#i'm so fucking saddened by this one man

[sebv81]

how i feel whenever another f1 driver turns out to be dating a trumpie (this time it's jenson button):

[galoogamelady]

Hey, might be a bit of an odd question. Have you had a chance to dive into Starfield? Will there be a Buttons IN SPAAACCCCEEE!?

I'll be honest, I've seen a bit of Starfield (Cam bought it) and I'm not impressed. Can't say I've expected anything different either unfortunately, with how Bethesda has been conducting business lately. I don't feel any particular way about it and I doubt I'll be playing it anytime soon.

[autistichalsin]

Analysis of each character's final words in the new Dark Urge evil ending

If you are romanced to a character, you have the option, when taking the new version of the Sins of the Father ending, to kill your partner in front of the others in your party, killing them with one last kiss. They then give their last words and pass away. I love each and every one and feel they are incredible characterization moments.

So let's break these down!

Lae'zel:

I... I am glad it was you. No other blade would have sufficed.

This is something that hammers home that, Vlaakith or no, Lae'zel deeply believes in all the ideals of a Githyanki. Life is a privilege for the strong, and death is the price of weakness. Further, if romanced, Lae'zel will affectionately call you "the source of my bruises" many times. If she has to die, if she has finally found the one person stronger than herself, then she is "satisfied" that it is you- who she both loved and admired. The only one she would ever consider worthy of besting her.

Karlach:

Fuck you.

Short, simple, and to the point, just the way Karlach does everything else. She's already gone through all her stages of grief with her engine- well, almost all of them. Anger still remains. She burns hot until the end.

Wyll:

I... I forgive you.

This isn't just Wyll being a good guy. This is heartbreak, and guilt. Guilt for not saving you from Bhaal's influence when he was so sure he had. Heartbreak that after he gave his literal soul to save as many people as he could, he couldn't save you- and couldn't save others from you, either. All he sacrificed, negated in an instant by the person he loved and trusted most. Of all the characters here, Wyll (tied with Halsin) sounds the most obviously broken, and it's easy to see why, given that he is self-sacrificing to a fault.

There was a set of scenes datamined from the game, where at the Morphic Pool, the Netherbrain would have taunted the players, causing them to hallucinate things related to their fears and insecurities. Wyll's would have been a vision of himself talking about how he was never a hero, how the Blade of Frontiers was a farce all along. One can't help but think about that scene here, wondering just how much blame, bordering on self-loathing, he might feel here.

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart:

I... I'm coming to you, Lady Shar.

Another short and simple one. By becoming a Dark Justiciar, Shadowheart has fully embraced the nihilism of Shar's teachings. Why be saddened or angry at her own death when this is just what she's embraced with all her sacrifices?

(Sidenote: this does also answer a question I had, namely, what was going to happen to everyone Durge kills. Thankfully it seems they aren't actually going to be sacrificed to him as such, and will indeed end up in the realm of their deities. This makes Bhaal's plan even DUMBER, because deities in DND lore need worshippers to have enough power to exist. Killing everyone at once just guarantees that soon after Durge dies as the last person alive, so too will Bhaal fade from existence.)

Selunite Shadowheart:

I... I thought we were going to save each other...

This Shadowheart rejected everything she knew. She was scared to defy her goddess, but worked up the courage- thanks to you. She thought you would have a new life together. She believed in you. She thought she would get to return the favor, and help you turn the page on Bhaal, too.

She's not just heartbroken for herself; she's heartbroken for you, too. Heartbroken at the life you denied both her and yourself.

Gale:

You made me want to live...

From the moment the orb entered Gale's chest, he knew he was at risk of dying. Then Mystra all but marked him as a dead man walking. But despite that, he finds love with you- and for the first time thinks maybe there is a purpose for him beyond Mystra. That he isn't more useful to the world dead. More than that, he wants to live to be with you, to enjoy your company and companionship. And then you kill him, and do the one thing WORSE than what would have happened if he'd never been pulled from that rock.

It almost would have been kinder to just hack his hand off the first time you met him, though Gale may or may not agree.

Spawn Astarion:

I should have killed you when I had the chance...

The angriest, most bitter response out of all the romanced companions, a step beyond Karlach's "fuck you." This is beyond "fuck you" and even beyond "I hate you." It's "I regret every moment I spent with you." You made him believe he could have better. That he could recover from what Cazador did. You even convinced him to spare the 7,000 spawn and that he could be something better than Cazador.

And now you reveal it was all a lie. Astarion is probably thinking that you talked him out of completing the ritual solely so he'd be easier to kill right here and now. How many regrets are flashing through his mind, how many moments where he wonders if things could have been different if only he'd done this or that, even aside from killing you?

All he wanted was to live as a free person. And then the first time he thinks he has that at last, he loses it as the world ends.

Ascended Astarion:

No... no, this can't be... I can't- you can't- no...

In contrast to spawn Astarion, ascended isn't angry, because he doesn't have the clarity, the ability to process what's happening. Spawn Astarion could tell he'd been betrayed.

But Ascended? Ascended, who went through so much to become one of the most powerful beings in the world, only to STILL lose without fanfare? And by you, his own spawn who he thought he had under his control? It isn't betrayal, because he is bluescreening; he can't comprehend what happened or how or why. How could he have been killed, and by you of all people? Was all he went through killing Cazador really for nothing? How could it be when he was supposed to be the most powerful? Was power actually meaningless all along?

He doesn't say anything of substance because he can't understand what's happening here.

Halsin:

Thaniel... goodbye...

Halsin is the oldest of all the companions. He's experienced the most loss of anyone; his birth family, his fellow Druids, and, for a time, Thaniel. He has had more than enough time to contemplate his own mortality, because he's already lived multiple lifetimes.

So here, two things are happening. One, he isn't expressing anger or betrayal at his murder- because he is more than wise enough, and humble enough, to understand that there are worse things than what has been done to himself. Instead of himself, he is thinking of the world he's leaving behind that is about to fall- and most of all, of his most important person, the one who gave him a purpose, who was there when no one else was, who he failed once and only just got back. The closest thing to a child he'll ever have. In his last moments, instead of himself, Halsin is thinking of those he loves.

And second, it's an almost deliberate snubbing of Durge. He willingly walked into that kiss, knowing full well it would be the last thing he ever did. He gave you his death, he pleaded with his own god to forgive you and him both. He gave you everything he felt he owed you, and no more- no begging or sobbing. Instead, he comes as close as he ever gets to selfishness, and spends his last moments thinking about the thing that makes him the happiest- which could have been you, in another life, if you hadn't done this.

Minthara:

No... we were meant to do this together...

Heartbreak, disbelief, and betrayal. You spent so many nights planning this out. She had been cast aside by her people, her goddess, and she was going to get the last laugh. She was going to crush them personally under her heel and prove she was the best (or second best, behind you) of all of them. She's devastated she won't get to help you torture all those souls and take what she feels was owed to her. But interestingly enough... no anger. Probably because it was overshadowed by the sheer heartbreak, but also a sign that even in those moments, she still admires you for your ruthlessness.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

Hey so can we get some zoro, law, kid, and Luffy (because why not) with bratty!reader (I think Luffy in this situation would be interesting)

i wish i could write kid. i wish. but i cannot. it saddens me deeply every night and every morning and all the hours in between. but other than that, you've got it chief 🫡 enjoy your filth mwuah <3

🌙thinkin' about: the monster trio, ace n' law! vs BRAT!

ALEXA PLAY THE ENTIRE BRAT ALBUM BY CHARLI XCX. 'S TIME FOR A BRAT THEMED POST. [NOT PROOFREAD, OKAY? OKAY.] cw: pussydrunk men. bratty reader. nsfw thoughts include: idk man they fuck you, so, penetration, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, they're very cock(y) hahaha. MDNI OR YA BETTER SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN TONIGHT. m.list

🍒monkey d. luffy: doesn't that excite ya?

❤️who even is monkey d. luffy if he doesn't enjoy a little bit of a challenge? so, go on. try to rile him, tease him, trying to make him bend to your whims and wishes. it's all things he enjoys, afterall. thoroughly, at that. ❤️you scoff, arms trained against your chest as if to tempt him with the lewd display, "like i said, go alone. i don't wanna visit the island with you." luffy grins, something free and boyish, "but it'll be boring without you, y'know that, right?" you try to shake him off, try to really shake off his arms snaking around your waist as he pulls you to him. he face drops down to your pulse, hot n' humid breath dancing against the light heartbeat in a sickening manner. ❤️ his arm tightens around you and his teeth nips against your skin dangerously, as if the captain of your ship was betting his sanity on your next words. but again, don't you love to rile him up? "t'wasn't boring when you were ignoring me?" you huff breathily, trying to push him away with a pathetic shove that just makes him laugh, "that? i was busy this morning, peach." "stay busy with ussop, then. go kiss him while you're at it, idiot." you push him again, trying to rid yourself of your clingy man. he just sniffs in the lingering scent of your sweet shampoo. then sighs into you, "you just love making me chase you, dont'cha?" "okay, then." his voice deepens, as if he just got the answer to your tantrum right now. arms stretching against you to hold you tightly to his chest, picking you up easily just to throw you on the bed, "wha- luffy!" your body recoils against the cushiony mattress as you stare up at the raven-headed boy, but he just grins at your momentarily immobile state, "what? let me make it upto ya, c'mon." ❤️now that luffy has you moaning into the pillow, rutting back into him so very helplessly; your voice worn out from the screaming, your hands fisting unforgivingly against the linen under you and your body aching from his unfaltering movements, he better not hear any more whines from you, brat. "d-did i make it up to, yet?" his voice climbs up a octave, all breathy and high as you spasm around his dick, "s- hah seems like you're having the time of your life— ngh, pretty girl."

🍀roronoa zoro: professional marine hunter brat tamer!

💚don't be fooled, roronoa zoro loves when you get like this. this means you get all pouty, all huffy, all annoyed at all his usual tactics. this means you're gonna try to get back at him until he has your face pressed down into the mattress as he fucks into you from behind. yeah, zoro loves this. 💚"say that again." the swordsman hums, "what was that?" "i said if you love your swords so goddamn much, go fuck 'em instead." and the man rolls his eyes in response, "was training then. i'm here now, aren't i? whatd'ya want, woman?" you huff, averting your sharp gaze from him, "nothing." and he knows this conversation like the back of his hand. the same dialogues imprinted into his head, the same gameplay, the same cat-mouse chase that's gonna end with your pretty, glossy lips wrapped around his cock. 💚"still nothing?" zoro hums, half-serious, except for the fact that he his hips piston into your warm, inviting mouth. your nails dig into his thighs, eyes looking up at him, pleading. and though zoro isn't benevolent, he pulls his erection backwards till it rests heavily against your bottom lip, "think you can speak clearly now? wanna tell me why exactly are you behaving like a fucking brat?" "s-shut up." you hiss and he hums satisfactorily at the rasp in your easy-going tone, "ah," he nudges the tip past your lips and you open just like you were waiting for him to do that, "seems like you need a little more to start sayin' what's on your mind." you hum against his dick. words reduced to nothing but primal sounds as he pushes his hips into your with purpose. he pushes into you as his tip hits the back of your throat so sinfully, and the man above you groans, "a-ah, fuck. forgot how good you take me." 💚he groans similarly, his broad hands tangling in your sweaty locks as he guides you over his cock. his hips snap faster, eyebrows furrowing in sheer concentration and soon enough, the familiar salty liquid slides down your throat. you're spluttering as he pulls his weeping cockhead backwards. as you look up at him; a divine mess of sweat, cum and your tears, zoro cannot help but quip up, "think you can speak now?" "f-fuck... you." you rasp and the swordsman guides you upwards through the iron-grip he has on your hair, "looks like you can't yet, brat. in that case, let me help."

🌊vinsmoke sanji: what if i just shut you up real, real good?

💙vinsmoke sanji was nobody if not a defender of womens' rights and wrongs. he would never even dream to shut you up but oh lord, maybe this one time will be the exception. maybe. 💙"no, i don't wanna." you huff the same sentence out again and sanji swears he almost pulls you to the bed to fuck some sense into you. he tries again, "my love, you gotta eat." "i don't have to do anything you say." you hiss, eyes narrowing at the overworked chef, "don't tell me what to do after flirting with that shopkeeper." "i just made polite chit-chat—" he really tries to defend himself but you roll your eyes, pouting at the same explanation he's given five hundred times over, "save it." ofcourse, what other route did he have other than to remind you with his actions that you were the only brat he was entertain? 💙"believe me now?" sanji mumbles momentarily, parting your thighs with his skilled hands as he experimentally sticks out his tongue to collect your honeydew on the tip, "mhm, divine." "thi-this doesn't get you off the n— hook." your head is thrown back, lips parting as he pulls you down on him completely and delves his experienced muscle into your opening. the cook hums as if he's experiencing nirvana through you and your taste, and you just grind down at him in return. "that's right—" the blonde hums, his fingers digging deeper against your plushy fat on your hips, "let me have it all, darling." "y-you're so lame, s-sanji!" your voice jumps up several octaves as he brings his tongue to your neglected clit. flicking it, he soothes the mean action with a soft lick, completely forgetting if he were to reply you. 💙it isn't till your fourth shuddering orgasm that has sanji drenched under you that you really start begging him to stop, "s-sanji, no." "what?" the man grins, his blonde stubble catching the dew against them as he looks at you, "believe me now?" "y-yes." you nod furiously as your cunt clenches around air, overtsimulated and exposed, "i-i am, i pr-promise ah, ah!" "good," the chef smiles at you so innocently, his thumb gently pressing against your throbbing clit, "let's make sure you keep that promise, love. right?"

🦋portgas d. ace: i want in on it, baby!

🧡see, you think you can be a brat? hah, no way. not while your boyfriend, portgas d. ace exists. see, how can you be the brat if he's playing along with you? 🧡ace coos, his muscular arms tucked behind his head as he pouts, "my baby's not gonna talk to me? why not?" "go ask the other crew-mates, since youmarc-oh." your jaw slacks open, lips falling into an 'o' as ace humps his short-clad pelvis into your core. he smirks, taking in your appearance, "sorry, didn't quite catch that. ask who?" "ace, you asshole! i... ah—" you whine, hips stuttering pathetically over his pelvis as you try to find even a hairsbreadth of friction. the man underneath just seems to enjoy your dilemma thoroughly, though. are you gonna stay pouty n' mad or are you gonna bat your eyelashes down at him and ask him to fuck you?? 🧡seems like the the former. "'m not gonna exp-explain mysel-f! fuck off." your head lolls backwards at his mean thrust against you. you two are in the same position you were hours back; his arms wrapped around your waist, his clothed erection against your wettened patch of cloth, and his unyielding rolls against your wet cunt. wasn't it as brutal to him as it was for you?! "really?" ace's eyebrows furrow and he scoffs, somewhat impressed with your resilience, "pretty, i don't think you understand. i can do this for hours." and from the way he smiles all dopey and satisfactorily, you don't doubt his words. not at all. you huff, erratic eyes falling on the easy-going man under you, "wh-what do you want, ugh?!" "i just want my pretty-" his thumb swipes across your parted, bottom lip, "pretty girl to tell me what she wants without being a bitch about it." "i want nothing." you huff, unyielding even as ace gives you a pointed look. he draws in a sharp breath, eyes hardening with resolve, "okay then, looks like i'd have to fuck it out of you, then." he grins as he shifts your weight and pins you down, "not that i'm complaining, obviously." it's only after he has had you cumming on his dick the third time that you babble out, hiccupping, "y-you're always so busy, ace. i don' like it." "awh, that's it?" the man above you speaks softly even as he presses his fingers together to squish your cheeks, "should've told me, gorgeous. i would've taken care of it way sooner." and maybe, maybe you were imagining things in your delirium or ace has this sadistic glint in his eyes as he says his next words, "good thing i can just make it upto ya, isn't it?"

🪻trafalgar d. water law: not his first rodeo, nor his last.

💜see, technically, you should be grateful that your boyfriend: trafalgar law even put up with you despite his rising blood pressure and headaches. does that mean you'd be nice to him? no. not when being a brat is sooo much more fun. 💜"law-ugh" the two words blend seamlessly as you stare down your boyfriend and he peers up at you through the rim of his glasses, "what now?" "would it kill you to hang out with me, huh?" you huff, taking a seat in front of his desk as you pout at him. you try to bat your eyelashes, only for it to be in vain as the doctor focuses on those wretched paperwork in front of him again. he sighs, "i wouldn't phrase it so strongly, but something like that." "law!" you whine and he almost smiles. almost. "i'm busy right now, i'll see to you later, okay?" "no, law, you always do this!" your hands come down hard on the wooden table and a rattle shakes through the room at your outburst. everything seems just a teensy bit strained, everything except law. he just looks up at you eerily calm, "throwing a tantrum, are you?" "maybe...?" your words stagnate on the tip of your tongue. but as you see law lean back in his seat, the metallic rim of his glasses catching the overhead lighting so maliciously, you smile. bingo. "'s not a tantrum, captain. jus' being honest." 💜 well, that honesty was getting fucked out of you right now. your wrists tied to the arm of his seat, your thighs parted open and his skillful fingers curling within you as your eyes rolled. ugh, that honesty was long gone. "are you done?" law asks so casually, as if he wasn't fucking your gummy walls till you writhed helplessly against the leather, "are you done throwing a tantrum?" "not. a. tantrum." you hiss, trying to sound more put-together than you actually were. and who were you trying to fool? the doctor who could tell from your reddened face and panting, quivering lips just how utterly wrecked you were? "alright, if you insist." law speaks again, unhurried as he pulls his drenched fingers outwards. your essence shines against his long digits as he passes it past your wobbling lips, "guess i'd have to try another way." you hear his belt chime as he draws it open, "ready, brat?"

a/n: tumblr literally posted this halfway without my concern so this is me re-posting it. if you saw that, then, NO you didn't. shut up. go back to reading smut. shhh, it never happened. taglist: @mist-ixx @starlightanyaaa @otkuhotgirl @bokutosbiceps @kingofthe-egirls m.list

[mattslolita]

꒰ older bf!matt sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

love showing his affection for you, whether it'd be little forehead kisses or holding your hand, he always shows you affection.

he loves giving you gentle rubs along your back, and his hand is always on your thigh comfortingly everywhere you go.

when his hand isn't intertwined with yours, it's in the back pocket of your jeans or on your waist above your little miniskirt.

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

spoil the fuck out of you.

when you're out shopping or at the mall and he sees the way your eyes will roam longingly over a certain top or some pretty stockings, he's instantly putting them in your cart.

he never lets you pay for your own stuff. he's a rich youtuber, there's no way he's not gonna smother you with gifts or whatever you want.

"matt, it's okay i can pay-"

"relax doll, don't you worry your pretty little head about paying. you know i'm gonna pay regardless."

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

do random acts of dominance, always showing you that he was in charge.

he'd open doors for you, bend down to tie your shoes for you, have an almost death grip on your waist when you were out in public.

give any man who even looked your way a death glare and if he felt necessary he'd go as far as to start a fight if needed.

be so possessive. you're his girl.

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

be there to comfort you when you were feeling down.

he'd wipe away your tears and hold you close as you told him about whatever was saddening, frustrating, or angering you.

if you were on your period, he's instantly bringing home some pain medicine, chocolates, and whatever snacks you want.

"i'm at the store right now angel, whatcha in the mood for?"

"can you please bring me some hershey's kisses? and i want oreos, too."

"anything for you, sweetheart."

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

make you his number one priority, literally dropping anything he's doing just to make sure you're okay.

if you called about being sick, he's bringing you medicine. when he gets home to you, he'll give you a massage if you request one.

if you needed a ride anywhere, best believe you're his passenger princess! his hand will rub soft circles on your thigh as you ride around with him.

"can you pick me up from sasha's at around twelve?"

"of course sweetheart, just call me when you're ready."

"i love you baby, i'll see you later!"

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

call you all these cute pet names — 'sweetheart', 'doll', 'angel', 'princess,' 'pretty girl'.

he'd have a special one he calls you, one that reminds him of you because of your style and the clothes you wear, always prancing around in your grey or pink mini skirts with little ribbons lining your hair, you reminded him of a snow bunny.

"matt please, i miss you! can we stay like this for a little longer?"

"c'mon bunny, you know I have to work. i'll make it up to you tonight, alright sweet girl?"

"i'll be waiting!"

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅…

take his time while pleasuring you — he's all about taking care of you first, making sure he does you right.

"fuck, you feel so good, matt..."

"yeah? my tongue makin' you feel good, angel? cum for me."

he uses his older age to his advantage, always telling you how much he wants to ruin your innocence while he's fucking you in missionary.

"fuck, you feel so good squeezing my cock. such an innocent girl, didn't know you could be so dirty..."

"i'm gonna ruin you princess, this sweet ass pussy belongs to me."

"look me in my eyes sweet girl, need to see you when i fuck my seed inside of you."

lil 💌

older!boyfriend!matt brainrot is too real i fear.

@luverboychris @muwapsturniolo @prettiest-poision @mattsturniolosleftnut @mrssturnioloo @guccifrog @junnniiieee07 @astrowh0r3 @v33angel @ilovechrissturniolo1 @e1ias3 @l0akkzz @hysteria-things @eyeliketoeatpoosay @sturn777 @stasiesturn @prettypinkprincess15 @breeloveschris @summerssover @mayhem-72 @riasturns @chrissturniolossidehoe @moonk1ss3d @v33angel @h3arts4harry @stargirll567 @bitchydragonparadise @heartsforchrisandmatt @pepsienthusiasts @tillies33ssss @thenickgirl @sturnprime @summerssover @k4di333 @pinksturniolo @middlepartmatt

[mirohlayo]

🍓❝ you know i love and care about you, right? ❞ with lando <3

LET ME SHOW YOU

( maybe you're insecure, but that will never bother Lando, since it's a way to remind you how much he loves you. )

warning : insecurities, fluff

word count : 1.1k

You're not the type to be jealous or insecure. Especially not about your boyfriend. You trust him with all your heart, you can never blame him for anything because he is simply perfect. Adorable and perfect.

And yet, here you are in this situation. It had become usual for everyone now, to see Lando alongside beautiful models. Pretty women, with perfect and angelic faces, elegant posture and careful gestures. Even more so when he was partying.

You didn't see any problem with it. Since after all, Lando always made you feel like the most beautiful woman, Lando always reassured you that he only had eyes for you. And you know, you can't deny a fact that is true.

But seeing him constantly surrounded by these models was perhaps something that saddened you today. So, you locked yourself in your hotel room, while Lando continued to test the car on the track. He asked you about your health, if you were okay, but you just said you were tired.

Sometimes you would glance at Instagram, instantly regretting opening the app the second different posts of Lando alongside these girls popped up. You couldn't stand this.

It's probably toxic and unhealthy, but you can't help but feel insecure. After all, who wouldn't want a rich and handsome Formula 1 driver? Especially when that meme man is a lovable personality.

The day passed slowly. You heard the distant sound of the Formula 1 engines, thinking of Lando who was driving one of them. You regretted the moment he returned to the hotel. You didn't want to appear so weak and insecure in front of him, knowing that this isn't the first time you've talked about it.

But yet, despite your complexes, despite the fact that you felt apart, Lando was always there to comfort you about your relationship.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The day is over, since you yourself are surprised to see Lando standing in front of you. You try as best you can to come back to reality, giving your lover a weak smile. “Ooh my baby, I missed you so much”. His body collapses onto yours, as he nestles his head in the crook of your neck.

You delicately stroke his curly hair, while he snuggles a little closer to you. “I missed you too, Lan.” “Of course you missed me, you stayed at the hotel all day.” A silence settles in, you didn't really know what to answer. You didn't want to tell him about your insecurities.

"Sorry. I don't like leaving you alone on the track." He lifts his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours. "Don't apologize, baby. You needed some rest." His lips press against yours, gently, delicately.

You already feel better, just from this simple kiss. It's unfair the way he manages to console you, to comfort you just by his simple presence. "I've been thinking about you all day. Even when I was in the car." His voice is muffled since his face is still hidden in the crook of your neck.

Still, it makes you smile. “You can’t do without me Lando.” You giggle slowly, while you feel a smile appear on his face. "Absolutely, I'm obsessed with you. Maybe a little too much... Fuck, I love you so much princess." A soft laugh escapes his throat as his arms wrap a little tighter around you.

But these words are enough to make you cry. Of joy, of sadness? You don't really know, but on the other hand you know that Lando's sincerity is the source of your tears. Because even without being aware of your insecurities, he manages to make them go away. To chase them away.

He always knew how to make you feel special and unique, make you feel his. Through his words and actions, he always showed only love and tenderness towards you. And even without talking about your problems, he manages to solve them with a snap of his fingers, thanks to his way of showing his affection.

Your wet tears fall on his hair, running down his neck. He senses that something is wrong, and suddenly raises his head to look at you. His face falls as he searches your face and your gaze for an answer.

"Oh my baby. Why are you crying?" He sweeps the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, cupping your face in the process. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your sobs. His lips place soft, long kisses on your face, while he gives you time to find your words.

“Take your time, princess. I’m here with you, I won’t leave.” You smile weakly at him as your tears fall once again. "I know it's childish, Lan but-" "Hey, don't ever say that again. Your problems aren't childish, you have the right to feel how you feel." He cuts you off, an expression of displeasure displayed on his face.

You nod slowly, sniffling otherwise. "I'm just... it annoys me a little to see you surrounded by pretty girls and models. I know we've talked about this before and it's something I need to work on with myself... “He encourages you to continue, gently caressing your cheeks.

"But I still feel a little insecure about it. I know you love me and I trust you, but sometimes it makes me insecure. I'm just afraid you'll find someone better than me." Lando's lips seem to curl down, to the point where his face resembles that of a puppy.

“Oh my baby girl.” He doesn't wait a second before kissing you languorously, his hands anchored on your cheeks, caressing them ever so gently. He pulls back, a soothing smile plastered on his lips. "How could I find anyone better than you? You are the very definition of the girl of my dreams."

You can't help but roll your eyes as a smile takes over. Which makes Lando smile more. “I only have you in my thoughts, my dreams and my heart. Only you my girl”. He kisses you lightly again, not being able to stop himself from smiling.

His eyes admire you as if you were the most beautiful thing on earth. Which is totally the case for him. “You know I love and care about you, right?” He leans down again to kiss the tip of your nose, as you nod eagerly. “I love you so much, Lan. I’m so in love with you.” You can only say these words in a low whisper.

His eyes crinkle into another smile, a most affectionate smile. “Then let me show you how much I am in love with you too, pretty girl”. And without further ado, he doesn't hesitate to cover your entire face with thousands and thousands of kisses.

[futureplayboibunnie]

let them bleed for all I care

Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

being fuckbuddies with Miguel O’Hara wasn’t easy when you were both intensely yearning

another angsty so damn wrapped up in romance brainrot blurb piece of this man because i’m still insane. this is definitely a self serve fic but idc i’m sharing anyway. ALSO THERES A PART 2!

warnings: angsty sweet nothings and confessions, mutual INTENSE pining, sensuallll (tehehe), waking up in bed, lil fluffy

A dim glow coated your room and in turn, clutched at your heart. The rows of streetlights outside beaming against the deep dark horizon and peeping through the unsheathed window offered the perfect fuzzy gleam to make Miguel's face look even more perfect. Being twisted and disheveled in bedsheets with a man that struggled with letting anyone in would be a shocking revelation two months beforehand.

Miguel was...untrusting and cold, everyone seemed to come to that conclusion with him. He was a force of nature, something that you once thought was inhuman and unfeeling, that harsh and abrasive exterior being a tremendous cover for the lack of constructive outlets he had. At least he knew where he stood with everyone, living with himself in isolation was a form of self-preservation- and he was fine with it, but he wasn't happy with it. He had a tendency to lose himself in his rage or his panic, his body bore the brunt of it all. He would practically work his fingers to the bone in order to not talk to anyone, it was definitely a highlighted page of his own personal book of dramatic effects. You didn't want to just see the picture of himself he's painted- you wanted to fucking admire it like a lovesick fool. There were so many failed attempts to get closer to him, he was so dedicated to proving himself to be this leader that didn't need the weakness of having anyone, and that in turn only made him spiral into his own misery. Miguel tried so hard to not let you in, it was almost admirable if it wasn't so damn saddening. Every time you thought you were getting closer to him, he dismissed you and bit a clippy ‘’I'm fine. Leave.’’ It wasn't until you took advantage of the fact he doesn't have spidey senses and just swung onto his platform and just hugged him everything just went blank. Ever since then, he's called your name in the dark and contemplated on the zeal in which he would destroy those who would harm you. He had denied every single impulse he's ever had for you out of some misbegotten respect to his own personal impending doom to which he was still so attached.

Being fuck buddies had its benefits, no strings attached. You just had to tamper down your own feelings for him. It was easy enough for a while. You'd fuck, clean up and then leave in different directions. The routine changed though. You'd lay in bed a lot longer, you'd just hold each other and feel each other's skin. Neither of you would talk about it after. Miguel was lonely. He didn't like to admit it but he was. These clandestine moments with you were the only opportunity he had to breathe and let out everything inside of him.

Your head was on his chest, naked bodies tangled with each other as his arms held you steady and embraced you, your leg curled up and rested on his thighs, one hand buried in your hair and the other one resting on the dip of your waist feeling the curve of your skin. You were so warm, so soft, so good. Miguel liked it when you touched him like this, his body just constantly craved your contact.

Romance was never on the table for a man like him so obviously his body acted like it, he hadn't had the time for it until you came into his life and left your everlasting and distinctive mark. You fucked like a pornstar. Miguel's fingers stroked through your hair, breathing in the pretty scent committing it to memory. The atmosphere between you both was heavy and dense like you needed to talk about something but neither of you was committing to budge your will, you gazed at the marks on vour arms. The son of a bitch was so rough... just how you liked it, the punctures in your skin that his claws made only showcased such a thing. Your brows furrowed as you hummed at the sight of it.

‘’Too rough?’’ Miguel raised his eyebrow at your purpose, his voice gritty and not sympathetic in the slightest.

‘’No...perfect.’’ You replied under your breath, slightly saddened that this is all you'll ever be to each other. Just a fuck. The way you said it made his heart cave and a sense of confusion transferred onto his face. Is that what you thought of him? Or just the way he could fuck you. He turned his face to the side to gape at you with burning eyes, you looked so hazy and angelic, he grabbed your face in both of his hands and cradled it whilst using his thumb to smooth out the skin of your cheeks. Your eyes widened at his unexpected action of tenderness, his thumb traveled to your supple lips conveying a desperate and willing look on your face. Miguel's brows wilted sincerely and his mouth unhinged open as if he was going to say something.

“'What is it?”You murmured wantonly, a strange flame of desire burning into your chest, he has the ability to make or break you. He's always had the power to do that, you just weren't sure if he was willing to see it.

“'I've been...having bad dreams.'” Miguel's eyes diverted from yours as if he was embarrassed to say it, to admit that he was afraid. He wanted to ask something from you, he was sure it was going over the boundary of fuck buddies but he needed to ease his straining mind.

“'About?'” You implored but he just gave you a hard scowl filled with hubris. You sighed at his silence and just grabbed the hand that was on your face and kissed his palm. Miguel felt every single hair on his body stands to attention, litter of goosebumps trailed at his back at your ministrations and he felt it echo through his very soul. Both of you were going too far, breaching the terms of your agreement but you were two sad and lonely people trying to fill the void with the warmth of another person's body. “For God's sake, when will you stop being so noble?”

Miguel drank in your question and he uttered the words he knew would get him kicked out. “Can I stay tonight?”

“Miguel-“

“Please.”

Your hands raked through his hair, needy eyes searching his flitting from perfect feature to feature trying to understand if any of this was real. Did he feel what you felt for him? Or was he just too tired to go home? You didn't want to ponder the latter, you captured your lips with his gently as a confirmation. Your head rested against his chest, tracing your fingers against his skin like an odd form of tenderness. You didn't like what you were feeling: you were starting to fall in love with him.

-

Miguel awoke in a daze, his vision blurring into shapes and stars as the nightfall outside seeped into your room. He felt your warmth beside him and it soothed the wits about him, your steady breathing offered an equilibrium that he never had. A wave of protectiveness washed over him- his sentiments have always stayed the same when it came to you. What besides love inspires such pain and yearning?

Miguel leaned in and kissed behind your ear as you mumbled into nothing and your hands slid beneath the pillow as you stretched. Your hair fell with such ease and grace, a hazed-out mess on the bedsheets as your frame indented into the mattress, slivers of skin peeking out as you tangled and breathed. If anyone laid a finger on you it would be his undoing. He'd send them screaming back to hell, the dark thought sliced through his brain and he glanced at you to nullify it. He leaned up and sat on the edge of his side of the bed, Miguel glanced at you again to make sure you were sleeping. He clenched his jaw and a hand ran down his naked back and rested on his neck- as if he were trying to find the words to start a confession. A bubbling of words started to build up within him, he felt a need to just verbally say this out loud to you but without you actually knowing of it consciously. Miguel elbows dug into his legs as he gazed at his intertwined fingertips and let out a breath, finally finding the words he's always wanted to say to you.

“I don't know what's happening to me,” He began “I don't know why I've let it get this far. I shouldn't have given into my own selfish demands. Hell, I've done it once before and a whole fuckin’ universe collapsed...dios mio.” He raked an exasperated hand through his hair at the painful memory that was seared into his mind. “You just had to ruin everything for me, you just had to fuckin’ touch me and I was yours, now what kind of pathetic does that make me? What do I do with all this? What do I do with you?” Miguel paused to regain his self control and calm his frustrations but a sliver of sadness dropped into his chest instead.

“It's funny... You're so easy to hate. You're so easy to love. What the hell do I do with this hermosa? Just tell me what to do and I'll do it, just tell me what you want...tell me what you want from me...cause it feels like you're just taking it at this point. You're taking from me and now I'm fuckin’ broken down and hungry for you like a dog waiting for scraps hermosa. The rational part of me hates it but the other rabid part is just begging at your feet. I'm like a fuckin’ mutt for you...I'm in love with you mi vida.” Those words fit perfectly in his mouth: I'm in love with you. It tasted fucking glorious, it tasted sweet and sad at the same time, it was revolutionary. It was like those words were destined to come out of his mouth, just for you to hear. “It's ironic because you'd probably kick me in the teeth for saying such a 'formidable’ thing but I'm not blind, I can't deny what's in front of me and I don't want to keep ignoring it.’

A soft inhale of your breath ended his confession, you twisted your body to the side as your cheek was planted in the pillow facing him. You stretched out your arm onto his side of th bed as if you were reaching out for him, wanting to find his warmth. Miguel couldn't help but admire you in a trance like state while you were like this, at your most natural, at your most beautiful. He'd seen your face contorted in pleasure when he fucked into you, your body arch into his touch when his face was buried between the sweet valley of your thighs but he had never seen you look like this. Like an angel from the clouds as the white sheet barely covered you- you looked like a painting. Your long lashes were fanned out against your cheek and your lips were parted for your gentle breathing, the swell of your chest rising and falling in a synchronised rhythm. You looked perfect. He hated it.

Miguel slipped back into bed and under the sheets, finding your warmth once again. He held onto you, his palm clutching at your waist as your head eased onto his chest. His brows tensed before he kissed your temple, a thought occured to him. Every day he was with you and had you were the days he would go home and sleep soundly and didn't dream, he hadn't thought there was a correlation, now he connected the dots and the picture became all the more clearer. There was nothing he could do. He just had to suppress his needs and desires and put everything else in front of him.

-

Your eyes seeped in the tiredness the beginning of the morning offered, and the chirping of the birds outside of your window echoed through your ears, serving as a gentle reminder of the night before. A heavy feeling set in your chest as you turned your gaze to Miguel's broad and bare back, worry glazed over your eyes as you remembered the words he uttered last night when he thought you were asleep. You couldn't believe it...you wouldn't believe that all this time you weren't alone in your yearning. You couldn't quite grasp that you had Miguel O’Hara on his knees, begging to love you.

You wanted to take it from him so bad but a pang of guilt started eating at you. Your arms immediately embraced his frame as you nuzzled his neck and inhaled the deep cadence of the lingering notes of cologne from last night. Miguel's soft copper hair was messy and disrupted, without thinking you raked your fingers through his hair. Miguel was already awake, he felt it and he grumbled into it, melting against your blessed touch. Your other hand traced down his broad shoulders and his back, feeling his skin, tracing the pads of your fingers down his warm, golden flesh.

"Hmm." Miguel breathed raggedly at the sensation. “Morning.” you kissed his shoulder as you nuzzled your face into his neck, inhaling deeply. Miguel's eyes widened at your action, unsure as to why you were showering him with affection- it's never been like this before. You've never woken up with each other before. Miguel struggled to leave and get out of your hold and it seemed like you were doing it on purpose.

“Don't leave...”You whispered woefully in his ear, planting a kiss on the base of his neck. “Don't leave me...” Miguel was stunned and it was obvious by the way his brows furrowed, he wasn't sure if it was the fact he just woke up or if it was his half-crazed manic mind playing tricks on him.

He twisted his body to face you, his cheek buried in the pillow and the look you shared was that of pure longing, your hands went to his hair again, tracing the outlines of his face with your thumb. “I heard you...” Your sad eyes were lit by the liquid gold of the sun, Miguel would have been entranced if any other words fell out of those pretty lips of yours. He wasn't so lucky. He heard the exact thing that his very soul was dreading.

“I'm sorry you had to.” Miguel's eyes shot open and glared a hole into your face when he said it, feeling genuinely sorry for you. Instead of saying anything you moved your body and clambered onto his lap and bent down to kiss him tenderly. His calloused palms felt at your thighs and the outskirts of them, your hair fell to the side as your bodies slid over each other. Miguel was confused at what you felt, what you wanted and what you were doing- you were just so damn hard to read sometimes. You nuzzled your head into his neck and breathed him in deeply, his massive arms wrapping around you tightly like he would die if he let go.

"You know, I was never scared of you and I thought that made me stupid. Naive. You name it. You were so good at scaring people off, it was admirable, I couldn't help but be in fucking awe of you when you were being so…dangerous.” You spoke gently as your fingers went to trace something undistinct on his chest. “The others warned me that you'd probably rip my tongue out of my gaping mouth if I ever tried anything at all with you and I was half expecting you to break me in half like a toothpick when I just...held you....for the first time. Even if you did break me in half I would've relished every second of it, I think I've spent so much time practically begging you to just…break me.” Your voice faltered slightly and a smattering of whirlwind emotions started to rise within you. Miguel was hooked on your every word like a dog with a bird at your door. “When you told me you wanted me to touch you and that you wanted to touch me, I felt like... a teenager being asked out by an allstar jock. It was pathetic but I didn't care. It was you...and bit by bit, minute by minute I started to fall in love with you. I thought I was being a fucking idiot because who the hell was I to fall in love with Miguel O'Hara?” Miguel's silence was gruelling and heavy, he didn't want to answer your question becuase if he started he wouldn't be able to stop. His lips pressed against your temple and as always you melted into him.

“Don't think that little of yourself. I don't like it.” He murmured.

“It's not fair to you at all...all of this, I know that. All of these secrets bleeding into each other when you already have the weight of the whole fucking multiverse on those broad and tired shoulders.”

“Let them bleed for all I care.”

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

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

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He starts speaking once he knows he has it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A validation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, she’s safe with me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s simply no way this is real. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your words seep into his fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A brand new reality. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You have a bathtub?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might have just found his ultimate weakness. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I remind you of it again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You love him. 

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

You love him. And it’s real. 

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

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

“Put it in.” 

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

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

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

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

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

This is happiness. 

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

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

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

“Please, Jungkook, take me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s starving. Terribly starving. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Looks like you need another form of punishment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He overflows with a thrumming life. 

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

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?” 

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

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

You merely laugh through your nose. 

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

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

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

“Good night,” you say. 

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[grim-ghosty]

I want to rant about some people in this fandom coming out of the woodworks saying that Brozone is toxic or some shit like that.

Did we even watch the same movie? Like seriously?

I think one of the biggest things these people overlook is this scene here.

This is his brother’s face after he said that he had to take care of himself after his grandma died. Are you going to tell me that they don’t feel any regret or guilt for leaving?

And look how shock and sadden they are to learn that Branch built the bunker for him and his brothers. They 100 percent feel guilty for telling him they're going their separate ways and for blowing off his feelings.

They also were in the heat of the moment. They were already mad at each other and said things they didn't mean. like shit man, I've said shit that I didn't fucking mean and instantly regret it. That's just being human.

There is also the end of the movie when the brothers are together again. Even if it's a brief scene, you can see how they're trying to reconnect, to be a family again, one step at a time.

And I will say it again, NO ONE IS DISMISSING WHAT BRANCH'S BROTHERS DID OR SAID, but you can't deny how much Branch's brothers love and care about him and each other.

How they all reacted to seeing Branch again after so long and finally listened to him in the end. How Bruce sent a postcard to John even tho he was still mad at him. How Clay hugged John after saving Floyd and asked him to join his book club (seen by John reading a book that looks like the one Clay is holding when he was asking Branch) and how he apologized to Branch (I do agree that the apology was lack luster), saying he can't wait to get to know him more. How they all risked their lives to save Floyd.

There is way more I can say, but I'm not going to waste my time anymore than I already have.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi! last anon here again. i won't go over all your advice here, and there's some i disagree with, but i have found it helpful and insightful as a whole, so thank you. i don't know if you actually wanted clarification on these things, but i figured it would be worth providing in case you genuinely wanted it.

straps as female disidentification - i do see it as different from other sex aids; it's partially about not imposing man/woman sex dynamics on sex between women, and also that as part of recovering from trans identity i've been encouraged to disengage with any practices, thoughts, or self-beliefs that represent false consciousness/male identification, and that includes a desire to have a penis/penetrate women/take the male role, and replace that with meditation and mindfulness. unfortunately i suck at meditation so i haven't gotten anywhere. i see it more as a behavioural problem than an object problem; it's unhealthy because it's a maladaptive coping mechanism about reality; i don't have a penis and can never have one and pretending i do during intimacy is hurting a theoretical sex partner.

female infantilization - this is about the bush thing; attraction to shaved vulvas is dysfunctional and unnatural.

being put off women's bodies - again this is a dysphoria thing mostly. i like how pretty much all women's bodies look, particularly femmes, and before radfem stuff i mostly just felt horny seeing nude women, but being in an environment that's very focused on the importance of reproductive organs and secondary sex characteristics to female identity has involuntarily caused me to fixate on this; when i see a woman naked i end up thinking about her uterus and the size of her breasts and her hips in relation to passing; i know that things like testosterone/hysterectomies/double masectomies/binding are really unhealthy for you physically and psychologically now, so seeing a woman's body makes me uncomfortable now because i just feel a kind of despair that if she has big breasts or big hips she'll never be able to pass for male without hurting herself and if she has small breasts or hips she got lucky with natural androgyny and she's wasting it, either way neither her or me have any way out of this and we're female forever. which is not very arousing.

once again, thank you for your advice. it's definitely given me a lot to think about (and read). i appreciate you hearing me out.

I'm actually stoked for a response, because these clarifications are very illuminating and genuinely so saddening to read.

that entire paragraph about disavowing the strap is genuinely tragic to me, as an advocate that people should just fuck however they want to fuck. you'd think if womanhood was such an innate and unchangeable thing then a fake dong wouldn't have the power to somehow impose manhood in a relationship between women, but I guess the strap is more powerful than I realized. I would love to know if this applies to fingering, given that you can't really argue that fingers are specific to any gender, or women who use straps to peg their male partners.

being told to meditate instead of want to fuck women is so funny, it's really giving 15th century nunnery.

you may not have been born with a penis but it is just literally a factual reality that you could have on if you wanted; regardless of what radfems think of it, phalloplasty is a very real surgery that can in fact produce a sexually functional penis that many people are extremely satisfied with.

okay sure super normal to fixate on someone's uterus.

I do actually very seriously need to correct this part: testosterone/hysterectomies/double mastectomies/binding are not unhealthy. they're healthcare, and the people who benefit from them - which, reminder, is not only trans people - tend to experience tremendous boosts to their physical and mental health because of it. there's nothing radical at all about opposing people's rights to determine what they do with their own bodies, and between that and the hyperfixation on reproductive organs you sound /this/ close to explaining why women shouldn't be allowed to get abortions.

in the politest way possible if looking at women makes you sad because it reminds you of your own dysphoria, you need to get out of radfem spaces and start hanging with some trans people who can help you figure some stuff out and help you envision a future where you don't fear your own body and sexuality.

[minhosimthings]

Saturday Adventures

Synopsis: Saturday meant your daily lattes with a foam bear drawn on top. What you didn't expect was your cafe boy crush to fuck the mind out of you on that Saturday.

Pairings: Sunghoon × fem!reader, includes Jay from Enhypen (not in the smut part)

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, fingering, brief sex against the wall, overstimulation, swearing, fluff at the beginning, mention of food, Sunghoon calls reader 'princess', 'pretty girl' and 'darling', p inside v, size kink, protected sex

A/N: let me give you the briefing in brief, Mona brain go brr, Mona decided to write

When Sunghoon signed up on his brother's offer to volunteer at the family cafe, he had never expected to meet the person he'd be calling his, for the rest of his life.

"Park Sunghoon are you paying attention?" Jay waved his hands in front of Sunghoon, gripping a coffee cup very tightly is his hands as younger brother stared off into the distance, milk in his hand. "Yes I am for god's sake." Sunghoon sighed, "Your voice is like drilling machines in my head Jongsoeng."

Jay rolled his eyes and stared out to where Sunghoon's eyes were set. "You're waiting for her aren't you?" A mere question escaped from Jay's lips, which seemed to sadden Sunghoon even more.

"She usually comes by this time." Sunghoon checked the watch on his wrist. His father's watch, he reminded himself, an article he was very much proud of. "Y/N isn't it?" Jay questioned again, wiping the coffee cup with a rag, "Maybe if you pay attention to me and learn how to make a foam animal, you can impress her. She does like bears on her coffee a lot."

Sunghoon groaned and averted his eyes from the door to watch Jay carefully pour the milk foam into the light brown latte, the foam spreading around the liquid like clouds swirling around a bright blue sky. It was mesmerizing to him, how his family so easily poured the foam to form beautiful figurines that the girl that usually comes by at six pm enjoys. He loved watching your beautiful face, become giddy with excitement as you took your bear-decorated coffee from him at the front counter.

"Your lover is here."

Jay's words exploded like an atom bomb inside of Sunghoon's mind, his head whipping around to the chiming of the bells. He always liked those bells. Christmas, was it, that he bought them? Or halloween?

"Hey." You smiled up at Jay at the front counter, "The usual please Jongsoeng." "You're late today." Jay smiled back at you, waving a hand to his brother at the back to start brewing up the tiny brown beans, "Sunghoon was sweating his ass off." You let out a tiny laugh at that, taking a tiny peek at the apron clad man working silently behind Jay. Broad shoulders, beautiful curls of hair, perhaps the most amazing arms you've ever had the pleasure to witness, and a solemn face working with his hands frantically checking the machine in front of him, if he was hell's incarnate, it mattered not for you.

"Tell him I'm staying over a bit late tonight. Got some work to finish." You said, as Jay handed you your bill, "Gotta work late." "That's great." Jay winked at you, "He's the one who works the night shifts before shutting the cafe." He shoots you a small grin with all of his teeth on display, "Have fun."

Sunghoon's eyes and mind couldn't process anything as he watched you type away on your laptop, brows furrowed, coffee cup empty. The soft lighting from the cafe's lights illuminated your face well, frustration evidently wrapping your face into its cocoon.

Jay had left earlier that he usually does and now, at ten pm, Sunghoon had nothing to do except stare at you, and attempt to make a bear on a latte. Practice made a man perfect, but for Sunghoon, it just made him tired.

One drop, then two, then another and the bear formed at last! Sunghoon stared at it in disbelief, it was perfect. Now, the task was just to carry it over to you, and give it to you with a solemn expression that did not scream 'i am infatuated with you, even when you are a complete stranger'.

"Miss?" Sunghoon tapped your table with uncertainty, "Your refill." He set his tray down on the table, where the coffee cup stood with perfect stillness, the tiny foam bear springing with delight. Your eyes flickered to Sunghoon's for a moment, before settling on the bear.

"You made a bear." You stated simply, talking the warm cup into your hands, "And please, call me Y/N."

"Y/N." Sunghoon repeated, the name falling off of his lips like an ill forgotten melody, "I'll leave you to your bears." The smile that escaped your lips at his joke, looked like heaven to him.

"Are you single"

Unfortunately the human mind sometimes randomly blurts out whatever it wants, when it is in closed proximity. And your mind did exactly that.

Sunghoon's eyes widened at you, his brows reaching the top of his silver hair. His fingers fumbled with the tray in his hands, as he stared into your soul. "Y-yeah." He spoke, stepping closer to your table, slipping into the seat opposite you.

"Damn im single too." You awkwardly laughed, "We have so much in common." Flirting was never much of your forte, and it evidently showed as Sunghoon's ears (and yours) turned bright red.

"Oh what a coincidence!" Sunghoon said, in an awfully cheery tone. A minute passed as you both of you looked at each other with solemn faces before bursting out laughing.

"I am literally so sorry." You said in between fits of laughter, looking over at Sunghoon's eyes, which were crinkled to form crescent moons, which, in your humblest opinion shone brighter.

"It's alright." Sunghoon said, before glancing out the glass door, "It's getting late, you should get home." You checked your watch. Eleven pm. It indeed was getting late.

"Oh yeah." You quickly shoved your laptop into your bag, before looking down at the undrunk bear latte. "What about this little guy?" You picked up the cup, carefully handling it. Sunghoon smiled at you gently and led you over to the counter, ignoring your protests of paying for it to be packed up. "I'm not letting a pretty girl like you pay for that." He smiled, handing you the cup, "Plus its Saturday we have a nonexistent policy of not letting women pay on Saturday after ten pm."

God his lips.

"I'll take your word for it then." You laughed, "Don't blame me if Jay scold you tomorrow though." Sunghoon scoffed and stepped closer. "He's not at tough as he looks, darling. Trust me, I'm the more rough one."

Darling leapt out of his mouth like a beautiful chord struck on a Grandstien piano. His hair fell perfectly on his face, illuminating all the correct spots, like a painting.

"Can I kiss you?"

You had been taught in your psychology class that the human mind often knows when to shut up, bar a few exceptions. You had never known such exceptions before, until now, when you realised that you were the exception.

Sunghoon's hand travelled to his neck, scratching it awkwardly before looking at you with snake eyes. "Why not?" He chuckled lowly, "Who am I to refuse a pretty girl's kiss?"

His lips were surprisingly soft, an ice cream touch to your lips. It was a sort of cold comfort, one you enjoyed thoroughly, as Sunghoon's hands ghosted over your waist. Although you tried to ignore the sticky feeling between your thighs, you couldn't help but let out an unholy noise into his lips, as his fingers gripped your waist so hard.

"Fuck Sunghoon." You gasped, as the bulge in his pants pressed tightly against your pussy.

“Sunghoon,” you brokenly whisper, your voice would be bordering on whiny with all the neediness that comes with it, “please, I need you.” The pleading look you give him is vulnerable, if not desperate.

Sunghoon had you pressed against the wall the minute your voice left your throat, peppering kisses down your neck, you waist being held hostage by his hands. You didn’t try to stop him.

“Such a good slut for me, aren't you princess?” He moved his hand to run between your soaking folds. You bit your lip at the feeling, feeling his fingers graze your clit before dipping to rest against your entrance. He tapped it twice before pulling away completely, moaning at the loss you turned to face him. Unbeknownst to you, Sunghoon had moved his head so that when you turned, his lips would brush against yours. You whimpered at the feeling and pushed your lips against his. Allowing him to take the control, he deepened the kiss- stroking your mouth with his tongue. You could feel him trying to pull away and whimpered before trying to keep the kiss going, he laughed again at your neediness. “Now, now princess, you don’t want me to fuck you against this door, do you?”

"This is a cafe, Hoon." You let out a breathless sentence, "Where are you gonna find a bed?" Sunghoon chuckled into your face, his hot breath hitting your neck, before easily lifting you up. "There's a room at the back darling, let me fuck you properly like you deserve."

Sunghoon's kisses were devastatingly sweet, as he laid you gently on the bed, quickly slipping on a condom from his bedside table, not before asking you for permission if he could fuck you or not.

This tenderness didn’t last long though, the gentleness quickly transforming feverish and greedy, moans vibrating from both your chests and your bodies suddenly burning. When you both pull away, you feel his fingers slip under the straps of your tanktop and slide them off your shoulders. “Get this off,” he demands breathlessly, and you comply , stripping for him hastily.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, and you whimper at his words, clit throbbing at the thought of being fucked by a man you've only admired from afar.

He presses his hand against the plush of your inner thigh and spreads your legs, using his other hand to pump his cock with languid strokes.

You mewl feeling him drag the tip of his fat cock in between your folds, mushing it and teasing it against your clit sending pleasure coursing througch your body and making you throw your head back with a whimper.

feverishly, he runs his length over your slick folds, grunting as you rocked your hips to meet his touch. After a few intense minutes, with desperate teasing and soft moans slipping from your glossy lips, you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm building rapidly. suddenly, he pulls away, making you to whimper at the sudden loss of friction. But before you can protest, he silences you with a brief kiss.

“‘M gonna put it in, okay?” he murmurs hotly, lining up the tip of his cock against your hole before gently pressing the aching tip inside.

Your mouth hangs into an ‘o’ shape, eyes pinched shut as he slowly sinks his cock into your core. You squirm and whimper as you tread the line between pain and pleasure, walls fluttering as his hips press against the back of your thighs. the feeling of being filled fully by Sunghoon sends you into a daze everytime, and he’s so deep inside you can almost feel him in your throat.

“g-god, you’re so big,” you whimper, face flushed as your body adjusts to his huge size. The initial stretch burned, but he slid into you smoothly, his cock slipping through your folds with ease. He felt you clamp down on him, his head thrown back as far as it could go, thick neck exposed to you. you bit down on his shoulder, where it met the base of his throat, trying to mask the gasp of pleasure that sent your eyes rolling back in your head. he grunted at the sensation, enjoying the sting. Sunghoon sucks in air between his gritted teeth sharply as your tight walls clamp down on him, engulfing him in your warmth and sucking him in. While he gives you a second to adjust, he slides his hands under the backs of your thighs, feeling your cold skin hit his warm one.

“oh, baby. you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner. m’gonna make you feel so good.” his hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“You’re so fucking good.” Sunghoon groaned, an edge of excitement in his voice.

Sunghoon was a delicious weight on top of you, the drag of his hips slow, meeting yours hard. the pressure made you lightheaded, his body moving against yours like the thick drip of honey, smooth and sweet. you couldn’t make sense of it, of how fucking good he felt, grinding deeper and deeper into you like he’d found buried treasure. the overstimulation had your third orgasm building nice and quick, waves of pleasure making you dizzy.

“you like it like this?” Yes you did. “don’t think i can go without this now, you know that? Such a good fucking girl.” You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just let his words wash over you. “so beautiful, taking me so well.”

“Are you gonna come for me? one more time, baby. need to feel that perfect fucking pussy.” well, His wish was your command, because then you were gushing. The one thing you could feel was him, none of your other senses worked, you couldn’t see past the tears that fell, couldn’t get any words past your lips. Maybe you screamed, you weren’t exactly sure.

"Fucking hell." Sunghoon groaned, falling next to you on the bed. The room came to light properly to you now, and you noticed all the Sunghoons staring at you from the shelves.

"Hoonie?"

"Yes princess?"

"Did you just fuck me in your childhood bedroom?"

Sunghoon chuckled and turned to look at you, his hair slightly parted, and his lips wet. "Nah." He pulled himself closer to you, "This is just a room Jay and I like to call our den. You know, for keeping old childhood stuff and I figured, since this was the only place here where there's a bed, it would be a... much better place to fuck you than the floor. But I do admit-" he shuddered, "looking at my brother's old pictures staring at us is very creepy."

You giggled into his chest, as you felt sleep hit your mind. You yawned, and settled yourself comfortably into his arms, warmth enclosing you, like a fur coat or like a boy carefully drawing a bear on your coffee every Saturday.

[vulpisnocturna]

Hey there! Glad to see you're back! ♥ Since you say you want headcanon requests... How would all our Uchiha's (mostly Itachi because I'm such a simp for him, but also Shisui, Sasuke, Madara, Obito and Indra and maybe Indra respond if their lover was confirmed to have been captured by enemy forces on a mission or during a war? And how would they respond if/when their lover was recovered alive but showing severe physical and mental damage from the torture they'd endured?

Hey my lovely, happy to be back 🤍

Uchiha reactions to a captured/PTSD suffering S/O

Itachi:

- would absolutely infiltrate enemy lines and retrieve their S/O, without sparing torture on the enemies. This man would torture them tenfold for every injury his S/O was subjected to. He would break their minds with Tsukuyomi and leave no survivors

- would be gentle and patient with his S/O, and it would break his heart to see them so broken after what happened to them. As a pacifist and someone who has a deep hatred for conflict and war, he would be furious and mournful that his SO has to live with the scars of the cruelty of the world

- He would definitely be the type to soothe his SO after nightmares, go for a walk in the moonlight with them to release pent-up stress, and generally be more protective of them. He would inform himself on how to best deal with panic attacks and try to therapise his S/O

- Itachi’s advice and “words of wisdom” may be of comfort but they may also fall flat because he tends to speak from a place of rationality more than emotion, and as a walking embodiment of PTSD, he’s one to talk. But hey, he is quite wise, and he means well.

Obito:

- Would literally go absolutely batshit crazy if his S/O was kidnapped and held hostage by the enemy. Cue the Rin flashbacks. Would destroy the world, burn it to ashes, go to Hell and back and make it rain blood. …Literally. He would be on his most unhinged, insane behaviour

- his SO should expect to never leave his side after that. He will be overprotective, like they are an infant who is at risk of dying with every breath

- would have nightmares about what happened and it would enrage him and break his heart to see his S/O broken by what they endured.

- wouldn’t know what to say or do to console them, except promise to always protect them and never let it happen again

Madara:

- you don’t fuck with Madara’s S/O. If you do, there is an incoming cataclysm your way. He would destroy their lineage for daring to hurting his loved ones. Would definitely worsen the war in an attempt to get revenge

- would be helpless in the face of dealing with PTSD. Madara is a strong person, who grew up not really learning how to express his feelings, and therefore, he doesn’t know how to deal with them

- would be the type to stand a few feet from them, stiff and awkward and boiling with fury and sorrow inside at the sight of their S/O hurting, but somehow, he can’t come up with anything worthwhile to say. Will probably say something like “it’s over now. It won’t happen again” and that’s it

Indra:

- oh boy, you messed up. His S/O is like his most prized possession to him, and no one can take that from him and break one of his things. Takes it more as a personal insult rather than anything else. Will kill everyone who disrespected him like that

- will probably be saddened but also frustrated by his S/O’s inability to get over what happened

- “it’s over now. No point crying about it”. He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but it’s just a matter of stating facts to him.

- what, his S/O doesn’t trust him to keep them safe or something? Do they doubt his strength?

Shisui:

- would definitely activate the other side of Shisui. Would efficiently and ruthlessly kill everyone who sought to hurt the person he loves. He would be there in a second

- the safety and comfort of his S/O after such a horrible ordeal would be his priority. A bit like Itachi, he would always be there to offer comfort, a shoulder to cry on or a distraction in difficult times to follow

- However, unlike Itachi’s therapy sessions, he is more the type to try to lighten the mood and lift his S/O’s spirits. He would make it his mission to make them laugh and keep them happy, sometimes to the point of stifling them and making them feel a little alienated

- if he’s asked to have a serious conversation about what happened, however, he is very serious about it, and very protective and comforting

Sasuke:

- cue a revenge plan. He is not joking around. This man has lost every single person he loved, and if his S/O is abducted and tortured, he is there in the span of 0.1 second raining hellfire on the people who dared hurt a person he loves

- This man is like a big ball of PTSD, and not the best at comforting and offering advice on how to heal. It’s taken him years, a self-discovery journey, an obsessive friend beating him up and exploding his arm to heal. Expect him to be there like a silent presence hovering around his S/O like a cat sensing something is wrong with their favourite person but not knowing what to do about it

- would wake them up from nightmares and sit with them in silence to calmly listen to them vent and cry. Sasuke is a very emotional person underneath, but he thinks he needs to be strong for his loved one, to be a safe haven but mostly an anchor to rely on

- would be terrified himself of losing his S/O again, and therefore be quite overprotective (he stalks his S/O secretly wherever they go)

[mrsparrasblog]

MAKAROV X PRICE DAUGHTER FINAL PART (PRICE ENDING) 

TW: Blood, dead

previous part part one

As Price watched your wedding from afar, a thousand thoughts swept through him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of regret for the moments he had missed in your life, the milestones he hadn't been there to witness. But amidst the regret, there was love and pride in seeing you so radiant, even if the circumstances were far from ideal. You grew up to be a beautiful woman like he always imagined; you were graceful, confident, and full of joy. If this wedding were just something different, something he could be happy about, god, he would rather have married you off to some bloke than a fucking terrorist.

His mind raced with thoughts of how he could have intervened earlier and how he could have protected you from falling into the hands of a man like Vladimir Makarov. Yet he knew deep down that you were strong, resilient, and had made your own choices, even if they weren't the ones he would have wanted for you. Thoughts flowed through his brain: did you choose him freely? Did you know what Makarov was? Why did you vanish from the world? You probably had Stockholm syndrome; there wouldn’t be a chance in hell that his sweet, smart girl fell in love willingly with a man like Makarov.

As he wiped away his tears, Price made a silent vow to himself. He may not have been your protector in the past, but he would be damned if he didn't become your guardian now.

He waited what felt like ages for him to finally see you for a second alone. You were headed to the bathroom, and the wide wedding dress mopped the floor. Makarov was speaking to some politicians, and that was his only chance. He gave Ghost the agreed signal: don’t hurt Civis; kill that bastard and save you.

He heard you vomiting, so he walked inside the bathroom. He already knew what it meant, but he didn’t want to think or even believe this, there was a different time to sort out that problem.

You turned around, being sure that Vlad had intruded on your space. He was always so overprotective, but you knew he would be even worse after this news, but did you really mind? 

You gasped as you saw him—your father. He looked older than you remembered; he had more wrinkles, worried eyes, and a completely unshaven beard. "Dad?“

"Oh God, Sweetie, “ he said, almost running the few steps over to you. He embraced you in a tight hug, trying his best to hide his tears. Everyone believed you were dead; they wanted him to mourn you, hold a wake to you, and finally declare you dead but he knew you were alive, and now you stood there in front of him, with a confused look in your beautiful eyes—but alive.

"I didn't think you would make it, Dad,“ you said bluntly while mustering him. It had been so long since you last saw him.

"Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?“ He started to grab your arms, pulling the sleeves up, looking for any bruises or any indication that Makarov had hurt you. God, he personally wanted to gut that bastard out.

"No Dad, Im fine; Vlad would never hurt me.“ 

"He is a terrorist, Sweetie; he kills for money.“

"I know, but he has his reasons, Dad. He never would hurt me or do something bad without a reason.“

He looked towards you with a saddened expression, taking your delicate hands in his calloused ones. "Look, I get it. You had a rough time, didn’t you? Your head tricked you into thinking that you love him and that he is this prince from a fairytale, but he isn't; none of this is real.“ 

You were fuming at this accusation. How had he the audacity on your wedding day?"I'm not stupid, Dad.“

"You're not stupid; you’re brave.“

"He doesn’t hurt me; he protects me and takes care of me, Dad.“

"And what if he changes his mind? If you’ll be the victim of his actions? Please see reason.“

"At least he doesn’t leave me all the time." Spite and pure spite made you say these words: You always loved your dad more than anything else in your life, but he left you; he loved Tina more; he never cared about you; at least that's what you thought.

"Im sorry- I really am for being such a shitty Dad to you, but I love you more than anything, and I know you deserve a better old man, but you also deserve better than marrying a man who isn’t capable of loving. Come home with me; I divorced your stepmom; I will retire okay; no more deployment; no more war; just you and me and Tina if she wants to stay with us,“ he pleaded. He wanted you so bad to agree.

"Dad, I can't; I'm pregnant." You told him the news, and you were sure he would give up by that, but his expression didn’t change, almost as if he already knew.

"Sweetie, I'll help you, okay? And you can still see Vlad just come home, even if it's just for a bit, okay?“ He didn’t know how to help you anymore; besides lying to you, he knew it would stain your relationship even more, but right now, everything that counted was to have you leave this place.“

"You really would.“

"Of course.“ 

"Thank you, Dad,“ you mumbled and stood up on your way to leave the bathroom to tell Vlad that your Dad kinda accepts him for the baby's sake.

"Wait“

"Hm?“

"Let your old man hug you,“ with that, he pulled you into one of his famous bear hugs, softly stroking your beautiful hair.

When you left the bathroom, you saw Vlad, the supposed love of your life, your husband limp on the ground. The guards lay dead in different corners, and the wedding party was gone. You were only gone for 20 minutes, and everything was ruined.

You ran over to Vlad, hugging his limp body, trying to search for a pulse or anything but gone. You pressed his body closer to yours, and your eyes slowly started to build tears. The sobs only grew louder as you mumbled I love you all over and over again in Russian to him. You weren’t even sure if you were able to tell him that you loved him, and now he is gone. „You lied to me, Dad,“ was all you said to the military man in front of you, who looked at you like you were a zoo animal. Your white dress had already turned the prettiest shade of maroon.

Your Dad walked towards you, trying to pick you up, but you didn’t want to leave Vlad's body. 

"He is dead, Sweetie.“ he crunched next to you.

"You lied to me.“

"I know,“ he picked you up, ignoring your protest, but he also held you the whole night while you cried in his arms, not for one second judging you that you fell in love with Vlad, never dismissing your grief; he was for once in your life there for you.

————————————

1 year later 

You moved in with your Dad again, he indeed retired from the military. His friend and aunt Kate helped at first, but now you managed, even got your old job back that you loved so much. Your Dad sent you to therapy, and after a while, you got it—this wasn’t love, this was fear—and you're free now. This made you resent the baby inside your belly first, but when little James was born, everything was different, and you didn’t connect him with Vlad.

You were afraid your Dad wouldn’t accept little James, but he did. He carried him proudly around, showing it off to his old squad, especially the new Captain of the squad, Captain MacTavish, or anything like that. Your Dad always carried a pacifier in his bag, always a picture of James, Tina, and you in his wallet. He was finally at peace, and so were you.

The End

So this is Price ending , its the first fanfic Drabble whatever I finished, and through the whole process I thought what if my reader don't like the ending, what if its lame or anything but then I thought you don't need always Drama for a good fic or an different love interest ending, sometimes the ending is just good because she finally has what she always craved a family bond.

Tag list: @multifand0midi07 , @whos-fran , @cassiecasluciluce , @the-faceless-bride , @paintlavillered

[alexlwrites]

You ask and you shall receive!

Here's part 2 of "Yoongi never had a crush until you" from my notes app. I'm always open to more requests <3

(Check out part one here)

(Buy me a coffee on ko-fi!)

....

Tonight was the night. Yoongi could feel it, from the tip of his long luscious hair to his weirdly long toe. There was something in the air - whispers of certainty and peace that could either be a sign that Jungkook had left the premises or that tonight was the night that Yoongi was finally going to gather all the courage within his tired body and ask you out!

Furthermore! - he shook his fist in front of his mirror, eyes slightly crazed with a decidive stance - you'd say yes!

From there, everything would fall into place, stars aligning and errors corrected. His shoes would fit better, the wifi faster, the coffee tastier. Everything improved by your presence in his life.

He just couldn't stand all this nervous, jittery energy anymore! It was all so unlike his cool, calm, collected persona and he didn't know how to deal with his sudden difficulties to form full coherent sentences when you showed up. He had to put a stop to it and act on his new and, to be honest, slightly concerning feelings.

You see, he was a man with a written plan! In the depths of his pockets, under seven layers of coffee shop receipts from 5 months ago and guitar picks he thought he had lost, there was a small piece of paper with his plan detailed step by step: first he would calm the fuck down (crucial). Then, check for sweaty hands, unknown food stains on his outfit and bad breath (Just in case!!!!). Then, present his five slide power point showcasing his feelings and finally - finally! - ask you out.

In case you'd say no, he had an extra slide with more appealing arguments (i'm rich, it said). Otherwise, he'd move to south america and live his life as Carlos, the potato farmer.

Of course, as Yoongi's life was never as simple as a power point presentation, all his plans were forgotten when you showed up in his studio dressed up in a way he'd never seen, skin tight dress clinging to your body in the way he wanted to, rendering him speechless and brain dead.

"Yoongi! Sorry for the late hour, I just had to drop these documents before I left and I rushed here because I have plans for the evening..."

Ask her out, his heart said, beating so loud he was surprised you didn't hear it. Ask her out, make her yours, rip this sinful devil sent dress into pieces. Fuck the power point, fuck your canva vision board, ask her out, ask her out, ask her out, ask her...

"Out" he spluttered at last and he swore his heart shattered at the hurt in your eyes.

"Oh, im sorry" you said, dropping the stack of papers on his coffee table, lips pouting and eyes saddened in a way that made yoongi want to choke on his own fucking wrist "I'll leave you be, mr. Min"

"No-nO! I DIDN'T MEAN..." but it was too late and youd already left.

BUGGER.

BUGGER IT ALL TO HELL!

(Part three)

[oh-no-bummer]

I'm gonna be fixated on this for a while and I hate to be the voice of negativity but I'm just really disappointed with how Agatha's story was handled. The thing is at the beginning of the series when it was clear they had made the choice to give Agatha a son I suspended my disbelief, because there are many ways in which that could've fit and it wouldn't have had to be a damning choice for her to also be a mother. But it was. I'm tired of cinema but marvel in particular using motherhood as a way to categorise women and compromise their stories. I hated it when it happened with Wanda and I hate it now. Why are women not allowed to be ? I get it that is also all a thing in the comics, but that doesn't mean it's right. Agatha was a villain and she in many ways remained one but the focus on her personhood as one centered on being a mother took so much away from her. I'm just so disappointed because there are a thousand ways to make that coexist! It could have been a beautiful story about loss and grief and empowerment and repression and love. But I believe marvel really has a problem with tying things up, they always mess up everything at the end and apparently women's stories are just not meant to be. Even if Agatha had to die, there are many other ways in which that death could've been more rewarding and peaceful. But what gets me the most is that the fears we exposed did come true, the show was not ultimately about Agatha and her grief or her love but about how she's a tool for Billy who disappointingly but predictably become the focus of the show. Rio was villainized, because she is death, which is such a flat interpretation of her character. The fact that the love Agatha and Rio clearly had for each other was so cruelly undermined by the writing. The fact that we have no closure for them, for Agatha's son or Agatha's story. The fact she now is just narrowed down to be Billy's mentor, a literal ghost of who she was, used to perpetuate the more central role of a man's story. And with this I don't mean to say that I hate Billy or his storyline nor that I hate Agatha being a mother, what I absolutely abhor is how those things became so central they obscured her story and deprived us, the audience of seeing it complete. Fine, I get it Billy needed to be introduced, but did that introduction have to destroy Agatha's story? Was there no other resolution? Obviously not. Agatha could've still become his mentor while alive, could have remained with Jennifer and decided to actually try, or Agatha could've died, and finally confronted her grief and Rio. There's so many ways in which her role as a mother and mentor didn't have to impede her character's arc. There's so many ways this show could've been good. I'm sorry if my anger comes true but I truly am disappointed in the way the media and marvel especially continue to treat women and their story. Let's not even talk about Alice, or Jen , because neither of those stories were complete, the way they had Jen's binding sloppily be caused by Agatha felt like such a rushed decision with absolutely no explanation. Where did Jennifer's story go? Her role as high priestess? I get it that it might be picked up again in the future but this is what the fucking show was supposed to be about, witches walking the road and growing and facing themselves. I have even more to say about Agatha and Rio specifically, but for now I'm just gonna conclude by saying that it didn't have to be this way, it's just proof of how little they care about women's stories that they think they can be used to further the narrative without any consequences. It feels cheap, it feels illogical and rushed. It seems like horrible writing. It saddens me greatly and I hate it.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Hurts Like Heaven

Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: You and Jamie were nothing more than friends with benefits…then Jamie realizes that the way he feels for you is more than friends.

A/N: inspired by the song I Think I Like You by The Band Camino

You and Jamie had been friends for a few years. You met through Keeley and he'd tried to get into your pants after they'd broken up. But girl code meant you don't sleep with your friend's ex unless they say it's okay.

Years later, he and Keeley still aren't together. It originally saddened Jamie, however, he learned that he valued her highly as a friend and he eventually lost feelings for her.

That's when you came in.

Jamie didn't feel ready to get back into serious dating, but he also didn't feel like going back to random hook ups like his early days. That's when you suggested a friends with benefits relationship.

The suggestion surprised Jamie, especially since you rejected him a few years ago.

You rolled your eyes at him, "Yes, but I've gotten Keeley's permission to sleep with you if I chose to do so."

His brows rose, "I'm sorry, what? When did this happen?"

You shrugged like it was no big deal, "Like a year ago."

"So you're telling me we could've been fucking for a year now?"

You snorted, "I didn't think you'd still be interested."

He grinned at you, "Oh, I'm still very interested."

It was nice. He thought the arrangement would change things but it didn't. He still texted you about the things Jan Maas said or a new song that Dani introduced him to. You two would facetime for hours while he was at away games until you both fell asleep. He used to be a man of not many words, but he found himself never shutting up in your presence.

You grabbed lunch or dinner when you could and instead of going your separate ways, either one of you followed the other to your respective homes and you had sex.

Some days, you didn't have sex at all. He'd come over with take out and you two would watch a movie. Or he'd help you cook dinner while you're both singing Harry Styles' lyrics at the top your lungs. He felt so happy and at peace with you.

It was great. It was nice...until you told Jamie that someone had asked you on a date.

"It's fine. We're not dating or nothing, so why would it matter?" he asked you when you broke the news.

You shrugged, "I dunno. Guess I-nevermind. I'm going to cancel our movie night on Friday then."

"What? Why?"

"That's when my date is. Unless...I cancel it?" You looked at Jamie like you were hoping for...something. What you were hoping for he didn't know, but he shook his head, "No, no. It's fine. Could probably go to the pub with the lads or something." He then pointed a finger at you, "But you let me know if he does something that makes you uncomfortable. I'll pick you up. Just say the word."

You nodded and give him a smile, "I know. Thanks, Jame."

________________

It's the night of the date. Jamie has been on edge the entire day and he's not exactly sure why. You'd sent him your outfit for the date and you...you looked beautiful, sexy, gorgeous. There was a pit in stomach when he realized that you'd never dressed up for him like that. Why would you? You two are only friends who also sleep together. Nothing that would warrant you to put much that effort...but Jamie wanted it.

Fuck, did he want you to dress that way only for him, to take you on dates and call you his girl.

Holy fuck, why did he have to realize this all too late?

Even when he went to a club with the lads, he couldn't stop thinking about you. He kept checking his phone every five minutes to see if you'd messaged him. The last thing you sent was you telling him the restaurant you were at and he'd sent you a thumbs up.

He stood at one of the standing tables, nursing a beer and just watching the crowd. His teammates were drinking and dancing with women, except for Colin who was dancing with his boyfriend, Michael.

Getting a bit anxious, he pulls his phone out again, looking at the thread of texts between you and him.

"Are you alright, Jamie?" Sam asks above the club's music.

Jamie sighs and pockets his phone, "I'm gonna step out for a bit!" he shouts back and Sam responds, "I'll come with you!"

They take their beers and head out to the back patio of the club. The music is still loud but not as much.

Jamie lets out a deep breath, letting the cool air encompass him. Sam nudges him, "What's going on?"

Jamie chuckles to himself, "Think I'm in love, Sam," and then winces.

Sam cocks a brow in confusion, "Why do you look so pained then?"

Jamie sighs and runs a hand through his now brunette hair, "It's complicated."

"Is it Y/N?"

Jamie's head whipped to Sam's direction, "How the fuck did you know that?"

Sam can't help but laugh, "You don't hide it very well when you're with her. You're...happier with her."

He scoffs, "'M not so happy now, am I? She's on a date right now."

"Why?"

"Some bloke from the IT department asked her and she asked me how I felt about it and I said it was fine. That her going on that date doesn't matter 'cause we're not exclusive or nothin' and now I fuckin' regret it 'cause I fuckin' love her!" after his mini rant he looks back as a smug looking Sam, "What?"

"I think the solution to your problem is very simple, Jamie."

"Yeah? And what's that."

"Tell her."

He's immediately shaking his head, "No. No. I can't. I can't. It'll ruin everything."

"I don't think it will."

"How do you know?"

"I don't, but I have a strong feeling it'll be okay."

Suddenly, his phone is buzzing and your contact photo is staring up at him. He looks up at Sam and his teammate is grinning at him, "Tell her," he says before patting Jamie on the back and heading back inside.

Jamie nods and answers your call, "Hey, you alright?"

"He was a complete prick! He yelled at our server because his pasta wasn't al dente and complained about me eating too much bread."

"Pft. You love bread."

"I love bread so much!" you sigh, "I'm having uber me drop off because there was no way in hell I was getting in the car with him again."

Jamie frowns to himself, "You should've told me. I could've picked you up."

"I texted you ten minutes ago and you didn't respond!"

Jamie curses and pulls back his phone going to the text thread to see you had texted him, "Shit. Sorry, love."

"It's fine. You can come over after your night with the boys."

"I'm leaving right now. Wasn't very exciting anyway. Want me to grab some food?"

You groan, "Yes, please. That meal wasn't satisfying enough."

Jamie finds himself smiling, "Alright. I'll be over in a bit. Get comfy for me."

"Waaaay ahead of ya. Tossing the dress in the hamper as we speak and pulling out my comfy clothes. Shall I pull yours out as well?"

"Please."

"Got it. See you in a bit, Jame."

"Right. Bye." After he ends the call, he heads inside to say his good-byes to his mates. Sam is giving him a knowing look and a "Good luck" as he walks out of the club.

___________________

Half an hour later, Jamie is letting himself into your place with the spare key that you gave him. He places the takeout on the coffee table in front of you.

"Go eat. I'm gonna change."

"Thank you!" you holler as he walks down the hallway to your room and where you've laid out a pair of joggers and a t-shirt for him. He quickly changes and heads back to your living room where he sees you shoveling your face with the food he's brought.

He's smiling wide as he sits beside you, "Good?"

You nod, "Soooo good!"

He grabs your remote and plays the movie you picked, "Guess we ended up having our movie night after all."

You snort, "Shout out to Liam for IT for being a prick, I guess."

Jamie stills. His brows furrow and you see he's thinking hard about something. You set your food down, pause the movie, and turn to completely face him on the couch.

"What's going on?"

"I realized something."

"Okay...is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Depends on how you take it, I suppose," he turns to face you as well, "I...I think I like you more than I should."

"Meaning..."

"I'm in love with you. I think I have been for a while now but it just didn't hit me until you were out with that prick-"

"Liam-"

"and all I could think about tonight was losing you. I hate that you looked absolutely gorgeous for someone else. I hate that it was him taking you on a date and not me. And I hate the thought of someone else being where I should be."

You chuckle, looking away and shaking your head, "Jamie Tartt," and this is when Jamie prepares to be rejected by you, "took you long enough."

Oh. Oh. That's not something he expected.

"So, uh, so you-"

You lean in pressing your lips against his and when you pull away you're smiling, "I love you too."

"Oh. Great. Cool. That's-That's good."

You laugh, "Did I break you?"

"Maybe?"

You laugh more and he's smiling again. Your laugh is music to his ears and it's filling him up with so much warmth and love.

You pat his knee, "Alright, loverboy, let's continue this movie night , yeah?" you press play and you grab your food. You curl up into Jamie's side and he relishes in your warmth while you feed him some of your food.

A day later, Jamie posts a picture of you sitting across from him at the same restaurant you went to with Liam, with the caption: Dinner with me girl <3.

His comments littered with applause and congratulations from his teammates and fans. They all love you, but Jamie loves you the most.