this comes out <3

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader | Park Jisung x fem!Reader

Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)

Chenle downs the rest of whatever’s in his cup—it’s safe to assume what the bronze liquid is as he swallows and cringes. He doesn’t look at either of you.

“You should go.” Glancing at Jisung, you catch the worried gleam in his gaze.

“Will you be okay?” he asks.

“The fuck does that mean?” Chenle snaps. “Get the fuck out, Jisung.”

“Call me if you need me.” Jisung hesitantly leaves your side, and once the door closes behind him, you slide your hands in the back pockets of your jeans.

“Really?” Chenle finally breaks the silence. “You could’ve picked anyone, and you fuck Jisung?”

“That’s what you’re mad about?” You snort and walk over to the fridge to grab a water bottle. Untwisting the cap, you turn back to Chenle, unaccustomed to his glare being directed at you. “What? It’s okay for you to fuck anyone you want, but when I do it, it’s wrong?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t fuck anyone but you.”

“You really think I didn’t see that?” You shake your head, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach. “There were pictures, you dumbass. And now I can’t even act like I’m ignorant. I can’t act like you love me anymore, Chenle. Be serious right now.”

“Oh, right, because being seen with a girl has to mean I’m fucking her, yeah?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re just insecure, (Y/N), and I can’t fucking help you with that. Did you think fucking Jisung would make me want you more? May as well add crazy to the list, too.”

Under different circumstances, you know those words would kill you. They’d be like bullets fragmenting in your heart, but today? For some reason, everything shut off. You don’t want him anymore, and your irritation sparks at the base of your spine.

“You putting this on me is fucking hilarious.” Your voice is sharp, and you hope you return his bullets as knives.

“We’re fucked.” He pours more liquor into his glass, a scowl on his face as he downs it. “Are you kidding me? I make a mistake one time, and you go out of your way to screw my friend? Did you think you could hurt me or something?”

“Don’t know.” You shrug.

“The sooner you admit we were over long before I ever slept with anyone else, the easier it’ll be for both of us. You’re being a child by inviting Jisung over here.” His grip on the counter tightens.

And just like that, something inside you snaps.

“You did this, Chenle. You fucked up, you ruined everything, you are a piece of shit.” You jab your finger in his direction. “At least I had the decency not to get caught in public. You don’t even care at all. Not even a little bit. And it’s so fucking frustrating because I do everything for you.”

“Bullshit,” he says.

“Was it over when you brought that girl here? Was it? Because you cried and begged for me to stay. You said it was a mistake, and you’d never be able to love anyone the same way you love me. You really think it was over, Chenle? Then what the fuck are you still doing here?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You fucking did it again!” you yell, hands tugging at your hair. “You want me to be the bad guy so bad, but all of this is on you. The blame is on you. You’re the one that can’t keep it in your pants. What are you searching all these beds for, huh? You want something better than me?”

“Fuck,” he shouts, hand swiping across the counter.

Time slows as his palm comes in contact with his glass, as he sends it flying into the cabinet, as it shatters beneath his force. How fucking ironic you relate to it.

[borderlinereminders]

greetings! so i got into an disagreement(?) with a coworker last week. i made a comment that my coworker didn't like, it made her uncomfortable so she went to my manager. the manager told me i owe her an apology, but it was a... sensitive topic to say the least and i wasn't prepared for my manager to know about it. i spiraled bad that day, i was sobbing, etc. a couple days later i came into work and talked to my coworker to apologize, and she said that it's just that she (and everyone else as she put it) can't tell me anything without me spiraling and crying. she said that it's just really manipulative. that made me feel awful, so i took space in the breakroom and cried a whole lot. i did at least finish my shift that day but i really do feel awful about it. i guess my question is, how do i *not* manipulate people? i got diagnosed with bpd a few years ago, and i thought i was managing pretty okay but now symptoms are rearing their heads. i don't intend to cry, it just happens. is it my fault that people feel a type of way about it? i try to take space to avoid damaging other people but i guess it's not enough, idk, any advice would be appreciated, thank you <3

Hi anon,

There’s a major difference between someone who intentionally cries to get out of trouble or get attention versus crying because your feelings are overwhelming.

I think you need to be careful not to fall into what a lot of us with BPD fall into… and that’s we have unrealistic expectations of ourselves. We expect ourselves not to do things that people without BPD do. Like getting upset, or having a bad day. We expect ourselves to be more perfect than people without BPD. They’re allowed to have bad days, cry, or otherwise get upset. But we hold ourselves to unrealistic standards as to not “be BPD”.

I don’t know the situation, but I don’t think that was fair of your coworker. It’s on her to manage her feelings, and if she’s feeling a type of way because you’re having a very normal emotional response, that’s on her. Not you.

It would be different if you were trying to use crying to get your way, but you aren’t. Crying is normal. It happens. And I’m sorry you’ve been made to feel you’re wrong for having these reactions.

While she’s valid to be upset about a comment, you’re valid to be upset too. I don’t know what the comment was but I’d be upset because I’d feel “in trouble” and that would set off an anxiety attack for me. Maybe she did deserve an apology. I wasn’t there. I can’t say. But even if she did, I don’t think it was fair of her to call you manipulative for having your own feelings.

I do understand the importance of trying to get through work though. I sometimes use crisis skills to get through things like work so I can properly deal with my emotions later. In my pinned post, there’s a link to my FAQ with a link to DBT skills. The ones I recommend for getting through situations are tolerance skills. Just please remember these aren’t meant to bury your emotions. They’re meant to help you in the moment. Things like grounding techniques especially might be useful.

The other skills might be useful when you’re ready, too. Things like communication ones and ones and ones that might help with emotional regulation because while your feelings are valid, it might help prevent spiralling and being able to handle them in ways that are better for you.

[thrandilf]

okay. for the first time in my life I'm using the #tdp critical tag because I have some things to get off my chest about s6 and I desperately need to focus on an exam for tomorrow and can't and idk I feel slightly out of my mind/wondering if this really is just a me problem but like

this season felt kind of sparse to me regarding character interactions outside of duos they wanted to focus on/letting characters present react to situations. stuff like Amaya not having a comment about Callum not being at her wedding or the Celestial Elves really not having much to say about Aaravos himself despite the Elder theoretically having been around in the days pre imprisonment like

I don't mind that Viren died but I do feel out of my MIND that he and Ezran didn't actually get a conversation, and beyond that that Viren didn't try to pass along any Aaravos information to anyone, and that even if Soren and Viren's relationship was just Maxed Out that we didn't get Opeli and Ezran talking about what to do with him (could've even had Soren walk in and do a Callum S4 moment of 'you ever walk into a room and everyone goes quiet and you know they were talking about you' moment), Opeli reacting/checking on Soren while Viren was imprisoned even if he didn't want to talk to her, there being any verdict about Viren at all and we're never getting anything else out of him again which is why no Ezran and by extension Callum/Rayla/ect feels sort of disappointing to me, as he hasn't interacted with Callum since S1

It's a really good moment, don't get me wrong, but we traded the suspense of thinking Viren had perhaps killed Soren for us getting any last words or gesture from him to Soren face to face

the Celestial Elves gave us info on Startouch Elves in general but not on Aaravos specifically even though the Elder I thought would know more? They aren't surprised at the idea of trying to kill a Great One/Aaravos but there wasn't even a word of warning about if he does get loose or anything Specific about the last time it happened or, if they didn't know anything, confusion about why a Great One is imprisoned like idk

no one had any concern either when getting access to the stars which again, idk, I thought Callum might've been more worried about Aaravos being at the Starscraper and the prison (when he thought he had it) being surrounded by Aaravos's main connection but idk, it didn't matter but I thought it could have

ALSO THE STAVES. HELLO. AT THE STARSCRAPER I JUST

No Aaravos and Callum interaction is also smth I've made my peace about but after the trailer, especially the choice to use that thumbnail for it/as a promo image, idk, I am kind of sad I have to wait until S7 for any of that and now I wonder how significant it can really be/why hes gonna need callum as a puppet now if he's Out and as powerful as he seems to be. we just raised the stakes but had three entire seasons of building towards it, so how can s7 handle getting callum to do dark magic again, theoretical possession/aaravos use, coming back from that, ect, all within 9 eps?

tbh no one really had grief about sir sparklepuff being gone which I guess he wasn't a full Person in anyone's eyes and the focus was all on Claudia/her state which was fine, like we did get some of that nonverbally with Terry at least but we kinda moved right past it. like even one line in ep 9 from terry like "look what he had you do to his most recent child" would have made me go yeah exactly that Mattered but it wasn't there

in addition to no Callum at the wedding Ezran also just sat on Viren being back like idk I guess I wish he'd talked to Amaya more. like I loved him and Aanya I just feel there was room for Both

Listen I'm not one of the people only watching the show for Aaravos and I am delighted with the two episodes we got of him but that he was in more episodes in S3 than in S6 does have me like. cries. really. s4 and s5 i didn't mind in part because I figured stars would be big and it Was but im like oh my god. i got to ep 7 and was like is he REALLY not gonna get out which thankfully he did but only at the end

and the end was like. the biggest cliffhanger we've ever had and i get going for the suspense but it's KILLING ME MAN

I know Aaravos's motivation/goal but not exactly how his actions are leading to that whatsoever as he seems to play every side and doesn't even favor humans if he's willing to torch katolis. unbridled chaos i guess? is that it? I don't even know what to be afraid of next season with him except I'd presume he's going to Xadia next and will Somehow be getting back at the Cosmic Order but idk what the past thousand years have truly been for unless it's waiting around for the stars to align and throwing a fit while doing so

Runaan is out and he and Callum didn't get so much as a sentence between them and that and the Aaravos out but also no conversation double whammy just has me like

PLEASE

at the end of this all this was a more dramatic/cinematic season but it didn't have a lot of the smaller character reaction moments/balance the prior seasons all seemed to give me tbh and it took all season to lead up to highly anticipated events aka letting Runaan and Aaravos out but I didn't get any of the Payoff of that characterwise except for Runaan and Rayla and idk I do feel both like S6 had some of the best moments of the show and also really disappointed in places where it feels like it could have been so easy to have had just a Bit more cohesion and characters plugged into their overarching circumstances/dynamics more

like I think we had the time for it

and going into this expecting a penultimate season and then learning theres a third arc planned, it makes the pacing and lack of aaravos sort of make sense but also has me like, we may not even get that and now I feel like s7 will make or break the Entire show for me which is terrifying

like we got a lot of new info but it was largely not what I was expecting without touching on a lot of stuff I was hoping for and I AGH. i didnt expect this season to continue the build up train and I'm having a hard time accepting that it's the first time tdp has ever like. idk. thrown me such a curveball that it's gotten me honest to god upset which is on me and not the show, and i keep hoping i feel better but so much rides on s7 now