#it's been hard to work with all the moving from one side of the world to the other

[s4svnn]

First sexy time after oob!jk and aj reunited plsss

Control

Summary: You hated to admit it but the existence of your boyfriend alone was enough to make you horny, so when he was so distracted with work that he wasn’t making any advances on you, there was only one way to get what you wanted - you needed to make him lose control.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: unprotected sex, rough sex, riding, back shots, orgasm denial, impregnation kink, sub + dom dynamic, degradation kink, oral (f+m receiving), spanking, mirror sex.

When Jungkook told me he was staying in London with me instead of going back to Canada, I was over the moon. And when he surprised me with a freaking penthouse and asked me to move in with him? I swear, I almost blacked out from excitement. More time together, more late-night cuddles, more waking up next to each other—it sounded perfect.

But then reality hit. And by reality, I mean Jungkook. Shirtless. All. The. Damn. Time.

It didn’t matter what time of day it was—morning, afternoon, middle of the night—he was allergic to fabric from the waist up. Just abs, tattoos, and sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips. And to make matters worse, he wasn’t even doing it on purpose. No teasing, no smug looks. Just existing in all his ridiculously sculpted glory like it wasn’t the most unfair thing to ever happen to me.

At first, I tried to be normal about it. “It’s fine,” I told myself. “You’ve seen him shirtless before.”

Yeah, but I hadn’t lived with it. Hadn’t been ambushed by the sight of him casually sipping his morning coffee with messy bed hair, tattoos flexing as he stretched. Hadn’t walked into the living room only to find him doing push-ups because apparently, that’s what he does when he’s bored.

And to top it all off? The man was busy. So busy training for his upcoming matches that he barely had time for me. It wasn’t that he ignored me—no, he still kissed me, still pulled me onto his lap during movie nights, still curled around me in bed like I was his favorite thing in the world. But when it came to, uh, other activities? Yeah. That wasn’t happening.

At first, I was patient. I told myself he was just tired. But as the days passed, my suffering increased. My boyfriend was the human embodiment of temptation, parading around half-naked while I was practically feral. And he had no clue. None.

I was nearing my breaking point.

So, when I walked into the bedroom one night and found Jungkook standing there, fresh out of the shower, damp hair falling into his eyes, abs glistening under the warm lights… I knew I wasn’t making it out of this alive.

“Babe?” he said, tilting his head when he saw me frozen in the doorway. “You good?”

No. No, I was not good.

And if he didn’t do something about it soon, I was going to lose my mind.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto my face. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m just gonna… take a shower.”

Jungkook nodded, running a towel through his hair, completely unaware of the absolute war raging inside of me. “Okay,” he said casually, turning back toward the dresser like he wasn’t the reason my entire body felt like it was overheating.

I spun on my heel and practically fled into the bathroom, locking the door behind me as if that flimsy piece of wood could somehow protect me from my own thoughts.

The moment the water hit my skin, I let out a deep breath, trying to relax. Trying to wash away the tension. This is fine. This is nothing. You just need to cool down. Literally.

But the second I closed my eyes, he was there. The way he’d been standing in the bedroom just now—fresh from the shower, hair damp, muscles flexing with every little movement. His tattoos, dark and intricate, wrapping around his arms, his shoulders, his chest. The way the water had still clung to his skin, little droplets running down his abs—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, my fingers twitching at my sides. Maybe… maybe I could just—

I exhaled slowly, letting my hand drift lower, the warm water making everything feel softer, more intense. I tried to focus, to chase the feeling, but it was useless. No matter what I did, my mind kept circling back to him. To Jungkook. To the man standing just outside this door, completely unaware of what he was doing to me.

Frustration curled in my stomach, making my movements frantic, desperate—until suddenly, I knew. It wasn’t going to work.

Nothing was going to work.

Not without him.

With a frustrated groan, I slammed my hand against the shower wall, resting my forehead against the cool tile as I tried to steady my breathing.

This was officially the worst.

Because now, not only was I still aching, but I also had to walk back out there and act like I hadn’t just attempted—and failed—to relieve myself while thinking about my own boyfriend.

Kill me. Just kill me now.

Taking a deep breath, I shut off the water and grabbed my towel, already dreading the moment I had to face him again.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my skin still flushed from the shower, my eyes dark with frustration. This wasn’t working. I needed a new strategy.

And suddenly, an idea hit me.

A very reckless idea.

Normally, I’d bring my clothes into the bathroom and change in here, avoiding any unnecessary… distractions. But tonight? Tonight, I didn’t care. No, actually—I was counting on it.

I grabbed my black lace two-piece set—the one I knew Jungkook loved—and slipped it on, adjusting the delicate fabric until it sat just right. Then, I reached for my cocoa-scented body oil, pouring a generous amount into my palms before smoothing it over my skin, starting from my legs and working my way up.

My hands glided over my thighs, my stomach, my arms—every inch of me gleaming under the bathroom lights, the sweet scent wrapping around me like a second skin. By the time I was done, I looked dangerous. And I felt it too.

The towel I’d wrapped around myself earlier? Straight into the laundry basket. No backup plan, no safety net—just me, my frustration, and the sheer audacity to walk back into that bedroom like this.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed open the door.

Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to the storm that was about to hit him. His damp hair fell messily over his forehead, his jawline sharp under the glow of the bedside lamp. He still hadn’t put a shirt on—because of course he hadn’t. Just sweatpants, hanging low, exposing the sharp V-line that was already my weakness.

He didn’t even look up at first. But then, as I stepped fully into the room, his thumb froze mid-scroll.

And then he looked up.

I watched as his gaze trailed over me, slowly, deliberately. From my bare legs to my oiled-up skin, to the black lace hugging my curves perfectly. His jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

I smirked. Got him.

The air was thick—whether from the heat of my shower or the shift in energy between us, I wasn’t sure. But I could feel it. The weight of his gaze pressing into me, the way his movements seemed to slow, like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or stay silent.

Good. Let him wonder.

I made a show of walking over to my dresser, pulling open a drawer with practiced ease, pretending to search for something important. In reality, I didn’t need anything. I just wanted to make him wait whilst I was bent over giving him a full view of my backside.

Because if there was one thing Jungkook hated, it was being teased.

Still, I said nothing. Just took my time, moving with slow, deliberate care as I picked up my hairbrush and dragged it through my damp strands, the rhythmic strokes filling the tense silence. I could feel him watching me, I could almost hear the way his jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin.

I fought the smirk threatening to curl at the corner of my lips.

"You're really gonna act like I’m not here?" His voice finally cut through the silence, low and edged with something between amusement and irritation.

I blinked, finally pausing my movements, as if I’d only just realized there was another person in the room. Slowly, I turned my head in his direction, my expression blank, eyebrows slightly raised in feigned confusion.

"Hm?" I murmured, tilting my head.

Jungkook leaned back against the bed frame, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on me with an intensity that would have made anyone else squirm. But not me. Not tonight.

"I said—" He exhaled sharply, licking his lips as if trying to keep his cool. "You’re really gonna act like I’m not here?"

I frowned slightly, as if deep in thought, then looked around the room as if searching for something. Then, with the most convincingly oblivious expression I could muster, I turned back to him.

"Oh… were you talking to me?" I asked innocently, blinking up at him.

The muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Don't do that," he warned, his voice lower now, more controlled.

I shrugged, returning my focus to my hands as I massaged the last of my lotion into my skin. "Do what?"

I could tell he was biting back his frustration, but that only made my game more fun. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, casually scrolling as if he truly wasn't worth my attention. The air between us was practically crackling now, thick with a tension neither of us would acknowledge—yet.

But I knew Jungkook. And I knew he wasn’t the type to be ignored.

He wouldn’t just sit there and take it.

And that was exactly what I was counting on.

Jungkook was silent for a beat, but I could feel it—the shift in his energy, the way his patience was thinning by the second.

I scrolled idly through my phone, tapping at the screen as if completely engrossed, while in my peripheral vision, I saw him shift his position, one hand running through his dark hair. A habit of his when he was trying—and failing—to keep his composure.

He exhaled, slow and measured. "Alright, bet."

I didn’t react. Didn’t look up. Just kept pretending he wasn’t there, despite the way I could feel the weight of his stare burning into me.

Then, before I could even process his next move, my phone was snatched clean out of my hands.

"What the—" My head snapped up, eyes narrowing as Jungkook leaned back against the bed, holding my phone above his head like it was nothing.

"So now you see me, huh?" His voice was smug, his lips curling into a lazy smirk as he spun my phone between his fingers. "Thought I was invisible a second ago."

I folded my arms, leveling him with an unimpressed stare. "Give it back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Make me."

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play?

I let out a slow breath, tilting my head as I considered my next move. Then, with zero hesitation, I crawled onto the bed, reaching for my phone. But Jungkook, being Jungkook, was already one step ahead, shifting just out of my reach, his smirk deepening.

"Try harder," he challenged.

My frustration flared, but I kept my expression neutral, deciding I wasn’t going to play his game—I was going to flip it.

So instead of lunging for my phone again, I sat back on my heels, brushing a stray strand of hair over my shoulder, acting completely unbothered.

"Fine," I said coolly. "Keep it."

That caught him off guard. His smirk faltered for half a second, his grip on my phone loosening slightly. "What?"

I shrugged. "You clearly need it more than I do. Enjoy whatever you find there." I dragged my gaze over him slowly before turning away, sliding off the bed with a nonchalant grace that I knew would get under his skin.

Jungkook didn’t move at first. He just stood there, watching me, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he was debating his next move. But the look in his eyes told me he’d already made up his mind.

And then, just as I was about to turn away, he grabbed me.

One strong hand wrapped around my wrist, the other settling on my waist as he turned me around, backing me up until my legs hit the edge of the bed. My breath hitched, but I refused to show any reaction. I just stared up at him, my chin high, daring him to do something.

Jungkook let out a slow exhale, his grip firm but not rough. His eyes roamed over me, taking in every inch, like he was deciding exactly how he wanted this to go.

Then, his voice dropped—low, steady, completely in control.

"Get on the bed."

I blinked, heat prickling up my spine at the way he said it. Not a question. Not a suggestion. A command.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Excuse me?"

Jungkook’s jaw ticked, and in response, he leaned in, his hand sliding from my wrist to my hip, squeezing lightly. "You heard me," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. "Get on the bed."

A slow, deliberate silence settled between us.

I could have fought him on it. Could have tested him a little more, dragged this out just to make him work for it.

But something about the way he said it—the way his voice dipped, the way his grip tightened just enough to remind me that he wasn’t playing anymore—made me decide against it.

Without breaking eye contact, I stepped back, the backs of my knees pressing into the mattress.

Then, still moving slowly, I climbed onto the bed.

Jungkook watched me the entire time, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek, like he was pleased. Like he had been expecting me to obey.

I sat back on my hands, one leg bent, the other stretched out, watching him carefully. "Happy now?"

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Not yet."

Then he took a step closer.

And just like that, the game had changed.

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t fade as he hovered over me, his bare chest inches from mine, heat radiating between us. His hands skimmed my thighs, firm but slow, his touch setting fire to my skin.

"See?" he murmured, his lips so close to mine I could feel his breath. "I knew you couldn’t lie to me."

I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, but my body betrayed me—my breathing uneven, my pulse racing beneath his touch.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

His fingers traced higher, his thumbs pressing into my hips as he pulled me closer, our bodies flush against each other now. My breath hitched at the feeling of his skin against mine, the warmth, the tension so thick it was almost unbearable.

Jungkook tilted his head, his lips barely grazing my jaw, trailing down—slow, deliberate, teasing.

"You act tough," he murmured, his voice low, rough. "But the second I touch you…"

His hands slid up my waist, fingertips ghosting over my ribcage, and I had to fight the urge to arch into him.

"You go back to being a slut for me," he finished, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.

A quiet gasp escaped me before I could stop it.

Jungkook smirked.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured against my skin.

I exhaled, fighting to stay composed, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as his touch traveled, inch by inch, making me burn for more without a single word spoken.

“You’ve got this way of acting like you’re in control," Jungkook murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing against my ear. "But I know better."

I barely held it together, my body reacting instinctively, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his gaze searing. “So don’t worry,” he added with a hint of mischief in his voice. “I’ll make sure you feel it.”

If you had told me an hour ago that I’d be at Jungkook’s mercy, I wouldn’t have believed you for a second. The version of me standing in the bathroom, all glazed up, thought she was going to have complete control over her boyfriend. But now, looking at the present situation, I can see just how delusional I was..

I was now sitting on the floor, my legs tucked underneath me, feeling a rush of vulnerability as Jungkook stood over me. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, his figure towering as he looked down at me with an intensity that sent shivers through my body. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently at first before pulling me closer, his grip firm and possessive. With a deliberate, slow movement, he guided my mouth, making sure every inch of his length was covered as he moved me back and forth. The control he held over me was undeniable, each motion timed perfectly, leaving me breathless and at his mercy. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and despite the haze in my mind, I couldn’t deny how thoroughly he had taken charge of the moment.

"Good girl," he breathed, his voice low and thick with desire. As his pace quickened, his hands gripped me tighter, urging me on. "You take me so well," he continued, the words dripping with approval. The rhythm between us grew more frantic, and he could feel every subtle movement I made in perfect sync with him. I gagged as he continued his relentless pace, shoving me forward as he pushed his hips further into my mouth with more force, tightening his grip on my hair to keep me in place as he used me to chase his own high.

Once he released himself into my mouth, he tilted my head back, his eyes locking onto mine with a cold, unwavering stare. 'Swallow it,' he demanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. I paused, staring back at him, my lips curling into a mischievous grin, as if daring him to push further. Then without warning, his hand shot out, tightening around my neck, pulling me in so close I could feel his breath on my skin. His gaze burned into mine as he growled, his voice low and full of authority, 'Swallow it, Aylah. I won’t repeat myself.”

With no more hesitation, I swallowed, feeling the pressure of his gaze intensify. His grip remained firm on my neck, his eyes never leaving mine as I processed the sharp command hanging in the air between us. The taste lingered on my tongue, and I could feel the weight of the moment, each second feeling like a challenge he was daring me to meet. Then without warning, he gripped me tightly, lifting me effortlessly off the ground and tossing me onto his shoulders. My body was suspended for a moment, disoriented, before my legs instinctively wrapped around his neck. The shift in position was swift and commanding, my hands instinctively grabbing onto his hair to steady myself as my heat came in direct contact with his face.

For a brief moment, he stood there, silent and still, as if waiting for something. Then, slowly, he began to exhale warm breaths directly into my core, each one caressing my skin with a heat that seemed to grow more intense with every passing second. The soft, steady warmth made my body react instinctively, heat pooling in places I hadn’t expected as I arched into his touch.  I could feel the subtle curve of his lips as he smiled against me, a smile that was tinged with satisfaction, clearly pleased by my response. After a brief pause, his voice dropped to a low, almost dangerous tone. “You don’t deserve this,” he murmured, each word deliberate and heavy with meaning, “after the stunt you pulled.” There was a pause, just long enough to make my heart race, before he continued, his voice darker and laced with authority, “But you’re lucky I’m patient, I’ll leave your punishment to later.”

Before I could fully process the weight of his words, I felt the fabric of my thong shift as his hand moved with precision, pushing it aside to expose my wetness to him. The air around me seemed to still for a moment, every inch of my body acutely aware of the shift in the atmosphere, as his tongue moved slowly and deliberately in a long, lingering stripe across my core. I found myself momentarily frozen, a mix of surprise and anticipation rushing through me, my breath catching in my throat. Yet, despite the effect his touch had on me, he continued without hesitation, completely unfazed by the way my body reacted. He dipped in further, his movements growing more urgent as he devoured me with an intensity that felt almost desperate. It was as though he'd been starved for so long, his actions frantic, as if he feared that at any second I might slip away and he'd never have this again. 

He paused momentarily, his lips brushing lightly against the skin of my thigh as he pulled back just enough to catch his breath. His eyes, heavy with satisfaction, met mine, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You taste so fucking good,” he said, his voice low and rich with appreciation, as if every taste was a revelation. He then shifted his stance, harshly throwing my back against the wall, as he forced his face further in between my legs, gripping my thighs with increased pressure. His hands strong and assertive pulled me closer, guiding my movements with a firm control, I couldn’t help but release a soft, breathless moan caught in the intensity of the moment. But before I could completely ride out my high he pulled away dropping me onto the bed without hesitation. 

I let out a soft whine, my breath shaky as I propped myself up on my arms, struggling to steady myself. My voice was a mix of confusion and frustration as I looked at him. “What gives? I thought you said I was off the hook.” My words hung in the air, a little pleading, but more curious, as I tried to make sense of the shift in his demeanor." He smirked at me, his eyes glinting with that familiar, teasing intensity. “I didn’t say you were off the hook, I said I’d leave your punishment to later” he replied, his tone playful yet firm, as if reminding me that the game was far from over.

I glared at him, my eyes narrowing as my body stiffened in defiance. I refused to give in easily, the challenge burning within me. But as I met his gaze, I saw the determination in his eyes—unwavering, unmoving—and I knew that resistance was futile. With a reluctant, heavy sigh, I began to turn agonizingly slow before his hands reached out grabbing my thighs to hoist my ass up and against him, as he pushed my head down to lay flat on the bed. Suddenly, his hand shot out again and gripped my hair, yanking my head back with a sharp pull that jolted my neck. His face was inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath. His voice was low, filled with an edge of frustration. “Stop acting like a little bitch, and do what I say,” he growled, his words carrying a weight that was impossible to ignore. 

I pushed my ass into him, desperately trying to gain some form of touch, but his grip tightened, holding me in place. A smirk spread across his face, his eyes glinting with amusement as he stared at the evident stain my wetness left on his sweatpants. “Treating you like a slut turns you on, noted.” Before I could even get the words out to tell him to hurry up, his hand came down with surprising force, the sound of it cutting through the air with a loud, stinging crack that resonated between us as I jolted forward. The impact sent a shockwave through my body, the sharp sting on my ass lingering long after the sound faded, leaving the tension in the air thick and almost palpable as I moaned out at the sensation.

At my lack of response another sharp slap landed on my ass, this one even harder than the first, leaving an imprint of his hand on me. He started massaging the spot where his hand had landed, the pressure of his fingers working into my skin, as he dropped his fingers in between my legs dragging them up and down my folds to collect my slick before dipping his fingers into his mouth, “You’re so responsive.” I let out a soft whine, feeling my patience wear thin at his actions. “Jungkook, please,” I said, my voice laced with a hint of desperation. He leaned down closer, a playful smile tugging at his lips as his body laid flat against my back, his abs digging into my behind, “Please what, my love?” he teased.

I spoke again, my tone dropping slightly “Fuck me.” He paused for a moment, leaning in closer as if listening intently, only to tilt his head and raise an eyebrow, acting completely oblivious to what I had just said. “Hmm?” He leaned in even further, a playful smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I didn’t quite catch that.” he teased, his tone light. “Could you speak a little louder, my love?” His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I could tell he was enjoying the moment far more than I was. Then with newfound confidence I spoke more angrily “hurry up and fuck me you prick,” but unfortunately he didn’t react in the way I expected, instead he pulled me backwards by my neck, his pants long gone as he forced me down onto his length pulling me to sit flat on his lap, his legs in between mine as the sudden intrusion caused me to cry out. “Talk to me like that again you bitch, I dare you.” he spoke lowly, his anger radiating off him.

I let out sharp breaths trying to adjust to the feeling but Jungkook didn't allow me to do so, instead he grabbed my hips harshly pushing me up and down against him, bringing his mouth to ear before whispering “you wanted to be impatient, so this is on you.” My breathing quickened as his pace became more relentless, the sound of skin slapping against eachother filled the quietness of the room, as he thrusted into me whilst dragging my hips down to meet his brutal actions. The intensity of it all led to me inadvertently clenching around his length, causing him to push me down so that I was layed flat against the bed as he took me from behind, watching my ass clap as he pushed harshly into me. I moaned out at the sensation urging him to carry on as he grabbed onto the skin of my ass dragging me backwards, his nails dinging into my skin as he spoke clearly amused by my reaction “You like that, you like being a slut for me?”

“Y-yes go h-harder, fuck.” At that, he smirked, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. Without a word, he stopped moving, his hands gripping my waist with firm control. In one smooth motion, he turned me on the bed to face the floor-to-ceiling mirror that reflected both of us. I found myself suddenly face-to-face with my own dishevlled reflection, yet my gaze remained locked with his through the mirror. He stood proudly behind me, his presence commanding, a contrast to the vulnerability that seemed to radiate from me as I was bent down before him for him to as he pleased with me.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and deliberate, the words piercing the silence. “You see that?” His voice was calm, yet there was an edge to it that made my heart race. “I’m in control, don’t ever get that twisted.” His eyes burned with a quiet authority as he spoke, making sure every word sank in, before he continued his relentless pace forcing my head up to watch him through the mirror. His hand gripped the back of my neck tightly urging me to watch as he used me for his own pleasure, leaving marks all over my body as he claimed me entirely with his actions. “I want you to watch,” he said, his words carrying weight as he subtly emphasized the command. His eyes stayed fixed on me through the reflection, never wavering, as if reminding me to stay present in the moment, fully aware of everything happening between us, “You’re mine you understand.”

“Y-yes—” I cried out overwhelmed by the feeling of his length pounding into me as I felt myself nearing my release. I watched as his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth curving into a satisfied smile. The change was subtle, but unmistakable—he seemed pleased, the tension in his features easing as he spoke clearly content with my response, “good girl, now take me like the slut you are, take all of me.” I cried out again as I felt him release inside of me, his pace not faltering even in the slightest as he sped up throwing me into a state of overstimulation, his voice looming over the sounds of my moans, “You’d look so good carrying my child, fuck, imagine that.” His voice only edged me further as I clenched around him cumming for what felt like the hundreth time as he filled my mind with more impure thoughts, “Shit, you like that don’t you, the idea of being filled with my cum, have me put a kid inside you.”

I gasped at the seriousness of his words, my mind turning off as I welcomed the idea of bearing his child, completely possessed by his alluring tone. Then with a few last thrusts his movements came to a halt as he laid down against my behind, his length still inside me as he kissed up my back, "I love you. I love you so fucking much," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. The words hit me like a rush, and without thinking, I turned my neck slightly to face him, my breath catching. "I love you too, babe," I whispered in return, the sincerity of my words clear. Then, without hesitation, I kissed him, matching the raw intensity of his previous actions, our connection deepening with every second. I pulled away slightly, resting my forehead against his, letting the moment stretch out just a bit longer. A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I gazed up at him, teasing, "So, impregnation kink?"

He blinked, a sudden flush creeping up his neck, and quickly turned his face away, trying to hide the red on his cheeks. "Shut up," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. I raised an eyebrow, amused, then leaned in just enough to catch his eyes. "To be fair, I'd be lying if I said I was opposed to the idea." The blush deepened, his face turning even more red, as he stumbled for words. "W-what?" he stuttered, his voice betraying his unease. I smirked, feeling the teasing spark between us. "But you're going to have to put a ring on me first, Jeon," I said, my words playful but laced with absolute seriousness.

At that, he broke into a wide grin, his face still flushed. He kissed me all over, his lips soft and insistent, a promise in each touch. "I will, I will I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, as his hands gently cradled my face as he kissed me again. “I love you.”

[bbina]

i need something fluff for jaemin... bff!jaemin who have a huge crush on you... i... i need jaemin fluff... 😔🥴

or bff!jisung (can you tell how much i love f2l?) who so down bad that he lets you do anything to him (in a fluff sense and not in a smut sense)... anything... anything...

- 🦞

bff!jisung... 🤤 he's so cute!! i love <3 reqs r open for the meantime for 7dream!! + this is an old ass wip i had on one of my previous blogs so i just rewrote it because why not

"are you wearing makeup right now?"

"... no"

"you are! i can literally see you wearing eyeliner!" chenle exclaims, leaning in a little closer to jisung as he inspects his face

jisung sighs, shoulders slumping. "fine. you caught me. i am wearing makeup"

chenle laughs, plopping down on the couch next to jisung who was fidgeting with his hands

"let me take a wild guess.. y/n did it?" chenle teases jisung who instantly turns red at the mention of your name. there's not much hiding from whatever the guys are speculating about your relationship with the tall man. hell, everyone believes that you two are dating but think that jisung is keeping it a secret to avoid questions but who really knows

with jisung's silence, chenle lets out a loud, knowing laugh— he knows damn well that jisung can't say no to you nor has the balls to do so. he's just so whipped

"i'm telling you dude.. you like her" chenle points out after laughing his ass out. jisung swats him away as he continues to be embarrassed about this whole conversation that revolved you because chenle was right

jisung does like you

"can i put make up on you?" you ask out of the blue after sitting in silence with jisung, startling him in the process

"why?"

"because i'm bored?" you say like it was obvious, getting up from your bed to get your makeup kit from your vanity

jisung has no choice anyway because whatever you do or ask him, he follows with no questions asked

the next thing he knew, jisung was seated on your vanity, his bangs held up with your hamster headband to keep them away from his face as you start to paint his face

"hold still for me" you murmur, holding jisung's head in place as you work on his eyeliner

"it tickles!" jisung squirms at the touch of your felt tip eyeliner gliding across his eyelids. he was moving around too much that he accidentally jerked his head to the side causing you to involuntarily draw a line across the side of his face

"JWI!" you scream, rushing to get some makeup wipes just before the eyeliner sets

"i'm sorry!" jisung apologizes profusely

"i told you hold still!" you grumbled, wiping the excess eyeliner from the side of his face. jisung swallows hard at your pouting face. he doesn't know how much longer he can hold it in. that stupid crush he has on you for a long time now

but he's not too sure how to break it to you. afraid that it will either make or break your relationship

"let's try this again" you shake your thoughts away by grabbing jisung's head again

jisung simply nods and lets you do what you need to do although this time he has a different tactic to keep himself in place

he then wraps an arm around your waist to keep himself still. the sudden action caught you off guard that you freeze for a moment before you accidentally meet his eyes

then it hits you— the current position you two are in. the way your faces were inches apart, the close proximity of it

all of a sudden you were hyperaware about everything. since when did his hand feel warm wrapped around your waist? did he always look at you like you were the only person in the world? was he always this handsome up close?

your heart flips and suddenly the room feels small. the same room that jisung has been to more times than you can count

neither of you move. like you two were stuck in place

what the fuck

[secretlysamcro]

Female reader x Jax Teller Explicit language, adultery & possible spoilers If you're under the age of 18, haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

TILL IT'S GONE PT. 1

It started with the missed calls. Then the texts. one, two, ten.

All left unread.

Jax Teller wasn't the kind of man used to being ignored, and yet for the past week, you've done exactly that.

At first, he brushed it off, maybe you were pissed off, maybe you were just trying to prove a point. But when days passed and you still stayed silent? it started to sink into him.

He knew, he fucked up.

A week of silence. A week since you called him out on his shitty behaviour. A week since you told him you were done being his dirty little secret. But now, he wanted to talk, the guilt eating away at him.

"Fuck off" you hiss to your phone as it continues to ring, then it stops. This time, another text.

Jax: Open the door y/n

You groan in annoyance, you expected this to happen, just not so soon.

Maybe he's finally grown a spine, coming here to end this shit properly or maybe he just wanted to fuck his way out of another mistake.

You unlock the door, yanking it open, keeping all your emotions in check, or so you thought. He stood in the doorway, his kutte hanging loose over his hoodie, looking like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were dark, like there was too much on his mind, like he was carrying something heavy.

Good.

"You weren't answerin'" he mumbled, his voice rough with something, guilt, anger or maybe a little bit of both.

You roll your eyes, letting the anger lace your words "Maybe take the hint".

Your eyes slide over him. Fuck. he looked good. But that was the problem, he always looked good. Always looked like he gave a shit, even when he didn't.

He took a step closer, but his eyes dropped, like he couldn't bring himself to meet yours.

"You really done with me?" His words hit you harder than he expected and for the first time, he wasn't the confident, cocky Jax teller. He was vulnerable, raw even. Something you didn’t actually expect.

Before you could even open your mouth, he spoke again, cutting through the silence.

"Can we just talk y/n?...please" You could hear it. The desperation in his voice, and you fucking hated it. You didn't want to care, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that 'please' fucked with you.

Jax steps into the apartment like he had no place to be, but the moment you shut the door behind him, it was like the world stopped.

His eyes were tired, his shoulders slumped. He wasn't angry, he wasn't anything but broken.

You didn't say anything, just stood there, arms crossed your entire body exhausted from the last week of silence, waiting for him to make a choice.

A choice you knew he was never going to make.

"I never meant to..." He starts, his words clumsy, too slow. He shakes his head, trying again. "I never meant for any of this to happen" He just stood there, hands by his sides, the guy you'd spent so many nights with. The guy you thought you knew, but really, you didn't.

You swallow hard, holding your breath. "Stop, Jax. Just stop" you move across the room, looking out the window, your back now facing him.

"What you said the other day..." he began, looking at the floor as he fidgeted with his hands "Its been playin' on my mind"

You stood there, still refusing to look at him and your body, so fucking tense.

"about you being my escape..." he continued, his voice lowering in tone, like he was testing the waters "I can’t..."

You turn to stare at him, waiting for him to finish because you knew where this was going.

"I cant leave" he says suddenly, his hands rubbing away at his face, the frustration creeping back into his voice.

"I can't leave Tara. I can't leave my boys" He walks closer to you, "I cant turn my back on them just to make this..." he gestures between the two of you "...whatever this is work"

The words stung more than you expected. You knew he had a family. You knew all of this, you knew it was fucked up, but so did he. You knew it would end like this, Jesus Christ, it had to end like this but hearing him admit that it will never be anything more?

Fuck, it hurt.

"Then leave me alone!" you interrupt, your voice raw with frustration, the anger slipping into something deeper, more painful. "Stop draggin' me into your bullshit. Stop calling me, stop texting me"

"You think I don’t know how fucked up this is?" he whispers, moving closer to you, “You think I planned on falling in…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead his hands hover just over you, wanting to touch you but before he can make contact, you throw your hands up instinctively, a clear gesture to keep him away.

"Don't" you say, your voice forceful.

He freezes, his fingers barely an inch from you, but the space feels like fucking miles. His breath hitches, his eyes searching yours, trying to figure out what the fuck to do now that you've put this wall up, one he didn't expect.

His face tightens with guilt, and for the first time his eyes are truly meeting yours. He looks vulnerable, lost even. He's breaking in front of you, but still, he won't change his mind. "I don't know how to fix this y/n" the tough exterior he usually wears, starting to slip.

Tears begin to slip down your cheek, you don't even bother wiping them away. "This can't be fixed" its suffocating. The words breaking as they leave your lips.

"I'm sorry" he says, his voice so quiet you almost don't hear it. He steps forward in desperation, his hands shaking as he reaches for yours. His fingers gripping your hands tightly, pulling you towards him,

"I never wanted to hurt you" his voice full of emotion, like he's begging you to understand. He pulls back, but you don't let go. Your grip tightens around his hands, clinging to him as if you're unintentionally trying to make him stay.

No matter how hard you try to hold on, his hand slips from yours, slow and reluctantly, like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do. You hold on as tight as you can, like you know the moment your hands stop touching, it will all fall apart.

But the truth is, it already has.

He stops just before he gets to the door, his back facing you. For a second, you think he might turn around, but he doesn't. He just stands there frozen, as if he's savouring these last few seconds being in your presence.

You stay stood where you are, your chest heaving up and down, you want to say something, want to tell him to stay, but you know you cant make him choose you.

Jax lets the door slam shut behind him, muffling the sounds of your sobs.

And it’s fucking heart breaking.

He knows he’s messed up, played with your feelings, led you on. And now, just like that…it’s over.

Jax unlocks his front door, the house quiet and dark. Tara’s asleep, the kids both tucked in. He drags himself into the kitchen, exhaustion weighing him down. He collapses into a chair, his body sinking into the wood as he lets out a sigh.

For just a second, he lets himself break. The tears escaping as the guilt, the pain and everything he’s been holding in comes rushing to the surface.

He refuses to let the rest fall. Then, the switch flips. His expression hardens, pushing the emotions deep down where they can’t touch him. His mask is back on, as if nothing even happened.

Both of you, torn apart by something that never should have started.

Photos & gifs used are not mine, only edited to fit the story.

ngl it took a lot for me to not end this in smut and actually do the right thing!!!!! But I did, I’m growing lol

feel free to send in requests! I’m on pause with inbox requests at the moment only because I wanna get some part 2’s finished, but will carry on with them soon 🖤

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[dulcescorderitas]

Heyy!!<3 Hope you're doing well today!

Was wondering if you could write up something about Dean x girlfriend reader smoking💚 I don't think Dean is an every day stoner, but I think every now and again he partakes just to keep his mood in check, clear his mind and find some peace for a while. I'm imagining like sitting on the trunk of the Impala, staring up at the stars and sharing a blunt while talking about life and laughing<3

the impala's parked on the side of some deserted backroad, miles away from the neon glow of city lights. out here, the stars feel closer, like you could reach up and pluck one right out of the sky if you wanted to.

dean’s sitting on the trunk, legs spread out like he’s got all the time in the world, one arm draped over his knee while the other holds the blunt between his fingers. he’s already taken a hit, exhaling slow, letting the smoke curl up into the night like it belongs there.

“you ever just think about how fucking small we are?” you ask, leaning back on your hands, staring up at the sky.

he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “not when i can help it.” but he passes you the blunt anyway, watching as you bring it to your lips, inhale deep. the burn hits first, then the slow roll of warmth through your veins, spreading like honey, thick and sweet.

“you should,” you say, holding in the smoke before letting it go. it drifts between you, hanging for a moment before the breeze takes it away. “kinda makes everything feel less important. all the bullshit, y’know?”

dean hums, tilting his head like he’s considering it. “or it makes everything feel worse. like, if none of it matters, why the hell do we keep fighting so hard?”

“’cause we don’t got a choice,” you say simply, taking another hit before passing it back. “but just for tonight, maybe we don’t have to think about it.”

he looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s something softer in his expression, something unguarded. “yeah,” he says, bringing the blunt to his lips again, “maybe.”

the two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of the trees and the distant chirp of crickets. everything feels heavier and lighter at the same time, the way weed has a habit of making things. you lean into his side, your head resting against his shoulder, and he doesn’t move away. just lets you be there, lets the warmth of him settle into you.

“you remember that time we got stuck in that shitty motel in kansas?” he asks suddenly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “the one with the vibrating bed?”

you burst out laughing, the memory hitting all at once. “oh my god, yes! you put a quarter in just to see if it worked and the damn thing almost threw us off.”

“i still think that place was haunted,” he says, taking another hit. “no way in hell that bed moved that fast on its own.”

“or maybe you’re just bad at physics.”

he scoffs, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “watch it, sweetheart.”

you smirk, stealing the blunt from his fingers, letting your lips brush against where his just were. his gaze flickers to your mouth, just for a second, before he looks back up at the sky.

“so,” he says after a moment, voice a little rougher now. “you ever think about just... running away? ditching all this hunter crap and going somewhere quiet?”

it’s a dangerous question. one you’ve both thought about but never dared to say out loud. you glance at him, see the way his jaw tenses, like he already knows the answer.

“sometimes,” you admit. “but it wouldn’t last. we’re too deep in it.”

he nods, doesn’t argue. just watches as you take one last hit before stubbing the blunt out on the metal of the impala’s trunk.

“yeah,” he murmurs, voice almost lost to the night. “i know.”

he shifts then, turning towards you, his eyes dark and a little hazy, his lips parted like he's on the edge of saying something. but he doesn’t speak—just reaches up, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“been thinking about this for a while,” he admits, voice low, rough.

before you can say anything, his lips are on yours, slow at first, tasting of smoke and warmth and something undeniably dean. his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer as the kiss deepens, the air between you thick with heat, with need.

his fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand gripping your hip as he pulls you flush against him. the kiss grows hungrier, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he deepens it, tongue sliding against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. the heat coils low in your belly, a delicious, lazy burn that makes your head spin.

you let out a quiet sound against his mouth, and he groans in response, his hand tightening on your hip. he breaks the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against yours.

“guess we’re not thinking about anything else tonight, huh?” you whisper, lips still tingling.

dean smirks, his thumb brushing over your cheek, then trails lower, his fingers skimming the bare skin beneath your shirt. “not a damn thing.”

tags:@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume

[44forza]

backburner (chapter one)

series masterlist, main masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut. mdni.

tropes: teammates, friends to lovers to enemies ... and back to lovers

word count: 3.3k

summary: charles is boy wonder, prince of monaco, il predestinato, and the clear favorite for the WDC. as the newest addition to the team and only woman on the grid, all eyes are on you as you navigate your way through your 3rd season in f1. your illicit past with your teammate only seems to add to the bubbling tension. will you ever be seen as worthy to ferrari? to charles? inspired by the song backburner by niki

warnings: sexism/misogyny will be heavily discussed in this fic. please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable! there's a decent amount of timeline hopping which is split up by page breaks but everything should be clear. oc is def a black cat character lol but do not be fooled this is a mutually pining situation, they're just kind of stupid and bad at communicating properly.

author's note: chapter one is here!!! i'm so excited to get this out and share this story with u guys. as always please let me know what u think <3 pls send me an ask if u want to be added to the taglist.

you’re ushered through a sea of employees, rosso corsa flanking you from all sides. the gap widens to accommodate you and your escort to the center of the room, though it feels like the room has already swallowed you up entirely. the energy in the room is electric. you feel more like a live wire. fragile like a bomb. as you reach the steps of the stage and meet the eyes of each person there, aside from one, your feet grow heavier with every step. there are words exchanged excitedly upon your appearance, both in english and italian, but it’s hard to hear through the ringing in your head. 

few people in the world have stood here, you think distantly. there isn’t time to ponder if maybe that’s why it feels so lonely. you feel the dialogue whizz by you like their words are flying around the room, circling you. an introduction, probably—a mic is in your hand and you’re expected to address the room at some point. to address your new team. you don’t need to look to see your new teammate's eyes haven’t moved from the floor since your entry. his gaze is the most piercing of all, and you’re glad to be free of it in this moment. 

it’s easy to fall back on rehearsed lines. thank you for the warm welcome, i look forward to meeting everyone and working with you all to fight for another constructors championship this year. the words placate your agent standing nearby even if they dont quite reach your ears as you spew them. you don’t say the words in the back of your throat, how you want to fight for the driver’s championship, how you’re more than a second seat warmer, how you are just as capable as your teammate who can’t even be bothered to acknowledge your presence just a few feet away. it was easier to pretend you didn’t want any of it to begin with. a true team player. 

you’re so consumed in feeling what you shouldn’t be feeling to notice that your teammate is looking now. the type of gaze that seeps into your marrow and back. you wonder what he sees as you lock eyes. there’s more chatter that flits in your ears, groups form to take the two of you away for kit fittings and modifications, but neither of you move. 

his gaze is hypnotizing. it’s strong enough to pick you up and carry you away with it if you aren’t careful. but you are. after last year, you’re more careful than you’ve ever been. it’s easy to forget about all of that though in these small, fleeting moments. it’s only as you’re being pulled away by your race engineer that you note how sad he looks. eyebrows downturned and solemn. it reminds you that you’re angry, and you can’t afford to forget that again. you look away and don’t look back. 

the tour goes smoothly, though you knew it would. ferrari has a reputation for many things, their sterile professionalism being one of them. as you glance around each room and shake hands with every important person ushered your way, you know better than to linger on anyone’s face for a beat too long. you knew what you would find. 

you were an odd choice to be sure. this wasn’t to say you were undeserving. though you try to maintain a humble attitude, you had an impressive couple of years so far in F1. you signed your rookie contract to alpine where you stayed for two years, finishing P5 in last year's constructors championship after a hard fought battle with aston martin. alpine’s car was far from impressive in terms of pace, but that’s never been enough to hold you back. you were fast and consistent. the past year has been full of pushing yourself to the absolute limit physically and mentally to make things shake, as well as secret meetings and phone calls discussing a potential move to many other teams on the grid. but talent isn’t all that makes up a reputation. you’re known to be ruthless on track, determined to win no matter the obstacle or person in front of you. in a sport like this, that should be admirable. but when you’re a woman, and that obstacle or person is charles leclerc, things aren’t quite so easily decided. especially to the tifosi. 

competitiveness is seen as aggression, assertiveness is seen as bitchiness, confidence is seen as arrogance. you’ve grown used to these. most fall like water down your back, now. but on some occasions they burn your skin like a freshly scarred brand. every friendly gesture with another driver is speculated upon, every physical attribute of yours is picked apart online. it’s all a test, anyways. at least it’s hard to not feel that way, hard to not feel like you’re the sacrificial lamb of your generation. fellow women in motorsport know how impossible it is to earn your keep, let alone to climb the ranks into f1. you’ve raced with many women over the years, some equally as talented if not moreso. it’s hard to think back to the people you’ve left behind on your journey to the top, wondering why it was you who made it when there have been so many who have tried. maybe it’s why you race now with a chip on your shoulder. for you, there’s always been so much more at stake than the fame, glory and money. the community that built you and pushed you, all the women and girls watching you from the sidelines and at home, waiting for you to show the world what a woman can do in this sport. so you’ve been aggressive. you’ve been aggressive, bitchy, arrogant, and you fight to win. 

you’ve come to accept that there are some things you can control speculation on and some things that you can’t - your personal relationships becoming media fodder being a main concern. you don’t need to hear what the world thinks about the highest scoring female driver in f1 history throwing away her shot because she got too soft on another driver. you didn’t want to be reduced to a relationship, real or fake. 

what you once had with charles though .. that was real. 

“fresh eyed and bushy tailed, they called me. what a load of shit,” you spit out, furiously walking out of the media pit. “i’m not a fucking squirrel.” 

“i really don’t think they meant it like that y/n. doesn’t that just mean eager? or excited?” oscar follows closely behind. you're quick on your feet but he’s got the leg span of the jolly green giant. damn him.

“wouldn’t that be obvious, though? it’s my first race weekend in formula one, obviously i’m excited to be here. i could do without the woodland animal comparison.”

“you’re in alpine, maybe the clarification is needed,” he jokes. you huff under your breath and swat at his chest which only makes him laugh harder. “iron your face out, champ, or it’ll stay like that forever. then you’ll have all the reporters talking about your fine lines and wrinkles on the front pages tomorrow.” 

that manages to get a laugh out of you. oscar always does, whether you want to or not. damn him again. “maybe that’s for the best, actually. they can talk about my premature aging instead of my tractor for a car.”

“that’s the spirit!” he chimes, voice mimicking the sound of the bell atop the cantina door as he holds it open for you to walk through. 

it’s hard to recall a time before you and oscar were friends. you chock it up to him being raised with sisters the way he always seems to understand you. you were karting age when you first met the brown eyed boy, and you still teasingly tell the story to anyone who will listen how he followed you around that entire first day because he thought a girl racer was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. he pretends that never happened but you know the truth. 

in a world that’s been so critical of your existence, oscar’s presence was a god-send in your most formative years as a driver. without his confidence in you and your abilities, you’re sure you would have given up on your f1 pipedream before even making it to formula 3. 

you love him to bits, but you’ve got half a mind to pour your latte over his head as you bicker back and forth at the cantina coffee bar over cream and sugar. 

“i get that you’re australian and all of you are weirdly anal about your coffee but that’s really not my problem, osc.”

“it’s blasphemy, really. is it even coffee at that point? you’re an athlete for godsake!”

“and you’re a thorn in my side. try adding some sugar to your coffee to help fix that bitter attitude of yours.”

a muffled laugh sounds on your left but you don’t bother to look over, too focused on grabbing a sleeve for your cup from the stack on the counter. 

“remind me to never get on your bad side, y/n.” the voice gives you pause. the hand holding your cup starts to burn as your other hand hovers embarrassingly still over the stack of cup sleeves. when you finally turn your head towards the voice, it’s none other than charles leclerc standing next to you. you know who he is, of course, though you’ve never spoken directly to him. you blink once, and then twice, like a deer in headlights. maybe the woodland animal comparison from earlier was accurate after all. it feels like his eyes have an iron grip on you and you stand there frozen, unchanged. it’s a lighthearted, teasing gaze he gives you, lips curled into an easy smile that flatters him beautifully. you’re too dazed to push that thought away as it passes through your brain. another beat passes and you still haven’t said anything, or moved, something oscar clearly finds all too amusing. 

“charles! what are you doing down here?” oscar’s hand claps onto your shoulder, making you jolt enough to snap out of whatever trance you had fallen in hurriedly looking away. you finally slip the sleeve on your cup before your fingers fall off.  “i didn’t think you usually ate outside of the ferrari hospitality.”

“normally no, you’re right. like y/n here though,” you look back up at the mention of your name. it’s like a siren call the way it slides off his tongue. melodic, almost. “i like my coffee sweet. i’d be willing to bet that italians are worse about coffee than australians, so i come down here to avoid all of that.”

you speak before you realize you’re doing it, “you should tell them to shove it.” charles eyebrows shoot up his forehead. 

“shove it?”

“yeah. who gives a fuck? make it however you want. if they don’t like it just tell them to fuck off. that’s what i do with oscar. he’s annoying so he doesn’t listen, but they might.” 

distantly you hear oscar choke out a laugh from behind you, clearly used to your candor. his hand that’s still on your shoulder half heartedly nudges you forward, clearly chastising you for speaking so freely. charles still has his eyebrows raised and watches amusedly as you take a sip from your cup. you raise your eyebrows back as if to say “what?”

something warm settles deep in your stomach when charles’ eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and the way he’s failing to hide his smile from your advice. “you think i should say that?” 

“it’s what i would do.”

charles lets out a quiet hum at that, nodding along to your words. his eyes still flicker up and down your face, but you’re not sure if it’s purposeful or instinctual. his hand reaches out to you.

"i'm charles."

you take it, shaking it once before letting go. "i know."

“do whatever you’d like obviously,” you turn and start to walk past oscar to the door, reaching for your phone in your back pocket. “i guess i’ll know if you’re here again what you decide.” you throw a halfhearted wave in charles’ direction before you walk through the door. glancing down at your phone, you note that you’ve got enough time to run through strategy notes one more time before heading back to your hotel for the night, so you start walking in the direction of the alpine garage. after a minute or so, you hear rushed footsteps coming up from behind you. 

“so.. what the hell was that?”

“don’t piss me off, osc.”

“okay well, you didn’t see his face after you walked out of there,”

“and i don’t want to hear about it either.” a lie. you’re a liar. but he continues anyway.

“or how he asked if we were ‘together’ while he wistfully watched you walk away. i seriously thought he forgot i was even standing there until he asked me that.”

there’s a little too much bite to your voice now as you quickly ask, “so what’d you say?” 

“ew? what else could i say to that? i walked out right after.”

the sigh you let out comes from deep in your diaphragm. “you’re a pest, you know that?”

“a real pest would have said yes when he asked, he clearly wants you bad.” his sing songy tone of voice pisses you off even more than his words. 

“i don’t have the patience for this.”

“you don’t have the patience for anything, it’s your most consistent character trait.” when you don’t answer, he tries again. “seriously, i don’t get the problem. there’s obviously chemistry there. i know you feel strongly about the world thinking you’re the virgin mary, and i get your reasons why, but they don’t need to know about what you do in private.”

you splinter off from him and start to walk into the alpine garage, tossing your dismissal over your shoulder, “this conversation is over, osc.”

notably, charles does not take your advice. he starts showing up in the cantina every race weekend like clockwork, something oscar finds hilarious. it’s even escalated so far as eating together when you’re all free to do so. you can’t fathom why charles would choose to eat with you and oscar when the ferrari catering must be far better than whatever the general cantina is serving. the last time you voiced that thought to oscar he called you an idiot, so you keep those thoughts to yourself now. 

you’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you enjoy charles’ company. as silly as it might sound to others, it feels a little like giving up. you’ve done everything you could to build up your walls to protect you from scandal in f1, but it all comes crumbling over one boy with beautiful blue eyes? it makes your stomach churn a little with unease.

that’s not to say you felt good about pushing everyone away. the vast majority of the drivers have approached you since the start of the season to at least introduce themselves, though obviously not necessary. you know some of them from your karting days, so the formalities always laid limp to you. you know they’re just being nice, but you keep your usual bite with every conversation you have. it’s easier this way for everyone involved. 

charles seems wholly unperturbed by your attitude which is almost more unsettling than his generally increasing presence in your life. he just won’t go away. calls you “refreshing” which feels like someone has poured ice cold water down the back of your shirt. 

you were half convinced he was sticking around because he knew it was driving you crazy, but the more tooth-rotting coffee you drink together the more you’ve come to realize that he’s simply too nice to scheme like that. you haven’t been overtly mean in your time with him, albeit a little short and quick to leave the room when you felt uncomfortable, but that’s just second nature to you. leave it to you to attract the attention of the most popular driver on the grid when you’re trying to keep your head down in the media. you can hear oscar’s laugh ringing in your head like a school bell.

refreshing. who the hell does he think he is?

but you can’t deny that it’s nice. he’s nice. to sit across from someone else and have them ask you questions because they genuinely want to know the answers is nice. you’ve only ever really had oscar as a friend in the racing world and he knows you like the back of his hand—you’ve never wanted another friend, never needed one. but then again, no one has ever tried this hard. 

you are at least self aware enough to acknowledge that there’s an edge to everything charles does and says to you. there’s a thrum of attraction flowing between both of you, another thing that makes you want to bury your head in the sand and never come back up for air. even if charles had successfully weasled his way into trying to be your friend, that’s all you could allow this to be. it already feels like too much. a crack in your facade. 

you have enough to worry about, like how you’re about to race singapore in a billion degree heat in a brick for a car. you have half a mind to ask for an IV drip at the alpine hospitality just to prepare your body for how much fluid you’re going to lose. as you and oscar walk into the cantina on press day, charles is already standing to the side holding two cups. he hands one to you with a gentle, “let me know how it is” before you’re able to say anything. 

you blink in his face, just like the day you met. oscar mumbles a “jesus christ” before stepping around you two to get his own. you take a sip and nod. it’s all you’re able to do when he looks at you like that. like you’re the first good thing he’s seen all day. 

“it’s good?”

you hum in agreement. his 5 billion gigawatt smile lights up his face and he knocks his cup against yours. “cheers.”

the pit in your stomach grows.

the rest of the day goes on without incident. you finished the ferrari hq tour feeling like the pope, shaking hands and kissing babies. the crowd of tifosi roar as you walk outside and you wave to as many people as you can before you’re pushed into the car waiting to take you back. it’s hard not to feel like this is the world fattening you up like a pig before the slaughter. there’s no higher pedestal to fall from. your lifelong dream of racing in red finally realized, only no one really believes in your ability to stay there. not even yourself. even oscar has a hard time remaining positive about it. your phone lights up with another text from him. 

“he didnt say anything?????? wdym?”

you sigh, locking your phone before resting your temple against the car window.

you foolishly let your mind wander to charles. what he thinks of you being there, whether he thinks of you at all. how he could look so sad standing next to you on stage when he’s the reason you haven’t spoken in months. you aren’t even sure what you’d want to hear if you asked him. he said enough in cota last year to speak for a lifetime. you only wish you could forget it. 

another ding brings your train of thought to a screeching halt. 

“hi y/n. it’s charles. are you able to meet me for coffee tomorrow before we go in for marketing shots?”

[h3nderyss]

finally home - yoo kihyun

pairing: kihyun x fem!reader . . . masterlist genre: fluff (?) angst (?) word count: 562 a/n: kihyun discharge day and im crying.. just finished watching the welcome live (it's 5am rn) and ohh i missed him so much :(

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

the apartment felt emptier without him.

days blurred together, the hum of the city outside your window a constant reminder that time was moving forward, even when your heart remained stuck in place, waiting.

every morning, you woke to the same routine–pouring 2 cups of coffee out of habit, only to sigh and pour one back into the pot. his side of the bed remained untouched, the sheets cold, his scent fading with each passing day.

you had tried to fill the void with distractions–work, friends, hobbies–but nothing could replace the warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter, the way he would hum mindlessly while doing whatever.

kihyun had been gone for (nearly) 2 years, serving his mandatory military service, and while you had known from the start that waiting would be hard, you hadn't anticipated just how much it would ache. the distance was suffocating.

letters and occasional phone calls helped, but they were fleeting, moments of light swallowed by the vast emptiness that followed. you missed everything–the way he would tease you, the way he would hold you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

nights were the hardest. you would curl up beneath the blankets, phone clutched to your chest, rereading his last message until exhaustion pulled you under.

and the day finally came, he was coming home.

you had spent the entire morning pacing, heart hammering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. the hours stretched unbearably, each minute crawling by.

you had replayed your reunion a thousand times in your mind, wondering what you would say, how he would look. would he have changed?

would he still feel the same?

but all those thoughts vanished the moment you heard the familiar sound of the key turning in the lock.

the door creaked open, and there he stood.

kihyun.

he looked different–his hair was longer than the buzz, his features slightly more defined, but his eyes, those warm, expressive eyes, held the same love, the same fire that had always drawn you to him. for a moment, neither of you moved, just drinking each other in, overwhelmed by the reality of the moment.

and then, you rushed to him.

his arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you in, holding you so tightly it was as if he was afraid you'd disappear. your fingers clutched at the fabric of his jacket, your face buried in his chest, inhaling deeply, taking in the scent of home–his scent.

he was here. he was real. and the weight of every lonely night, every tear shed in his absence, came crashing down all at once.

"i missed you," you choked out, voice muffled against him.

kihyun exhaled shakily, "i know baby," pressing his lips to your hair, "i missed you more."

you pulled back just enough to look at him, hands trembling as they cupped his face. his skin was warm beneath your touch, lips parting as if they wanted to say something, but instead, he just leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"you waited for me," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

"of course i did."

his lips curled into the softest, most beautiful smile you had ever seen before he finally closed the distance, kissing you with all the love, all the longing, all the promises that had been left unspoken for 2 years.

and just like that, he was home.

[dokidokistart]

link to the store here

[tojipie]

˚ ✧ ────────

you’re 5 minutes into your first round and to be quite honest, you’ve never been more sure that fushiguro toji and his god given ability to dirty talk is something you’ll take to your grave.

you’d been with other guys before, ones with a nasty habit of running their mouths during sex. ones that’d grab you by the neck and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how they couldn’t wait to fuck you again.

toji is entirely different. nothing, and i truly mean nothing, compares to that old man when it comes to mouthing off in the bedroom. he’s formulating sentences you never thought possible, spewing stuff that would have you clutching your pearls and running for the hills any other given day.

you’re holding onto your composure by your teeth hearing him say the things he does, thighs and arms burning as you rock back and forth on his dick.

“take what you need pretty. uh huh, keep fucking me,” he chuckles, winding a fist into your hair to pull you back onto his cock when he notices you trying to crawl away.

you honestly don’t think you can take it anymore. if the way your guts were currently being pummeled into oblivion wasn’t enough, the way he’s talking to you right now has you in crisis.

it’s all too good, suspiciously good, and embarrassingly enough, you think you might be nearing your edge only 7 minutes after making it to his bed. your arms fail you as you try to crawl up the bed and away from the too-good feeling currently frying every wire in your brain.

“awww, you runnin’ from me?,” he laughs, letting your hair go to cage you in from behind, two solid arms settling on either side of your head.

your words escape you each time you muster up a response, eyes rolling back and he takes over again, shoving you face down and absolutely destroying that special spot tucked away inside of you. toji’s like a furnace, cooking you alive with the heat the radiates add his abs and chest.

“told ya you couldn’t handle it,” he teases, watching you writhe under him. “not with this dick.”

you feel something wet—a tongue you realize— traveling up the base of your spine and tapering off at your neck before solid teeth clamp down on the skin there.

okay, wow. fuck. you realize he’d lapped up the moisture settling in the dip of your back, licking the sweat from your skin like an animal.

“gonna let me taste every part of you? hmm?” he says in that too sweet voice you only hear when he’s teasing. he lets go of your neck with a pop to admire the bruise his bite leaves in its wake, sucking another one right under it for good measure.

you fall over the edge with no warning, so overwhelmed with pleasure that your mind and body continue to work separately.

the sound toji makes is beautiful. low, long, and guttural. radiating from the deepest part of his chest like a fan, and for a minute, you think he might be feeling the same overwhelming pleasure you are.

“ughh-hah don’t move, don’t move,” he whispers over and over, massaging the fat of your ass while your body flutters around him. you feel something viscous leak out of you, dripping down the seam of your heat and onto the sheets.

“when the fuck did you have time to cum?,” you finally muster. you don’t think you’d be able to move if your life depended on it, limbs sinking into the mattress like tubes of jelly. you really can’t move once you feel 200 pounds of laughing muscle settle on top of you, keeping you grounded like a paperweight on a measly little envelope.

“what, y’ quitting on all of this?” he laughs, gesturing up and down himself so you know just how irresistible he thinks he is. the worst part is that he’s right, just based off of how hard he’d rocked your world in the last 10 or so minutes.

you feel invigorated by some stroke of a miracle, pressing back on his still-leaking dick as a silent invitation.

“what, more? y’need more of me you little minx?” he laughs, grrriiiinding his tip right up against that fleeting spot you would have never been able to get to on your own.

and just like that he’s back to fucking you, pulling you into him like a toy at that same perfect pace.

“bite me hard if y’ want me to stop, you hear me?” he commands, shoving your face back into the pillows once he sees you nod.

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[chastiefoul]

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive  you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

[stellawish]

precious

summary: just cuteness thats it

MY LOVE❤️‍🔥

he’s not up yet?

nah steel sleeping😴

okay omw

Satoru looked away from the phone and glanced at his son. He rubbed his still-closed eyes with tiny fists. Gojo expected crying, but his baby just sighed.

Your son almost always woke up without fuss, greeting you or Satoru with his sweet smile. But lately, he’s been crying more often during that fine line between the sweet remnants of sleep and waking up. Teething is to blame.

Satoru turned to his side, placed his large palm on Haru’s plump belly, and slowly stroked it. "Papa’s here."

Although Gojo always sulks when the little boy sleeps (since his baby is so cute and he always wants to play with him), there have been times when he accidentally woke Haru during naps because he kissed and poked his chubby son too hard. You always scold him for that.

But now he understands that his little one sleeps restlessly, so he tries to protect his light sleep.

Lost in thought, Gojo didn’t notice any movement beside him until he felt tiny fingers wrapping around his much larger one.

Haru turned his head and smiled sweetly, revealing dimples on his flushed cheeks.

"Hi, baby! Did you have a good nap?"

Your son stretched his short arms, then rolled onto his stomach, smiling shyly. Gojo pulled him closer, supporting his back. Sitting next to him, Haru rubbed his sleepy eyes and yawned.
Gojo kissed his son’s soft tummy.

Haru moved even closer to his father, rubbing his chubby cheek against Gojo's like a kitten.

"Aww, my baby!"

Your husband definitely passed on the gene for the love of physical contact to his boy.

Satoru cooed, "I missed you too! Now tell Papa, what dreams did you have? Was Mama there?" Haru babbled as if answering the question.

When you said you gave birth to an exact copy of Gojo, you weren't even kidding. Besides the identical appearance, your son was just as talkative as his papa.

Gojo lay on his back and put his son on top. Haru reached out his hands to Papa's face and patted his cheeks while giggling. Satoru wiped the drool from his rosy lips and stroked his soft cheek.

"You're the most precious baby in the whole world," Gojo cooed.

"Ahuu"

more dad!gojo and Haru HERE

guys if you want me to add you to my taglist lmk

luv you!💫

all rights reserved ©stellawish. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[0mg-bird]

Hangman’s Mystery - J Seresin x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Shy! Fem! Reader

Summary: Jake takes you to meet the crew after claims of him hiding you from them. You’re extremely shy and aren’t a fan of lots of people, making Jake be more protective of you. For once, Rooster knows more about Jake’s life than the others do.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety - protective Jake- Fluff!- language.

“All I’m saying is it’s a little suspicious.” Payback says, opening his locker up. Jake just rolls his eyes, preparing himself to go through this debate one more time.

“I hate to say this, but I agree with him.” Fanboy pipes in, pulling his flight suit off.

Somehow, the conversations lately always turn back to you. Ever since the flight crew found out Jake’s been seeing someone and it wasn’t a casual hook up, they’ve bugged him about it ever since. It had come up one night at the Hard Deck, when Coyote suggested to a perky blonde, who had been hitting on him, to focus her attention on the southern boy who was playing pool. She eyed Jake up, pleased with what was in her gaze and moved in on him.

Some of the boys gathered around to watch the cocky pilot work his magic. Coyote figured he was doing the pilot a favor since he hadn’t been seen with a girl on his arm in a while. Imagine their surprise when Jake took a step away from the grasp on his bicep.

“What’s he doing?” Payback questions, looking appalled.

“Is he sick?” Phoenix asked as she finished her beer.

Jake had smiled politely and rejected all advances the girl made, sending her away and going straight to his pool game again.

By the time Rooster came around with a fresh drink, the group scrambled to fill him in on the alien sight they just witnessed.

“He sent her away.” Phoenix said with a slack jaw.

“Like a poor puppy.” Coyote joked.

Rooster took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like they were idiots. “Yeah, he already has a girl.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed.

Ever since that night a week ago, Jake was being grilled on it.

As he takes out a fresh shirt to slip on, Jake shakes his head. “Coyote is getting married, and y’all are icing me for having commitment?”

Payback nods. “Well that’s because we knew of his fiancée, you have been hiding this girl like a dirty little secret.”

“I think him and Bradshaw are pulling our leg.” Coyote pipes in. “I think he made her up just to fuck with us.”

Jake laughs out loud. “You are just being ridiculous now.”

Bob, who has been quiet the entire time, ‘lurking’ as the crew likes to say, finally uses his smug voice. “Look, Seresin, I get it. I had a fake girlfriend too one time in high school, it’s embarrassing to admit, buddy.” His words make the guys laugh, and Jake shuts his locker with a loud clank. “She’s not fake! She just doesn’t really like hanging out with dick heads like you guys. She’s real shy.” He glares.

“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Fanboy states. “Yeah, we want to meet her. You bring her to the Hard Deck on Friday night if she’s real, or else we will never stop bugging you about it.” He says, giving Jake a harsh choice.

His hand runs down his face. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“He’ll talk to her about it, he says.” Coyote scoffs. “Okay Seresin, go talk to your fake girlfriend about it.”

“She’s not fake!”

~~~~~~~

“Baby?” He calls, walking through your front door. Moving to set his small duffle bag on the counter, he toes off his boots, trying to place where you were in the sea side house. It was oddly quiet, maybe you had your head phones in, oblivious to the world outside.

Down the hall he goes, pushing open your cracked bedroom door. Your scrubs were tossed in the corner, almost making it into the laundry hamper. You lay sprawled in bed, hair out of your braid, asleep in one of Jake’s t shirts he left at your house and some boxer shorts.

Slowly, he creeps to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as he strokes your hair. You slowly start to stir, opening your bright eyes to him. A smile creeps up your pink lips, you take a deep breath in and twist to sit up.

“Hi.” You grin, happy he’s here.

“You alright? It’s only five, you look tired.” His voice was calm, sweet to you as he stroked the under side of your chin with his finger.

You rubbed your eyes. “Long day.” You breathe. “Mr. Johnson passed this morning.”

Jake’s eyes grow heavy with sorrow for you. He knew that this was normal for you because you were an at home nurse and a lot of the time the elderly patients pass. “I’m sorry, honey.” He says, leaning to kiss your forehead.

You lean into his touch. “It’s alright, I should be used to it by now but…I don’t know, Mr. Johnson was a sweet man, I actually adored his company.” You softly laugh. “But, that’s life, I’ll be fine.”

Pushing the covers further off of you, you lean forward and sweetly kiss the man that’s been in your life for five months. Despite the somewhat short time period, you couldn’t imagine life being any different than what it is. Your mother and sister called you crazy for being with an aviator, reminding you that he won’t stay in town forever, that he is quite literally owned by the government and will be wherever he is assigned to. The thought was scary, getting so attached to someone just for him leave when his ship comes in. It made your anxiety tick higher when you thought about it for too long. But, you don’t think you’ve ever been this in love. You’ll be the first to admit that you’ve never been a social butterfly, you were stuck in a shell, hardly bothering to get close to new people. Your handful of friends knew this about you, so it was a surprise when they met Jake and all of his infectious attitude. Somehow, Jake had a way of prying that shell open, his strong hands took you off the shelf and he learned that there’s a light hearted, good time, girl under all the shy innocence. He loved you for both versions, and it made you love him even more.

You declared that if you could, you’d follow him anywhere.

As he takes a shower, probably using your shampoo, you move to figure out what it is that you wanted to make for dinner.

You turn on some music, cracking a beer open and taking a drink. Soon, the kitchen is full of a delicious scent that Jake smells all the way from the bedroom. He follows the waft, sweatpants low on his hips and a casual tank top over his upper half. Finding you stirring some vegetables, he kisses the side of your head, then snatches the half drank bottle from your hand. This is usually the routine, you can never finish the drink you intend to, so he’s there to finish it for you.

“I want to…ask you something.” He says, leaning back against the counter.

You hum in question, and he loves the little look you toss him from over your shoulder.

“You wanna go out on Friday night?” He asks, making you smile. “Sure, where do you want to go?” You ask, unsure why he seems off.

“Well, I think since I’ve met your friends, you should meet mine. Let’s go to the Hard Deck with them, honey.”

You immediately stop your movements, anxiety sweeping over you. “Jake…I don’t know…a bar…”

“I met you in a bar.” He reminds with a smug look.

“That was different.” You turn to face him. “I was dragged there for my sister’s twenty first birthday and you know I hated it the whole time.”

He smiles at your pointed look. “Yes, I know but this will be different. Look, we’ll go, say hi, prove you actually exist, then come home and have sex on the couch.”

Your eyes widen. “Jake!” You gasp at his bluntness.

“Fine, we’ll do it in the shower.”

“Just stop talking.” You shake your head, hiding your smile. “The crew really doesn’t think I exist?”

He comes to grips with your waist. “They think I’ve made you up, like some sad Freshman geek…like i’m Bob or something.”

“Who’s Bob?” You ask with confusion.

His head dips to your neck. “Come to the bar and you’ll figure it out.” He mumbles, inhaling your scent before nipping at your skin. It makes you laugh, desperate to push him away but his strong arms have you locked in.

Something about him could make you forget anything. Sadness, anxiety, tiredness…the veggies that are burning in the skillet.

As his mouth moves up your throat, he’s engulfing you like a starved man. You try to speak before he’s inhaling you deeply, pulling you impossibly closer with his mouth on yours, searing you with a kiss that makes your knees weak.

“Jake- baby- mm.” You battle. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Jake- vegetables are charring.”

He finally lets go of you, grinning at your laugh and the way you stumble slightly as he lets you go.

~~

Clammy hands run down your jeans, once, twice, three times before Jake pulls you towards the entrance.

“They’re not gonna like me.” You stress.

“They’ll love you.” He states, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“They’ll be bored of me in two seconds.” You continue.

“No they won’t, just breathe, honey.”

You’re submerged into a room full of talk and music, some rowdy college kids are being thrown out and you’re sure you stepped in a puddle of spilled margarita. Your eyes are wide, and you shift closer into the larger body beside you. Jake leans down to whisper in your ear that it’s calmer in the back.

By the pool table, a group is gathered there and you immediately assume this is the infamous crew.

Phoenix is the first to notice, she smacks Payback and Fanboy, motioning for them to look alive.

“Well well, here he is, the man himself.” Coyote says smugly, setting his pool stick down.

A shorter pilot approaches you. “How much did he pay you to be here?” He asks, confusing you.

“What?”

“Just joking, I’m Reuben, but everyone calls me Payback, and you’re gorgeous.” He takes your hand in greeting, making your face heat with surprise and embarrassment.

Payback is pushed aside, and replaced by another. “I’m Fanboy, his back seater which means he’d be shit outa luck if he didn’t have me saving his ass.”

You shake his hand too, unsure of what to say.

“So, what’s your name? Wait, what was the last one, Jake? Abbi? Alison? Sorry, he has a thing for A names. Your name start with an A?” His tone is teasing, but he’s so straightforward, it makes things awkward.

Jake’s grip tightens on you. “Cut it out, Garcia.” He slowly said with a warning look.

Fanboy puts his hands up in defense. “Just trying to get to know this mystery girl you hid from us, Hangman.” He claims, then goes back to your gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You say softly, brushing him off.

You’re introduced to more guys, all who make some sort of snide comment about your relationship with Jake, well, except for Bob who was utterly polite. To your surprise, you’re introduced to Natasha greets you with a hug.

“Well, you’re real and not crazy so that’s a plus.” She jokes, making you chuckle. “You want something to drink?” She asks.

“You’re sweet, thank you. I’ll just take a beer, I’m not picky.” You say in a grateful tone, she nods, saying she’ll be right back.

Moving in from outside, Rooster makes his appearance.

“I missed the meet and greet? Damn.” He says, making you turn with a grin.

“Bradley, hi!” You greet, stepping away from Jake’s embrace momentarily. Rooster hugs you politely. “Hey girly, how are you?”

The crew grows a sour look.

“You two already know each other?” Coyote asks.

Rooster nods. “I was there when her and Hangman met.” He says so casually.

“Bradley and Ashley come over for lunch sometimes.” You add, making the group look at each other.

“Does no one tell us anything anymore or…” Bob trails off.

The night continues with chatter and worthless bets on pool shots. At no point does your hand leave Jake, whether it’s intertwined with his or on his arm, his back, your finger hooked on his belt loop, anything. It might make you look needy, but it’s something that eases your nerves.

When you do pull away from him with intention of finding the bathroom, he immediately turns when your warmth is gone.

“Where you goin’?” He questions.

“The ladies room, a place you can’t follow me in to.” You tease, starting to walk away.

He’s eyes scan the room, then watch you closely. He doesn’t miss the amount of guys that turn to watch you, scanning you up and down, definitely making comments about how good you fit in your jeans.

His paranoia gets the better of him, he marches across the bar to the hallway where the restrooms are. Back leaned against the wall, he waits, standing guard, in his mind, but the pilots call him a puppy.

“Mystery girl went and made him a golden retriever.” Payback laughs.

Fanboy nods. “We’ve lost him for good. What’s he gonna do when he leaves next month for Po-dunk, Texas- or wherever he’s from?”

They all watch as you and Jake slowly start to walk back to the group. Rooster, who finishes his beer, simply shrugs and leans to line his pool stick up. “He says he’s gonna take her with him and marry her.”

“What?!”

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: The Couple That Could Have Been

Tim Drake and Danny Fenton weren’t just Gotham’s it couple—they were the couple.

Tim, the poised and brilliant CEO, and Danny, the charismatic streamer with a chaotic streak, were the kind of pair that inspired faith in love. Their relationship was public but never performative. The candid photos, the impromptu livestreams where Danny would drag Tim into the frame to tease him about his “ridiculously expensive suits,” the way Tim would smile when he thought no one was looking—it all seemed so real, so untouchable.

For years, they were inseparable, the picture of what love should look like. And Gotham believed in them. People joked that they’d be together in every timeline, every universe, because how could they not be? They were made for each other.

So when Danny uploaded a new video one unassuming Tuesday, everyone thought they knew what was coming.

The engagement announcement.

Danny’s setup was different this time—gone were the familiar vibrant backgrounds and playful chaos. The walls were bare, his face somber, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard.

“Tim and I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “We’ve decided to go our separate ways.”

What?

No, that couldn’t be right.

This was Tim and Danny. The couple everyone was convinced would make it through anything. The couple people joked would find each other in every timeline, every universe, because it was always them.

But Danny kept talking, his voice trembling as he explained—without really explaining—that they couldn’t make it work. No details, no messy drama, just a quiet goodbye that left everyone feeling like the air had been stolen from the room.

———

The Batfamily found out the same way everyone else did—through Danny’s video. They hadn’t even realized anything was wrong. The last time they saw Tim and Danny together, they’d been the same as always: teasing, bantering, comfortable in each other’s presence.

Bruce was the first to confront Tim about it, cornering him in the Manor with that familiar stern frown.

“Tim, what happened?”

Tim didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know either.

Danny had been the one to end it. One day they were fine—perfect, even—and the next, he was breaking up with Tim over coffee, quiet and somber, like he was grieving something Tim couldn’t see.

“I just… we can’t,” Danny had said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Tim. I love you. I’ll always love you. But we can’t keep doing this.”

And that was it. No further explanation.

Now, Tim was left packing up his things from the apartment they’d shared, trying to piece together what went wrong. Danny was on the other side of the room, just as quiet, boxing up his own belongings. They didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The space between them had never felt so vast.

“I love you,” Danny had said, his voice breaking. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t… we can’t keep doing this.”

And just like that, it was over.

And Danny? Danny knew exactly why.

———

Danny Fenton was a coward.

He’d gone to Clockwork for help after the first heartbreak, unable to bear the thought of living in a world without Tim Drake. He couldn’t undo the pain of losing Tim to the Justice League’s doomed mission, but he could relive the good years.

Clockwork had hesitated.

“This is dangerous, Daniel,” he warned, but Danny didn’t care. He didn’t want to forget Tim. He didn’t want to move on.

So Clockwork granted him his wish.

Again and again, Danny went back. Every time their relationship reached the point of no return—where Tim’s inevitable death loomed on the horizon—Danny would break up with him, retreat to Clockwork, and start over. He couldn’t bear to see Tim die, not again.

But the cycle wasn’t perfect. The cracks showed with each repetition. Danny’s breakups became harder to explain, his excuses more transparent. He could see the hurt in Tim’s eyes, the way his walls went up higher and higher with every iteration.

And still, Danny went back.

Because he couldn’t stop.

Because he couldn’t let go.

———

This time, though, it was different.

This time, as he packed his things, Danny felt the weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like never before. Tim wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even questioning it anymore.

He just looked tired.

And Danny hated himself for being the reason why.

The world moved on, but Gotham felt the loss of Tim and Danny like a phantom limb.

The bats watched Tim retreat further into himself, his work becoming his sole focus, an impenetrable wall between him and everyone else. They wanted answers, but Tim wouldn’t give them. And Danny? Danny disappeared from Gotham entirely, his absence leaving a wound that never seemed to heal. Maybe that’s why Tim would find himself on that mission, before Danny's loop restarted everything again—caught in the endless cycle of fate, unaware of how close he was to losing it all for good.

Clockwork didn’t say anything when Danny returned again, his face pale and his hands shaking. He just stared at Danny with quiet pity, his form shifting through time as if he were trying to decide what version of himself could make Danny stop.

“You can’t keep doing this, Daniel,” Clockwork said softly.

Danny didn’t answer.

Because he knew he’d be back.

Because he couldn’t stop.

Because he’d rather relive the heartbreak a thousand times than face another world where Tim Drake was gone for good.

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.