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wosospacegirl · 1 day ago

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And they were roommates - part 13

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate, Kyra, is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: (+18) SMUT. face sitting, scissoring, fingering (r giving everything)– the holy trinity. Plus Y/n's first step and run, ugly matching socks, and Leah being annoying as usual.

Word count: 8k

a/n: this is a scheduled post, I'm working.

Masterlis

It took Y/n a few days to open up about her fear.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Kyra had come back from training. Y/n didn’t go that day, no reason to go to physio if your exercise involved walking and you were too scared to walk.

Kyra opened the door, took off her shoes and threw her keys onto the counter and went to the sofa, where Y/n was lying. Kyra joined her, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.

For a long while, neither spoke. Y/n stared straight ahead at the TV, just like the past few days, her gaze unfocused, lost in a world of her own thoughts.

Finally, almost too quietly to be heard, Y/n muttered, “I’m scared it’ll break again.”

Kyra turned her head slowly, at first surprised to hear Y/n’s voice, but then her heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/n’s voice.

She didn’t say anything right away; she didn’t need to. Instead, she reached out, resting her hand gently on Y/n’s leg, offering silent comfort.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, and she blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t cry–at least not in the way most people would expect–but there was something raw in her voice when she added.

“I know it’s dumb. I just... I keep thinking if I try to walk and something goes wrong…that’s it.”

Kyra’s voice was gentle when she spoke, her hand still resting on Y/n’s leg.

“It’s not dumb.” She nudged a little closer, her knee brushing against Y/n’s, her voice was soothing.

“You’ve been through a lot, but you’ve done everything right, you had surgery, physio, medication–there’s no reason for it to break again.

Y/n nodded, the weight on her shoulders lightening just a fraction.

She stayed still, letting Kyra’s touch and words sink in. The tension wasn’t gone, but it felt easier to breathe, to lean into the warmth Kyra offered.

Kyra exhaled through her nose and gave her a gentle squeeze, her voice firm but filled with warmth.

“But when you’re ready, really ready, you’ll take that step. No rush, okay?”

Y/n nodded once, feeling more at ease, but not completely.

It would take time. And that was okay. They didn’t have to rush at this moment.

Kyra could tell that something had shifted, just the smallest bit.

Y/n wasn’t the scared cat she used to be when it came to these moments. She wasn’t pushing away or retreating.

She was leaning in, allowing Kyra to be a place of comfort.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a quiet space for healing.

They just leaned into the sofa, the proximity between them a silent reminder that they were in this together.

Kyra rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder, rubbing small, soothing circles on her arm. The weight of Y/n’s confession hung in the air, fragile and real.

After a moment, Kyra pressed a soft kiss to Y/n’s temple, her lips lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/n shifted a little, pressing her cheek into Kyra’s shoulder. “You know what would make me feel better?”

Kyra perked up, a playful glint entering her eyes. “Oh my god. Pizza?”

Y/n blinked, looking at her with an almost shocked expression. “No?”

“Okay, okay...tacos?” Kyra tried again.

“No,” Y/n answered slowly, fighting the small smile creeping onto her lips. “Stop guessing. I’m trying to be sexy right now.”

Kyra blinked, then let out a breathless laugh. “Oh,” she said, her voice soft and amused.

Y/n grinned and shifted, crawling into Kyra’s lap. Her hands found their way to Kyra’s waist, fingers brushing across the fabric of her shirt.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her lips brushing just barely against Kyra’s as she leaned in closer. “Unless you would prefer pizza…”

Kyra smirked, already pulling her closer, their mouths meeting in a slow, heated kiss.

It was soft at first, exploring, but something flickered in the air, a shift that made the kiss deepen, more urgent, as Y/n’s hands slid beneath Kyra’s shirt.

Y/n took her time, no rush, savouring the sensation of Kyra’s body beneath her hands, enjoying the way Kyra responded to her touch.

Her hands quickly were on Kyra’s tits, cupping them as her thumb caressed the skin just below her breasts.

Her mouth moved from Kyra’s lips to her jaw, then lower, tracing a path down her throat.

Every little touch was intentional, drawing out the moment, making Kyra gasp, her hands tangling in Y/n’s hair, nails scraping gently against her scalp.

“Love,” Kyra breathed, voice trembling, “you’re teasing”

Y/n smiled against her skin, the teasing tone in her voice never faltering. “Just…let me enjoy you.”

And Kyra didn’t need to answer.

She didn’t have to, because the way her body responded told Y/n everything she needed to know.

When Y/n finally pulled back, her breath shallow and her cheeks flushed, she gave Kyra a wicked grin, her eyes dark with desire.

She moved back onto the sofa, sitting up, and then lying down on top of a cushion.

“Sit on my face,” Y/n says casually, as if she were asking for a glass of water.

Kyra blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, sit–” Y/n licked her lips, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “--on my face.”

Kyra’s mouth opened and then closed, her breath catching in her throat. “You’re still technically recovering–”

“My mouth works fine”. Y/n raised an eyebrow, her voice low, dripping with confidence. “I thought you would know that by now.”

The weight of the request made Kyra’s legs feel like jelly, but her body was already reacting to the heat between them.

She wasn’t exactly shy with Y/n, no, they were past that point, but this felt different.

This was vulnerable in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just physical. It was intimate in a way that made her feel exposed. Especially because she didn’t have much experience with it.

Kyra hesitated, her face flushing slightly as she glanced down at Y/n.

“I’ve, um… never done this before,” she admitted, voice quiet. “You know… sat on someone’s face.”

Y/n smiled softly. “I know, baby,” she said, voice low and tender, her hands smoothing over Kyra’s thighs.

“You’ve told me. But I’m here, okay? We’ll take it slow.” She gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Kyra was silent, looking down.

She wanted to. Bloody hell, she needed it, but it was like the fear of messing it up, of not doing it right, was stronger.

“Kyra,” she murmured, her voice soft, “it’s okay. I’ve got you. You can trust me. Just… come here.”

Y/n held onto Kyra’s hips, making the girl hover over them. Y/n kissed her, very lazily, trying to show her she could relax, let go.

Y/n stopped the kiss, her hands were on Kyra's jaw, holding her in place so she could look at her.

“It’s just me and you–we can experience things together, yeah?”

That simple reassurance, warm and grounding, made Kyra’s heart flutter.

She nodded slowly.

“Good, baby,” Y/n said gently. Her voice didn’t have an ounce of teasing, just patience, tenderness. “Why don’t you take your clothes off for me?”

Kyra blushed, but nodded again. “My underwear too?”

“Yes, love.”

Kyra tried to ignore Y/n’s lingering gaze as she undressed completely.

She stood in front of Y/n, hands playing with her own fingers.

“Now, you sit,” Y/n said, putting her head straight.

“O-okay.”

Kyra took one step closer to Y/n, and then she placed both her legs on either side of Y/n’s body. Y/n held her hips and helped Kyra lower herself, so she was straddling Y/n’s head.

Kyra hovered for a moment, uncertainty still lingering in her mind, but something in the way Y/n looked up at her, so sure, made it all feel right.

Y/n grinned. “You can sit.”

“What if I crush you?”

“I promise you won’t crush me.”

Kyra’s breath hitched, a nervous laugh slipping from her lips. “You sure?”

Y/n’s gaze was intense, but her voice was steady and soft. “I’m so sure.”

And with that, Kyra finally gave in, lowering herself fully onto Y/n.

The shift in weight was subtle, her breath hitching as Y/n’s warm hands immediately found her thighs, fingers gripping firmly, grounding her.

Y/n’s mouth hovered over Kyra’s cunt, kissing it gently, her breath hot against her sensitive skin.

The moment felt like a delicate dance, a mix of vulnerability and desire. Slow, steady, and maddening, as Y/n pressed her lips to the soft skin of Kyra’s inner thigh, the touch was light but still deliberate.

Kyra’s breath faltered, her body trembling just slightly, her legs instinctively tightening around Y/n as the girl finally found her clit, sucking it slowly, teasing.

“T-this is so good–” Kyra whispered, voice thick with surprise and need as she moved her hips against Y/n’s mouth, rubbing her cunt against her face. “Baby–”

Y/n smiled against her skin, a slow, teasing grin, her mouth tracing a tender path up Kyra’s leg. But she didn’t say anything.

She could’t, she had a whole meal right in front of her face.

Her hands moved in lazy, intricate patterns, tracing the curve of Kyra’s thigh, fingertips brushing the soft, warm skin as she licked at Kyra’s hole.

“Yeah? Feels nice?” Y/n murmured, voice low, her breath mingling with the heat of the moment.

The question hung in the air, full of both challenge and tenderness, as she waited for Kyra’s response. She didn’t do anything until she got a reaction from Kyra.

The girl finally nodded, her breath catching in her throat as Y/n’s mouth continued its slow, deliberate journey.

Every movement was careful, teasing, and Kyra felt herself melting under the pressure of it. The heat of Y/n’s lips, the gentle pressure of her hands guiding her.

As Y/n’s mouth moved higher, then lower again, she could feel her body reacting, every sensitive spot igniting under Y/n’s touch. Her clit, her hole–everywhere.

Y/n knew how to touch her, how to please her in any position possible.

Kyra found herself gasping, her legs trembling beneath the steady rhythm.

“Baby,” Kyra breathed, her voice thick with desire, as Y/n’s lips brushed against her again. “You’re really–fuck–good at this.”

Y/n’s answer was only in the continued pressure of her mouth, slowly, in a way that made Kyra’s head spin.

There was no rush, just the steady building tension as Y/n expertly navigated every inch of her, knowing just how to push her, how to pull her in deeper with each touch.

Her hands, firm but gentle.

Kyra felt herself surrendering completely, her body trembling with anticipation, with need, and Y/n was right there, never once faltering, her tongue was warm and wet, working in and out of Kyra’s cunt.

And then, when Kyra couldn’t take it any longer, her body shook with the release, a broken sound escaping her lips before she could stop it.

The waves of sensation hit her all at once, a rush of heat and pressure, and she let herself go, her hands gripping the back of the sofa, her whole body trembling beneath Y/n’s touch.

Y/n didn’t stop. She didn’t pull away. She held her, guiding her through it with soft, steady kisses.

Her mouth was gentle, slow, her hands never leaving Kyra’s skin as the tension slowly melted away.

Kyra’s chest heaved with every breath, her body still shuddering, but Y/n was there, right there with her, making sure she felt every moment, every breath, as she settled back into the softness of the moment.

Y/n helped Kyra’s body off of when the girl went limp, bringing her head to her chest as Kyra lay on top of Y/n’s body.

Y/n’s kisses were like a balm, soothing, comforting, as she let Kyra’s body relax into the post-orgasmic haze.

She kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips, slow and easy, just letting her breathe.

The silence that followed was filled with only the sound of their breathing.

Kyra’s body finally stilled, and Y/n gave her a little more time, never rushing, just holding her close, letting her come back to herself.

As Kyra slumped forward, breathless and spent, Y/n ran her fingers gently up and down her thighs, her touch soothing and slow.

Her lips pressed soft kisses to Kyra’s shoulder, a lingering, affectionate gesture that spoke volumes more than words could.

Kyra melted further into her, her breath coming in short, staggered gasps, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile, savouring the feeling of having her so completely.

“So,” Y/n said after a long stretch of comfortable silence, her voice thick with satisfaction, low and warm, “first-time thoughts?”

Kyra let out a stunned, breathless laugh, her whole body still trying to come down from the rush.

“Why the fuck did I wait so long to do that?” she asked, her voice shaking with both disbelief and a lingering haze of pleasure.

Y/n grinned, her lips curling into a smug smile.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” she teased, her tone playful but undeniably proud.

She didn’t move from where she had her hands resting on Kyra, keeping her close, not wanting to break the moment just yet.

Kyra, still wrapped in the haze of the experience, shifted slightly to press her face against Y/n’s chest, her arms winding around Y/n’s waist as if holding on to the aftereffects.

The warmth between them was suffocatingly perfect, the quiet comfort of the room surrounding them like a soft cocoon.

Footy, blissfully unaware of the intensity of the moment, walked into the room and curled up on the couch in his usual spot, his soft purring filling the space like the calm rhythm of a lullaby.

Y/n looked down at Kyra, her smile softening as she ran a hand gently through Kyra’s tangled hair.

They stayed like that for a while, just existing in the shared silence, both of them feeling the slow return of normality after the rush.

After a while, Y/n broke the silence, letting out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh.

“Okay,” she said with a pout. “I’ve earned pizza now.”

Kyra snorted against her, not lifting her head from Y/n’s chest, still too comfortable to make any effort to move.

“You earned a trophy,” she teased, her voice muffled but light-hearted.

Y/n let out a fake gasp of indignation, pulling Kyra a little closer into her embrace, her voice sweet but playful.

“I’d like both,” she said, her tone feigning sweetness as she ran her hands gently up Kyra’s back, her fingertips grazing the skin there.

“Pizza and a trophy. Please. I’ve been working hard, you know.”

Kyra shifted slightly, looking up at Y/n with a playful smile of her own.

“I’m sure the pizza will do just fine,” she replied, but there was a glint in her eyes, a teasing spark that matched Y/n’s.

Kyra groaned but reached for her phone. “Do you want the same order, or are you going to ruin everything with pineapple?”

“I want the same,” Y/n said with a mischievous smile. “And maybe another round later. You know, for recovery.”

Kyra’s eyes narrowed with feigned suspicion, but the playful glint in them betrayed her.

“For recovery, huh? Are you sure you’re not just a little greedy?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/n’s grin turned wicked, and she leaned down to brush her lips across Kyra’s again, just a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through her.

“Maybe,” she murmured, “but I’m definitely worth it.”

Kyra let out a soft laugh, her head falling back against the couch as she closed her eyes, savouring the peace of the moment.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice muffled but affectionate.

The quiet hum of the physio room was almost suffocating as Y/n stared down at her braced leg, the weight of it all pressing against her chest.

She had promised herself she would take just one step. It didn’t have to be a full stride, didn’t have to be graceful.

Just one.

But her heart pounded, anxiety gnawing at the edges of her resolve. If she could take that one step, maybe–just maybe–she could silence the fear that had been plaguing her since the injury.

Her body was screaming for her not to try, and her mind kept telling her it was too soon.

It wasn’t even about walking. It was about the fear–the fear of breaking something, of falling, of losing control again. To have to restart her recovery all over again.

She had told herself she wouldn’t cry, but the rawness of it all felt too much. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“Come on, Y/n!” Leah’s voice broke through the silence, chipper as ever. “Go on! I’ve pressed record like five times already!”

Y/n’s head snapped up to glare at her, eyebrows knitted in frustration.

“Leah, I didn’t ask you to record it,” she said, her voice low, tinged with irritation.

Leah didn’t seem fazed by her tone.

Instead, she was standing there, phone in hand, ready to capture the moment.

She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, but I'm gonna do it anyway. This is important.”

Kyra, who was sitting beside Leah, shot her a look before turning her attention to Y/n.

“I asked her to,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “And I told her to record it because it was important.”

Y/n couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, her hands tightening around the edge of the physio table.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, but before she could say anything else, a familiar, calming presence appeared in the room.

Alessia casually draped her arms around Leah’s shoulders, her lips curling into a soft, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Y/n,” she said gently, her voice a steady comfort, “You can take one step. Just one. Go on.”

Y/n hesitated, her heart thudding in her chest. The room felt like it was closing in around her, the weight of everyone’s eyes on her.

But Alessia’s words, her warmth, made something shift inside Y/n. Slowly, she lifted her foot, taking a small, tentative step forward.

It was shaky, but it was a step.

She looked up at the others, eyes wide, a small, almost invisible smile forming on her lips.

“Okay”, Y/n breathed. “One step.”

Leah, still holding her phone, looked genuinely impressed. “See? Told you. You’re gonna crush it, Y/n.”

Alessia, standing just behind her, leaned in and whispered with a mischievous grin, “Baby, maybe don’t say the word crush next to her right now.”

Y/n shot Alessia a quick, deadpan look. “I swear, if any of you bring up that word one more time…”

Kyra couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, love, your bones are still safe.”

Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, feeling a mix of exhaustion and pride wash over her.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I guess they are.”

Alessia gave her a gentle nudge, still keeping her arm around Leah.

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Alessia said with a wink. “One step at a time. Just like that.”

Y/n didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced down at her leg, a quiet determination settling in her chest.

But then, sat back down immediately after taking three more steps–her face dead serious now.

“Okay, someone needs to check my leg. I think the bone might be shattered.”

One of the physios blinked at her. “Are you in any pain?”

“No,” Y/n replied, completely monotone.

Another physio crouched beside her, eyeing her leg. “Swelling? Bruising?”

Y/n shook her head. “Looks fine.”

The two physios exchanged a look.

“Then I don’t think we need to examine your leg,” one of them said gently, with that polite but slightly exasperated tone they reserved for dramatic athletes.

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but didn’t even get the chance.

“Please just look at it,” Kyra cut in, her voice firm but tired, raising a hand like she was in court. “For my peace of mind. She thinks her tibia’s going to shatter every time she blinks too hard.”

The physio gave a slow nod like they finally understood the assignment. “Ah. Emotional support bone check. Got it.”

Leah, behind the camera, snorted.

Y/n glared at all of them. “You’re all the worst support group I have ever seen.”

“Correct,” Alessia chirped, stretching her arms. “But we love you, so it’s okay.”

With a theatrical sigh, the physio knelt down to examine Y/n’s leg, poking around with exaggerated care. “Mmhmm. Yes, very… leg-like.”

Y/n remained dead silent, staring ahead like this was the most crucial medical evaluation of her life.

The physio finally tapped the brace and smiled. “Y/n, I’m happy to inform you that your bone is completely fine. Fully intact. Not even slightly broken.”

Y/n stared at her, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How sure?”

“A hundred per cent sure.”

Y/n leaned forward slightly, the dramatic tension rising. “Would you trust this tibia over your mom’s life?”

Kyra quickly stepped in, wrapping her arms around Y/n from behind, pressing a soft kiss to her ear to quiet her. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“I just want to be–”

Kyra kissed her again, quick and soft. “You have very strong bones, okay? The best bones.”

Leah gagged dramatically. “Ew. Alright, this recording just turned into porn. Please, delete it. It’s disgusting.”

Alessia chimed in, still filming. “I’m editing this with soft music and sending it to your mum. She’ll love it.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the smallest smile tugged at her lips.

Kyra pulled her in a little tighter, grinning. “But you do have the best bones.”

As the days passed, Y/n and Kyra slowly settled into a rhythm, finding balance between their training, personal time, and quiet moments together.

The mornings felt routine–early wake-ups, breakfast, and getting ready for the day.

Training was intense for Kyra, while Y/n spent most of her time on the sidelines, cheering on her teammates. Kyra always made sure to glance over at her between drills, flashing her a grin whenever she could.

Y/n had become more invested in physiotherapy, eager to push herself further with each session and be back on the pitch in no time since she was allowed to walk fully now.

She had already gotten rid of the crutches, though she knew it wasn’t quite as simple as throwing them aside and going back to full strength.

The physiotherapists kept reminding her that rest was as important as effort in the healing process, but Y/n didn’t exactly see it that way.

“Resting is overrated,” Y/n had said to Kyra one evening, flopping back on the sofa with a dramatic sigh.

“But I’m not the one with the fancy degree, so I guess I have to listen to them.”

Kyra had laughed. “Maybe they know a thing or two about bone recovery.”

But today, as Y/n stood in front of the mirror in the physio room, her leg finally free of the brace, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

The muscles were still tight, her foot dragging a little as she placed weight on it, but there was something about the solid ground beneath her that felt like freedom.

The physio had already cleared her to run again–nothing intense, just a short distance to gauge how she felt.

As she did a few quick stretches, Kyra was right there beside her, a quiet encouragement in her eyes.

“It’s okay, you're gonna do great,” Kyra said, rubbing her back lightly.

Y/n shot her a half-smile, still feeling the weight of the moment.

She took a deep breath and pushed herself off, slowly at first, then picking up speed as she ran a small lap around the gym.

The first few steps were very careful, tentative, but by the time she finished, she was almost jogging, her heart pounding in her chest with exhilaration.

She slowed to a stop, breathing a little heavier, but the grin on her face was unmistakable. She’d done it.

She was running again.

The physio clapped their hands together.

“Looks good, Y/n! But remember, don’t push it too hard too soon.”

Y/n nodded, wiping her forehead, her heart still racing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take it slow,” she said, though she was already planning her next run.

As she turned to Kyra, who was standing at the sidelines with a proud smile, Y/n felt a spark of realisation ignite in her chest.

She didn’t have to be as careful anymore.

Sure, the muscle needed work, but the freedom to move, to run, to feel normal again–it was all coming back. And suddenly, it wasn’t just her legs that were feeling liberated.

Her thoughts briefly wandered, and for a moment, she couldn't help but smile to herself.

The next time she and Kyra were alone–in the privacy of their room, maybe she wouldn’t hold back so much. Sex was about to get much, much better.

And what’s the best way to commemorate the first light–run after an injury? Sex.

Later that night, as the moonlight split across their bed, Kyra was stretched out, looking utterly at peace.

Sweat glistened on her neck, her hair tousled from their earlier moments together. Y/n hovered over her, still caught up in the slow burn of the day’s victory–her first run, the first step towards being back on the pitch.

Their skin touched, and Y/n found herself deep in the rhythm of their shared breaths.

She lowered herself, grinding her hips into Kyra’s, the movements slow at first, almost tentative as she felt for the right rhythm.

Their cunt grinding against each other, their clit each throbbing with need.

Kyra’s lips parted in a soft gasp, her hands coming up to hold Y/n’s hips, pulling her down with a strong, desperate motion, moving her rawling against herself.

Y/n froze for a split second, surprised by the sudden shift. Y/n was the one who set the pace, not Kyra.

Kyra’s grip was unrelenting, and for the first time, it was Kyra in control, guiding the pace, setting the rhythm.

It felt different this time, a change, a balance shifting between them that hadn’t been there before. Kyra’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling sharply with every gasp.

“There... fuck, right there,” she breathed out, her grip on Y/n’s hips tightening with urgency.

Kyra pulled Y/n closer, their bodies coming together.

In that instant, Y/n’s grip on control slipped. She let go, surrendering herself to Kyra’s commanding presence, letting Kyra guide her body freely.

“God,” Kyra murmured, her fingers digging into Y/n's hips as she dictated the movement of Y/n’s hips against her own, pulling Y/n down against her with a strength Y/n had never expected.

“You feel so good.” Her voice was low, almost desperate, but there was something comforting in her tone, a warmth.

There was something about the way Kyra’s body moved under hers, the way she held onto her so tightly.

Kyra’s breath caught again, and her voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I fucking love you so much,” Kyra said, her hands slid down, tracing the curve of Y/n’s back, before gripping her hips again, guiding their movements with perfect syncrony, hitting just the right spot on their clit to have both girls moaning at the same time.

Y/n’s mind spun with the intensity of their connection.

Her body moved with Kyra effortlessly, like they had always been meant to move together this way.

The tension between them was palpable, thick in the air, but there was also a softness to it.

“Kyra...” Y/n breathed, her voice trembling, a mix of awe and desire filling her chest. She was so caught up in the moment, her body reacting without thought, just letting go. “Please, more–”

Kyra’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, her eyes dark with desire but soft with affection.

Y/n didn’t say please during sex that much, so it was good to hear it.

“Fuck–” Kyra shifted her hips slightly, forcing a new angle, a new depth that had Y/n gasping in response.

“You feel so good,” Y/n murmured, her voice low, laced with both affection and raw passion.

Y/n’s entire body seemed to hum with energy, the tension in the air thickening with every breath.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection–they were communicating in ways words couldn’t express. It was overwhelming, and Y/n couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“You’ve got me... so wrapped around you,” Y/n whispered, her voice thick with both amusement and a hint of awe. “I wouldn’t let anyone else hold my hips down like that.”

She could feel the moment shifting between them, an undeniable bond growing with each touch.

Kyra smiled at the admission, her lips brushing against Y/n’s jawline as she leaned up, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the side of her neck.

“I like the sound of that,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

The pace between them picked up, the movements synchronised with a fluidity that felt natural.

And in that moment, as their bodies moved together, there was nothing but the overwhelming sense of being completely present with one another.

It took only one more movement of Y/n’s hips for Kyra and Y/n to cum together, their hearts beating fast as they caught their breath.

“Fuck,” Y/n said, laying down on top of Kyra, feeling her breathing on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Kyra said, almost in a whisper. “That was good.”

“You can never leave this bed–my bed– again,” Y/n said teasingly, smiling.

Kyra’s lips met hers in a kiss. “I would never.”.

“I guess that’s one way to celebrate a first run,” Y/n murmured, her voice soft with contentment.

Kyra chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s forehead. “You’ve earned it.”

Y/n smiled against her chest, the weight of the day’s victory and the intimacy of the moment settling in.

She didn’t have to hold back anymore.

Not in her recovery, not in love. Not with Kyra.

Y/n didn’t move right away.

She stayed right there, stretched over Kyra’s body, their skin still slick with heat and closeness, her forehead resting gently against Kyra’s.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet, back to a slower rhythm.

Kyra’s eyes fluttered open, lashes damp, her gaze soft as it met Y/n’s. She reached up, caressing Y/n’s cheek tenderly.

Y/n leaned down, slow and deliberate, brushing her lips against Kyra’s in the gentlest kiss imaginable.

No urgency. No heat. Just feelings. Just her, Kyra, and the safe space they had carved.

She kissed her again, longer this time. Pressing her body close like she couldn’t get close enough–like she could sink into her and never come back up.

Kyra’s hands slid from Y/n’s hips to her back, fingertips tracing soft circles along her spine.

“You okay?” she whispered into Y/n’s mouth.

Y/n nodded, eyes still closed, lips brushing against Kyra’s as she murmured, “More than okay.”

“How’s your leg?”

Y/n huffed a laugh, eyes opening just enough to look at her. “Kyra, you can’t ask about my leg every time we have an orgasm. It ruins the mood.”

Kyra smiled and kissed her again, soft and sure. “No, it doesn’t. I just care about you.”

“I know,” Y/n said, kissing her back before moving down to Kyra’s neck, right behind her ear–her favourite spot.

“Can I give you a hickey? Please?”

The politeness in her voice surprised them both.

Kyra laughed under her breath, cheeks flushing. “No. The girls will see and make fun of me.”

“Please?” Y/n whispered again, her hand sliding lower until she found Kyra’s cunt, still wet. Her fingers moved gently at first, teasing, circling her clit with maddening patience.

Kyra’s breath caught, her fingers tightening on Y/n’s hip.

“Please?” Y/n said again, voice lower now, more coaxing, her movements growing more deliberate.

Kyra whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. “Ju-just one–I mean it.”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Y/n’s face. “Good girl,” she whispered, lowering her head.

“I knew you would cave.”

Her lips found the spot just below Kyra’s jaw, and she sucked gently at first, then deeper, watching the skin bloom purple beneath her mouth.

Y/n didn’t move from Kyra’s neck right away.

She kept kissing softly around the fresh mark, tongue flicking lazily over it as her fingers continued to move in slow circles that had Kyra’s breath hitching with every stroke.

“You’re so sensitive,” Y/n murmured against her skin, her voice a low tease. “I barely touch you and you’re already shaking.”

“I’m not–” Kyra gasped as Y/n pressed just a little harder, dragging two fingers exactly where she needed them. “–shut up.”

Y/n grinned, lips brushing along her jaw. “You love it when I talk to you like this.”

Kyra tried to glare, but her eyes were fluttering closed again, her back arching ever so slightly off the bed as her hips rolled into Y/n’s hand.

“Don’t–” Kyra breathed, voice cracking. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Y/n shifted slightly, her body still straddling Kyra’s, keeping her steady as her fingers slid lower, finding just the right rhythm, the one she knew would push Kyra over the edge. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Kyra whimpered, her hands gripping at Y/n’s thighs now, grounding herself, chasing the high that was building with every stroke, every brush of Y/n’s lips against her skin.

“You’re close,” Y/n whispered, and Kyra nodded helplessly, too far gone to speak.

Y/n leaned in again, kissing her–deep, slow, possessive.

Her fingers didn’t let up, circling faster now, slick and steady, the tension in Kyra’s body winding tight beneath her.

“Let go of me,” Y/n whispered into her mouth. “Come on, baby. I’ve got you.”

And Kyra did.

Her body tensed, then trembled as her orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through her as she gasped into Y/n’s mouth.

Her nails dug into Y/n’s thighs, her breath coming in short, broken bursts as she clung to her, head tipped back against the pillow.

Y/n slowed her movements, coaxing her down from the high with gentle, loving touches. She kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the mark she’d left on her neck.

Kyra blinked up at her, cheeks flushed, still catching her breath. “I hate how smug you look right now.”

Y/n just smirked, brushing a strand of hair from Kyra’s face. “You love it.”

Kyra didn’t even argue–just pulled her down into another kiss, lazy and full of warmth.

“Okay,” she whispered after a beat. “Maybe just a little.”

“I’m tired,” Kyra murmured, voice a little hoarse, a little dazed.

Y/n smiled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, brushing her fingers gently down Kyra’s side. “Come here.”

Kyra didn’t move. “No,” she said quietly, her hand trailing up Y/n’s bare back. “I want you to feel good, too. Let me take care of you.”

Y/n kissed her again, softer this time, just lips against lips. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Seeing you like that was enough.”

Kyra gave her a look–half sceptical, half touched.

Y/n cupped her cheek and smiled. “Now come here. Don’t fight it, baby. Just let me hold you.”

She lay back slowly, pulling Kyra with her until they were chest to chest, skin to skin.

Kyra hesitated for a beat, propping herself up on her elbows, looking down at Y/n.

“Go on,” Y/n said, voice low and breathy. Her hand traced a lazy path up Kyra’s spine. “I’m all yours, you can lie down.”

Kyra dipped her head slowly, lips brushing along Y/n’s collarbone. She paused, then lowered her mouth to Y/n’s breast, her tongue circling the soft peak before pulling it gently into her mouth.

Y/n inhaled sharply, her hand threading through Kyra’s hair.

Kyra took her time–slow, wet kisses, gentle sucks, the kind of attention that made Y/n’s relax.

“Just like that,” Y/n whispered. “You’re so good to me.”

Kyra looked up, her lips parted, her breath warm against Y/n’s skin. “You deserve it,” she said, and then kissed her again, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Kyra’s mouth lingered at Y/n’s breast, kisses growing slower, softer, until she was just nuzzling there, breathing warm against skin.

Y/n’s fingers combed through her hair gently, scratching her scalp the way she knew Kyra loved.

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of their breathing and the soft rustle of sheets when they shifted closer.

Y/n pressed a kiss to the top of Kyra’s head. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me like this, huh?” she whispered, teasing but fond.

Kyra mumbled something unintelligible into her skin–something that might’ve been ‘don’t care,’ or maybe just a contented sigh.

Her arms were wrapped around Y/n’s waist now, holding her close like a blanket she didn’t want to let go of.

Y/n smiled, her free hand pulling the duvet over them. “You’re such a baby when you’re tired,” she murmured, voice already heavier with sleep, too.

Kyra shifted just enough to bury her face into Y/n’s chest. “Warm,” she mumbled, lips brushing over her skin. “Smells good.”

Y/n chuckled, low and sleepy, her hand slowing in Kyra’s hair until it just rested there, fingers curled gently. “I love you,” she breathed, almost like a secret.

Kyra didn’t answer right away–but then she shifted, just enough to tilt her head up and press the softest kiss to Y/n’s jaw.

“Love you too,” she whispered, already halfway asleep.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, hearts calm. Until sleep took them both.

Y/n woke slowly, blinking against the early light slipping through the curtains. The room was quiet, the air still, warm under the covers.

She could feel the weight of Kyra draped across her chest, soft breaths ghosting over her skin.

It took her a second to register the exact position.

Kyra was still curled into her, cheek pressed to Y/n’s breast, very clingy, one arm wrapped around her waist.

Her lips were parted slightly, still resting exactly where they’d fallen asleep.

Y/n blinked, then smiled, tilting her head slightly to look down at her.

“You’re literally still on my boob,” she whispered, voice raspy with sleep.

Kyra didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

Y/n snorted quietly. “You can’t use it as a pillow forever, babe.”

A soft groan came from Kyra, muffled into skin. “Don’t care. Comfortable.”

Y/n rolled her eyes affectionately, running her fingers through Kyra’s messy hair. “You’re such a menace.”

“Your fault for being perfect,” Kyra mumbled, tightening her grip slightly. “I’m tired. Let me stay.”

Y/n let her head fall back onto the pillow with a quiet laugh. “God, you’re spoiled.”

Kyra shifted just enough to nuzzle her a little closer. “Only with you.”

Y/n’s heart melted a little at that–okay, a lot. She exhaled slowly, her arm curling around Kyra’s back, holding her close.

“Fine,” she whispered, kissing the crown of Kyra’s head. “Five more minutes.”

Kyra’s only response was a contented sigh, and Y/n smiled to herself, eyes closing again.

It started with a video.

Y/n was lying flat on her back in bed, one leg bent awkwardly, her fingers pressing into her tibia in odd, circular patterns that made absolutely no medical sense.

Kyra walked in with a cup of juice and froze in the doorway, staring.

“...What are you doing?”

Y/n didn’t even glance up.

“I saw this physio guy on YouTube doing a deep tissue activation massage for tibial recovery. Said it boosts blood flow by 13.2%.”

Kyra slowly approached the bed, suspicious. “Okay. And why are you poking your leg like that”

“I’m following the video!” Y/n gestured to her phone, which was propped up against her water bottle on the nightstand. The audio played softly–an unfamiliar language Kyra didn’t recognise.

She frowned, tilting her head. “Wait…is that Mandarin?”

“No,” Y/n said, totally serious. “It’s Cantonese, Kyra.”

Kyra squinted at her like she was insane, which, in this moment, might not have been far off.

“Y/n. Babe. You're not fluent in Cantonese.”

“No, he is,” Y/n said, like that solved the entire logic gap. “I turned on the subtitles.”

“You can’t even read it–your neck is turned to your back!” Kyra set down the glass and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her partner try to knead her own leg like bread dough.

“But I can sense what he means,” Y/n said, defending herself.

“Okay. You're clearly spiralling. And I love that you want to heal fast. But we are not about to follow mysterious tibia tutorials in a language you don’t speak just because some guy online promised…magic blood flow.”

Y/n pouted. “I just want to feel useful.”

“I know,” Kyra said gently, brushing her hand over Y/n’s calf. “But healing isn’t a competition. You’re allowed to rest. You need to rest.”

Y/n deflated a little, muscles relaxing. “So what, I just... do nothing?”

Kyra smiled and shook her head. “No. You’re coming with me.”

“To where?”

“A walk. Just around the block. Nothing fancy. No magic tibia guy. Just me, you, and maybe Footy if he decides not to chase every pigeon in the city.”

Y/n raised a brow. “You’re giving me exercise as a distraction from my obsessive exercising.”

Kyra kissed the inside of her knee. “Exactly. But mine comes with trees and sunshine. And snacks after.”

And from then on, it became a thing.

Every afternoon, once Kyra got home from training and Y/n had finished her physio session, she would help her tie her shoes, leash up Footy, and they would head out for a walk.

At first, it was just the block. Then it was the park. Eventually, they were walking for a long time.

It was the one time of day Y/n didn’t think about reps or protocols or ankle stability.

She just walked, and Kyra stayed beside her, quiet, steady, hand brushing hers like a reminder that this, too, was part of healing.

It wasn’t just about the tibia anymore. It was about breathing. Moving. Laughing. Watching Footy eat a random leaf and then sprint in regret. It was about slowing down, not falling behind.

It was a Wednesday, and one of the physios had called in sick.

Y/n had immediately offered to go to the training centre on her own and do her session solo.

She was a professional, after all. But the staff had just smiled politely on the phone and told her to “take the day off” and “enjoy the unexpected break.”

Which was code for: no, you overachieving injured girl, go sit down.

So now she was lying on the living room floor, grumpy and betrayed, with a foam roller under her back and YouTube queued up again, this time with an English-speaking physio who somehow still managed to sound condescending.

The doorbell rang.

Y/n dragged herself upright, shuffled to the front door, and opened it to find a package on the mat.

It had her name on it, which was confusing because she hadn’t ordered anything–she would know if she’d ordered anything.

Carefully, she brought it inside, sliced it open with her thumbnail, and immediately recoiled.

Inside was a six-pack of the ugliest socks she’d ever seen.

Frogs. Bananas. Some kind of space-themed unicorn. She blinked at them. “What the fuck…”

She left the box half-open on the table by the door, too disturbed to process, and went back to her foam roller.

Ten minutes later, the door opened–Kyra.

Y/n rolled halfway onto her side to look at her. “Great. You’re home. What is this?”

Kyra’s face lit up the second she saw the box. “Yayyy it’s here!”

“Don’t yay me. What the hell is this box of… abominations?”

Kyra clapped her hands like it was Christmas morning. “Matching socks!! For us!!”

Y/n stared at her, expression flat. “Why do they have… prints?”

Kyra pulled out a pair and held them up proudly. “This one has a turtle with sunglasses!”

Y/n squinted. “It’s horrifying. You have ruined socks. Socks are meant to be white. Or black. Maybe grey on special occasions.”

Kyra gasped, clutching her chest. “You are no fun. The whole point is that they're ridiculous.”

“They look like something a kindergartener would wear.”

“Exactly!”

Y/n groaned. “I’m not even supposed to be walking today. They won’t let me come in. I offered to go do my session by myself, and they told me no, like I’m untrustworthy.”

“You are untrustworthy,” Kyra replied sweetly, already digging through drawers for scissors.

“What are you doing?”

“Modifying.”

“Kyra, please. You don’t have to destroy them, I don’t hate them that much!”

Kyra was already snipping little holes into the top of the socks. “Not destroying. Adapting. Innovation. I’m making them pet-friendly.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “No. No. Don’t you dare—”

Too late. Footy, who had been sleeping peacefully on the back of the sofa, was now being gently scooped into Kyra’s arms, looking half-asleep and 100% not onboard.

“You’re going to look so beautiful,” Kyra cooed as she slipped a sock over one of his front legs like it was a designer sleeve.

“Kyra, he looks like he’s wearing a tiny sweater! Cats aren’t meant to wear clothes!”

“He looks happy,” Kyra said.

Footy, now fully awake, stared directly at Y/n like he was mentally preparing to assassinate one of them in their sleep.

His paw lifted and flopped against the floor in slow, dramatic protest.

“He looks like he wants to die,” Y/n said monotone.

Kyra grinned. “That’s just his face.”

Y/n shook her head. “Okay. I do hate them. But if it makes you happy, I’ll wear the stupid frog ones.”

Kyra beamed, victorious. “I knew you loved me.”

Y/n sighed. “I don’t, but I do love you so…”

Footy meowed in quiet, tortured resignation, still wearing his one sad sock.

Later, after Footy had escaped his sock prison and retreated under the bed to plot his vengeance, Kyra flopped onto the sofa beside Y/n with her legs in her lap.

Y/n stared at the socks now on her own feet, defeated. The frogs stared back.

“I look like a children’s TV presenter,” she muttered.

Kyra grinned, smug as hell. “You look adorable.”

“I want you to know I’m suffering.”

Kyra leaned in, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Suffer prettier.”

Y/n groaned again, but didn’t kick her off.

And sure enough, two days later, when Kyra tugged her out for one of their now-daily walks, she made good on her promise: matching socks.

Y/n tried to hide hers under her sweatpants, but Kyra made them roll them up halfway through, just to ‘let the frogs breathe.’

Y/n wanted to die.

But Kyra was happy, smiling so wide the whole walk, swinging their hands like they were in a teen rom-com.

And yeah, Kyra wasn’t the only one in the relationship who did things they didn’t want to do.

Y/n wore the frog socks. She wore them in public.

Because Kyra was happy.

And sometimes, that made it worth it.

Feedback is very important!!! <3

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #kyra cooney cross fanfic #kyra cooney cross smut #kyra cooney cross x reader

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writesvani · 2 days ago

Text

down low | 02

boxer! jungkook x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: cheating, drug use (weed), smoking, explicit sexual content, emotionally toxic relationship, manipulation, infidelity (jk and y/n are cheating on their partners with each other), unhealthy coping mechanisms, morally gray behavior, emotional detachment

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 4k // date: 25th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Inhaling You, Exhaling Guilt; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey besties. new “down low” chapter is here and it’s unwell, just like me. this was supposed to be a 15k word monster but i said absolutely not and chopped it into 3 parts—so yeah, this ends on a cliffhanger. no sex yet. i’m sorry. (i’m not.)

BUT the tension? the dynamic? it’s sizzling. they’re one touch away from absolute disaster and i love that for them.

left some easter eggs in there too, so if you catch ‘em, scream at me in the comments or my asks. i’m lurking.

note goal is 600 bc you’re all feral and i believe in peer pressure. hit it and you’ll get part 2 real fast.

read. suffer. tell me your thoughts. love u forever, even while emotionally tormenting you.

The shift is... just another day. The usual crowd of regulars is here, sipping their espressos and making small talk that you would rather skip entirely. The day has been routine too—classes, a quick lunch with Taehyung, then straight into work. It’s all repetitive. It’s boring. And the worst part? You’re counting down the minutes until you can sprint to Jungkook’s apartment the second your shift ends at 10pm. You hate it. You crave it. And Jungkook’s not making it any easier.

Because right now, you're standing there, phone in your clammy hands, staring at a picture he just had to send you. Jungkook, in the middle of his boxing practice, hair messy, tattoos peeking out from his oversized black shirt, a cigarette hanging from his lips like he owns the damn world. He’s standing outside—because Namjoon doesn’t let him smoke inside (honestly, who’s the athlete here?)—but Jungkook looks so fucking good you almost forget where you are.

He knows it too. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That picture isn’t just a tease; it’s a reminder. A reminder that you should be thinking about being in his bed, not focusing on perfecting lattes. But here you are, trying to breathe through the urge to drop everything and run to him.

You can’t focus anymore. Your brain is mush, your hands are clumsy, and the espresso machine might as well be a spaceship for how little you're processing. You accidentally make an espresso instead of a double one for Mark—the sweet old man who comes in daily and tips in coins like it’s 1993. He stares at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline. You apologize, mutter something about being tired, and shuffle back to your station.

But your hands are twitchy. Your eyes dart to your phone every two seconds. Still nothing. Jungkook hasn’t sent anything else—no texts, no pics, no emojis. Just that one, cursed, sinfully sexy picture of him looking like every wrong decision you’ve ever made and wanted to make again.

And now? Now you’re stuck. One hour left of your shift and your brain is spiraling. You’re mentally unwell. Not in a tragic, poetic way. In a feral, "why isn't he texting me back when I clearly need to ride his face into next week" kind of way. You're restless. Desperate. Left alone with your thoughts and an absolutely unhinged amount of need clawing its way through your body like a caffeine-craving demon.

Only your message stares back at you, mocking, lingering, and gnawing at the edges of your sanity. It’s there, like a cruel joke, one that you can’t stop laughing at even though it’s slowly driving you insane.

you: stop teasing me kook

And then, nothing. Not a single reply. Left on read. Just like always.

Jungkook has this game down to a science, doesn't he? The art of push and pull—never fails to leave you dangling on the edge of your patience, teetering on the line between wanting to strangle him and wanting him to do the same to you. You’re on the verge of losing it, fingertips hovering over your phone, waiting for the next message that might never come. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like a power play, a twisted form of control that drives you crazy in ways you can’t even put into words.

Every time you’re about to meet up with him, just when you think you’re close, he disappears. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t care. Leaves you with nothing but your own burning desire and a game you never agreed to play. It makes you want to scream.

And it makes you want him more.

But despite the shrill, maddening thrill of his little game, there's one thing you're sure of—Jungkook wants it. Wants you. And that’s what makes him predictable. Comfortably so. It’s the only thread of stability in this whole mess. Because no matter how long he leaves you on read, no matter how quiet he goes, as soon as the clock strikes 10PM and your shift ends, like clockwork, your phone pings.

JK: when will u be here?

You smirk, your fingers moving fast.

you: 20 minutes

He waits. Not long. Just enough to keep the suspense alive. Just enough to remind you that he’s still in control.

JK: kk, see u baby

And that’s all it takes. You're spiraling again—but this time, you're sprinting into it willingly.

Jungkook smirks as he opens the door, like he’s been waiting his whole life just to make you roll your eyes. He leans against the frame with that infuriating ease, one hand—the tattooed one—tucked into the pocket of his grey sweats. His hair’s still damp, messy in that way that makes you suspicious he’s doing it on purpose. He smells like wood, citrus, and a hundred bad decisions. His black oversized shirt hangs just right on his frame, clinging to his shoulders, draping like it has no idea it's breaking rules just by existing.

And fuck him. Fuck him for looking that good.

“You’re late,” he drawls, head tilted, eyes dragging down your body like he has all the time in the world.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t you say I should be here until 11pm? It’s only like, half past ten.”

He shrugs, lips curling. “I did say that. But you always come earlier. I know you wanna see me as soon as you can.”

You scoff, pushing past him. “Jesus, Jungkook. Knock it off and let me in.”

He laughs behind you. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

You flop down onto his sofa like it’s your own personal throne. There are new pink pillows you don’t recognize. With a lazy smile, you say, “Cute pillows.”

“Thanks, baby. Eunji got them from IKEA the other day.”

You nod, lips curling. “Noted. I should tell Tae—these would totally match his softboy vibes.”

Jungkook drops down beside you, digging into his pocket like he’s searching for treasure. You already know what’s coming. Sure enough, a small greenish bud peeks out from a crumpled tissue.

“Didn’t know we were smoking tonight,” you murmur, eyeing him.

He shrugs, effortlessly picking the bud apart with skilled fingers. The way he moves is distracting. Methodical. Confident. Hot.

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the tightening in your core.

“When are we not smoking?” he says with a smirk, not looking up.

“True,” you mumble, sinking back into the soft fluff of Eunji’s precious IKEA pillows. Silly girl. She has no idea the kind of things they’re about to witness.

You glance up—and Jungkook is watching you. Of course he is. Eyes hooded, a smirk ghosting his lips, like he’s waiting. Like he’s daring you to say or do something.

Then, slowly—so slowly—his tongue drags across the rolling paper.

He knows what he’s doing. And he does it anyway. On purpose.

You watch, helpless, skin prickling, heat curling low in your stomach. It’s obscene the way he licks it—like it’s not even about the joint anymore, like it’s about you. About this.

And the worst part? You’re not strong enough to look away.

You’ve never been strong when it comes to Jeon Jungkook.

“What?” Jungkook asks, one brow raised as he brings the freshly rolled joint to his lips like it’s second nature.

“Nothing,” you mutter, eyes tracking the flame as it flickers, kissing the end of the joint. He inhales deep, the ember glowing bright red before he exhales slowly, like it’s an artform. Smoke curls out of his mouth in slow, lazy tendrils, and you’re already annoyed at how sexy he looks doing the bare minimum.

He grins — cocky, annoying, knowing — and pats the cushion beside him like he owns the place. Like he owns you. You don’t even hesitate. You shift closer, tucking your legs beneath you, pretending you don’t care that your thigh brushes his.

Jungkook takes another drag, then coughs lightly, voice raspy as he waves off the moment with a half-laugh. “Okay, don’t clown me. This shit’s stronger than I thought.” His eyes squint just slightly, like he’s studying you. “So… uh, how’re your friends? Lena and Bob, right?”

You stare at him flatly. “It’s Lara and Rob. Do you seriously not remember their names after all this time?”

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s doing it on purpose. Just to get a rise out of you. “Close enough. They doing okay?”

You sigh. This is the worst part. The awkward five minutes of half-assed small talk before the inevitable. Before the high kicks in and his hands are on your skin. The two of you always dance around it — pretend like this isn’t transactional, like this isn’t just desire dressed up as casual banter.

“Lara just broke up with her boyfriend,” you say, grabbing the joint from him and taking a slow hit.

Jungkook leans back into the couch, one arm draped along the back of it, watching you. “Oh, the dude who studies Econ?”

You blink at him. “What? No. That was like… two years ago. This one studies Law.”

His mouth drops slightly. “Wait, hold up. Are you telling me we’ve been doing this for two years?”

You don’t say anything at first. Just pass the joint back and exhale a laugh, soft and a little bitter. “Yeah. Way before Taehyung and me.”

He tilts his head. “Shit. I forgot you even dated Kai.”

You chuckle. “Jungkook, we started hooking up way before Kai. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

He stares at you for a beat, the room quiet except for the faint buzz of the overhead light and the sound of the joint crackling in his hand.

“So,” he says slowly, lips quirking, “what I’m hearing is — you’ve basically cheated on everyone with me.”

There’s something infuriating about how pleased he looks with himself. You raise an eyebrow, snatch the joint from his fingers again and hold it between yours like a crown jewel.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you say, lips curling into a lazy smile. Smoke drifts out from between your lips. You don’t break eye contact.

His smirk deepens. “I do like it.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach twists anyway. Because God help you, so do you.

“So, what’s up with you?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the joint between two fingers, eyes flickering toward his. The smoke rolls from your lips like a sigh, curling into the space between you like a secret.

Jungkook shrugs, leaning back deeper into the couch, his arm brushing yours just barely. “Nothing much. Just chilling. Boxing and all that.”

You hum, eyebrows raising with mild amusement. “Wow. Riveting stuff.”

He shoots you a lazy grin. “You asked.”

“Yeah, and I keep forgetting that you’re emotionally unavailable until at least two joints in.”

He laughs, soft and warm, and it does something to you that you don’t want to look too closely at. You pass the joint back to him and try not to stare at the veins on his hand or the ink decorating his fingers like poetry you were never meant to read.

For someone whose body you know so intimately—every line, every scar, every sound he makes when you kiss the right places—you know next to nothing about his life. And that’s part of the deal. Or maybe the whole deal.

Jungkook takes a drag and blows it out slowly. “What about you?” he asks. “How’s the glamorous life of overworked and underpaid?”

You snort. “The usual. College, work, crying in coffee-scented bathrooms.”

He chuckles again, eyes crinkling, and it hits you how rare it is to see him smile like that when you're not on top of him.

You glance down at your nails, picking at a chipped corner of polish. “Tae and I are going on a small trip next weekend.”

That gets his attention. “Yeah? Where to?”

“Dunno yet. Probably something basic. Mountains or a lake house. Just wanna get out of the city for a bit.”

Jungkook nods slowly, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Just lets silence settle between you again.

You don’t push him. You never do.

“This reminds me…” Jungkook says, plucking the joint from your fingers like he owns it—and in moments like these, he kind of does. He leans back, smoke curling around his face like it knows he’s trouble. “Eunji wants me to meet her mom next weekend.”

You scoff, tilting your head. “Damn, dude. How are you gonna survive that?”

He grins around the joint. “Bruh. I’m perfect meet-the-mother material.”

You snort. “Right. Because mothers love tattooed boxers who smell like weed and moral ambiguity.”

“Whatever,” he says, exhaling smoke like it offends him. “You’re such a hater.”

“Not a hater. Just realistic.”

He glances at you, amusement twitching at the corners of his lips. “You think I’m not charming enough?”

You deadpan, “I think you’re more lie-to-your-daughter’s-face material.”

He bursts out laughing, tipping his head back. “Shit, that’s fair.”

You smile, watching him. He’s still hot when he laughs. Annoying, infuriatingly hot.

“But yeah,” he adds, voice dropping a little, “that probably won’t be happening. I’ll have to lie my way out of that one.”

You give him a dry look. “Thank god you’re a good liar.”

He smirks, eyes flickering to yours. “You’d know.”

“God,” you say, eyes fixed on the ceiling, “can you imagine if Eunji actually found out?”

Jungkook exhales a puff of smoke, slow and smug. “She’d kill me. And probably come for you too.”

“She wouldn’t even get the chance. Tae would commit murder first.”

He hums, passing you the joint. “Tae’s scary when he’s mad.”

You take it, inhale deep. “He is indeed. Have you seen his stare? That’s not normal. That’s serial killer energy.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, and yet you still cozy up to him like he’s a weighted blanket.”

“You’re just jealous he takes me on cute brunch dates and actually remembers my birthday.”

“Wow,” he gasps dramatically. “Are you implying I’m not boyfriend material?”

You look him up and down, slow and deliberate. “I’m saying you’re situationship in denial material.”

He bites his lip to hide his grin. “That’s rich coming from you. Miss I’m loyal to my boyfriend except for every time I text you at 2 a.m.”

You groan. “Don’t act like you don’t eat it up.”

“Oh, I do,” he smirks, shifting closer, “especially when you come over all pouty, pretending this isn’t your favorite part of the week.”

You narrow your eyes. “You talk too much.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, flicking ash into the tray.

He leans in, voice soft and cocky, “Bet Tae doesn’t make you squirm with just words.”

You look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Bet Eunji doesn’t know you like being choked a little.”

He raises a brow, but doesn’t deny it. “Touché.”

“And for the record,” you whisper, fingers brushing his thigh, “you’re not boyfriend material. You’re just my favorite craving.”

He grins, low and dangerous. “That’s the sexiest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“You know,” Jungkook starts, tapping the ash off the joint, “sometimes I think Eunji likes the idea of me more than she likes me.”

You snort. “Well, you do post thirst traps and quote Nietzsche in your captions. Anyone would fall for the illusion.”

He gasps, mock-offended. “Are you saying I’m a fraud?”

“I’m saying you’re a curated experience.”

“Damn,” he laughs, nudging your thigh with his knee. “And yet here you are, front row, backstage pass, meet and greet.”

You shoot him a look, amused. “I never said I wasn’t a fan.”

He smirks. “You’re more than a fan. You’re the president of the Jungkook is a Bad Idea But God He’s Good in Bed club.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, even though your grin is impossible to hide. “I’m vice president, at best.”

“Oh really? Who’s president then?”

You take a long drag, pretending to think. “My vibrator. That one never leaves me on read.”

He laughs so hard he coughs, waving smoke out of his face. “Okay, okay.”

You lean in, eyes gleaming. “Bet Eunji doesn’t make you laugh like this.”

He quiets, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “She doesn’t make me laugh like this. Or moan like you do.”

You blink, caught off guard. “That was dangerously close to being sweet.”

“Don’t worry,” he teases, eyes dragging down your body, “I’ll say something trashy in two seconds.”

You chuckle. “You always do.”

“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.”

“Maybe you’re emotionally constipated.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, watching you, “but you like me better that way, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is loud enough. And Jungkook hears every part of it.

He shifts closer. The joint is forgotten now, burning down between his fingers. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long, like he’s deciding if it’s worth it. Like kissing you is both a gamble and a given.

“You didn’t answer,” he says, voice lower, teasing, but almost careful.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Me being emotionally constipated. You liking me better that way.”

You smirk, but there’s a beat of honesty in your next words. “I don’t like you better that way. I just… like you.”

His gaze flickers—like the words hit somewhere deeper than you meant them to. And for a second, neither of you says anything. The tension isn’t new, but this feels… heavier. Messier.

“You’re dangerous when you say shit like that,” he murmurs.

You smile. “And you’re dangerous when you don’t.”

He drops the joint into the ashtray and leans in like gravity's pulling him toward you. His nose brushes yours. His breath smells like weed and cinnamon gum and something distinctly him.

“Last chance to stop me,” he says, voice so low it vibrates in your chest.

You blink slowly. “Last chance to kiss me before I change my mind.”

He chuckles—just a breath—and then closes the distance. His lips press to yours, soft but certain. There’s no hesitation this time. No teasing. Just warmth and the kind of familiarity that should scare you but doesn’t.

You kiss him back, one hand curling into the front of his shirt, the other finding his jaw. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, sighs into your mouth like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

And maybe he has.

When you pull back, slightly breathless, his eyes are still on yours. “So…” he whispers, “was that emotionally constipated, or…?”

You grin. “Still very much constipated. But in, like, a hot way.”

He groans. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” you say, tugging him back down, “you’re still kissing me.”

And he is. Again and again.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s messier. His hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you in like he can’t stand the space between you, like it’s a personal offense. Your mouths crash together, lips sliding, breath hitching. It’s not soft anymore—it’s hungry. The kind of kiss that bruises, that says everything neither of you will ever admit out loud.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, still damp, pulling just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. He kisses like he fights—like he needs to win, like he needs to ruin you a little just to feel okay again. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you open for him without thinking, without hesitating.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, “you taste so good.”

You don’t even respond—you’re too busy climbing into his lap, straddling him like it’s muscle memory. His hands find your hips, gripping hard. Like he’s grounding himself. Like he needs the pressure of your body against his or he’ll fall apart completely.

Your lips are swollen already, your breathing ragged, but neither of you stops. Teeth clash a little, tongues fighting, his hand sliding up under your shirt to find skin. It’s clumsy, intense, addictive. You break the kiss just to catch your breath, only to dive back in like you’re starving for him. Like you’ll die if he’s not kissing you.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, lips trailing down to your jaw, your throat. “What are we even doing?”

You pant against his skin, fingers clawing at his shirt. “Being so bad.”

He laughs, breathless, mouth still on your neck. “The best kind.”

And then he kisses you again—hard, deep, messy like a confession neither of you dares to say out loud.

He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. Like it’s not just a kiss—it’s survival.

Your mouths crash again, sloppy and desperate. It’s the kind of kiss that makes your teeth bump and your lips burn, the kind that leaves your head spinning. Jungkook’s hand is cradling your jaw now, thumb brushing your cheek as if that could balance out the chaos happening between your mouths. Spoiler: it can’t.

Your hands are roaming—up his chest, into his hair, pulling him closer when he’s already close enough to melt into. He shifts under you, groaning low in his throat when your hips accidentally roll forward. His fingers dig into your thighs like he’s trying not to lose it.

“Fuck,” he hisses, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and shiny, jaw clenched like he's trying to get a grip. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you whisper, yanking him back in.

This time, the kiss is slower—but not softer. It’s a drag of tongues, a teasing nip to his bottom lip, a moan you try to swallow when he licks into your mouth just right. Your nails scrape his neck and he shudders, pulling you tighter against him. Your chest presses flush with his and neither of you can tell where one ends and the other begins.

You don’t know how long it goes on. Minutes? Hours? A lifetime? You’re half in his lap, legs tangled, hair a mess, and breath coming in short, needy gasps. And yet he’s still kissing you like he doesn’t care about oxygen. Like nothing else matters.

And maybe right now, in this twisted little moment where everything is all heat and tongue and hands that won’t stop wandering—you believe him.

He kisses you between sentences—like the conversation is an afterthought, like talking about other people while kissing you is normal. Maybe for you two, it is.

"Does Eunji ever kiss you like this?" you mumble against his lips, barely giving him space to breathe.

He lets out a breathless laugh, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he tugs it. "No. She kisses like she's saying goodbye all the time."

You pause at that, then kiss him again—harder. His hands settle on your waist, dragging you closer.

"And Taehyung?" he whispers into your mouth. "He still hold your hand when you sleep?"

"Sometimes," you pant, mouth brushing the corner of his. "Only when he's not too tired."

Jungkook hums against your skin, mouth trailing down to your jaw, then your neck. "Do you miss it?"

You tilt your head, let him kiss down to your collarbone. "No," you whisper honestly, then pull him back up by the chin to kiss him again. It’s messier now. Hungrier. Your lips glide against each other like you’re both trying to erase the names you just said.

"She makes me breakfast, you know," he murmurs between kisses, "Packs fruit in little containers like a mom."

You lick into his mouth, teeth grazing his tongue just slightly. “You ever think about her when we do this?”

“Only when you’re being mean,” he teases, nipping at your lip. “You?”

"Only when I feel guilty," you admit, then kiss him deeper—because guilt can wait.

His hands are tracing foreign paths under your shirt, his mouth never leaving yours, like he’s punishing you for every moment you spend talking about anyone that isn’t him.

"Fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead to yours, lips still brushing yours with every word. “We’re the worst.”

You kiss him again. “I know.”

But neither of you stop.

taglist part 1: @mochi13 @wobblewobble822 @jkvamp @sunnikthv @kimyishin @asyr97 @pjmname @shesscorpio7 @daarla07 @jeontids @bellefaerie @kissyfacekoo @lily-lilacsky @bammbi-jeon127 @httpjeonlicious @belleilichil @minghaosimp @marrtyaa @septemberskies @yok00k @ioanatodorova @rokshi @b2407 @boommoom @kookienooki @avawants2havefun @bhonbhon @taekritimin123 @oraiseok @thenamesathy @superchamchi88 @lenamercedesworld @candygalx @notsevenwithyou @heesuvk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonsinsatiablekitten @saki-gojo @piratekingateez2001 @0-0rot @bangatanily @justbelljust @plusultra0 @softhaes @bangtanily @justbelljust @gguk-lvr @gukkie7 @beomluvrr @iamworldwidehandsome

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mejaemin · 3 days ago

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ✦　

like breathing - lee jeno

wc: 0.6k summary: loving jeno is like breathing 🤍 pt. 2 to easy! warnings: SO CUTE SO FLUFFY, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, throw up joke, sm love and sweetness an: happy birthday to my love, my heart, my sweet sweet jeno 🤍 i hope the world is kind to you today, and every day after

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ✦　

if you thought loving jeno was easy before, now it’s like breathing.

the idea of a first date, or a first “i love you” wasn’t really in the picture. you’d said it so many times before, what was the difference now? your titles? regardless, your love hasn’t changed from when you were only friends. if anything, getting together made your love stronger, even clearer. telling you loved him became easier, like you didn’t even have to think about it.

loving jeno is like breathing, so much so that the first time you laid down with him, it felt natural. there was no insecurity from either sides. you’re so confident in his love for you, and vice versa, that your ability to reveal your most vulnerable self to him wasn’t a worry at all. you love every inch of him, as he does for you, and nothing about his appearance in an intimate moment could deter you from feeling that way.

loving jeno is like breathing, and you know this because you had no doubts or worries in your mind when he offered for you to move into a home together. even in friendship, your spaces were each other’s. now, you don’t have to travel to be with him. there were no flaws, little to no icks and arguments when moving day came. it was easy to fall into a rhythm with him, everyday life with your boyfriend too easy.

loving jeno is like breathing. you guys are so connected, on every level, that all these big decisions were like second nature to have made. even though it’s so early on, it feels so right. that’s why you never hesitate to say yes to him, having no doubt that every decision you make together is the right one.

you’re walking across a bridge, staring down at the koi fish swimming below. jeno’s somewhere next to you, and you’re so excited to point out the white one to him, but when you turn, he’s missing.

“jen?” you turn around to look for him, and you freeze. he’s multiple steps behind you, hands in his pockets, and something in you just knows what’s about to happen.

“come here,” he waves you over, and when you stand in front of him he takes your hands, leaving a gentle, nervous kiss to your lips.

you try to speak, asking him why his hands are nearly vibrating in your own, but he shushes you. “you know how special you are to me, right?” you nod. “so, so special. i couldn’t have asked for a better woman by my side. you’re my everything.”

“jen, what is this? what are you-“

he shushes you once again, a nervous and apologetic chuckle spilling from his lips. “sorry, i don’t mean to keep cutting you off, but if i don’t say this right now, i’m either gonna throw up or pass out. just one more minute?” you nod, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“i was so shocked when you confessed to me all those months ago, but i think i had it coming. i think i always knew how you felt, and how i felt too. i’ve always known you were it for me.”

he takes a deep, shaky breath, as he drops your hand and reaches into his pocket. thankfully, the ring is actually there, unlike last week when he forgot it. slowly, but surely, he reveals the velvet box to you, getting down on one knee as he says your full name.

“loving you is like breathing, and so, i know i’m sure of myself when i ask you this. will you please marry me?” he asks, all out of breath and teary eyed.

loving jeno is so much like breathing that you don’t think twice when you fall down into his arms, slipping the ring on your finger with a thousand yes’s on your tongue.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ✦　

nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @coquettejunnie @prettymoles

#mejaemin #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #lee jeno #lee jeno x reader #jeno #jeno x reader #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #lee jeno fluff #jeno fluff #— bday wishes ♡

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iamthatonefangirl · 15 hours ago

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listen part 2 - nsfw fatws bucky barnes

i got one request for a part 2 and ALL the thoughts clicked in my head so i had to write it. enjoy

part 1

~~~

he keeps you on the edge for hours, you're sure of it.

the longer you lay there, feeling him fuck into you over and over again, the easier it is for you to forget where you end and he begins. the pleasure is all-consuming and overwhelms every thought you might have.

you don't even know when you begin to whine.

"daddy," you repeat, under your breath, over and over again like a chant. it's the only thing you can think of, he is the only thing you can think of.

"told you to keep quiet," he whispers into your ear, "but I know listening is hard for you," he mocks, once again so condescending you can't even help but whine again.

you say it once more, to which he tsks.

"alright, babydoll, daddy's gonna help you out, m'kay?"

he withdraws his hands from your skin and leans back to pull off the white t-shirt he's wearing. it's soaked through with the gross combination of both of your sweat where your bodies were connected.

"here we go," he says, gently pressing the fabric into your mouth, just enough to make you inhale sharply through your nose at the soft, sudden motion. you look up at him, vision cloudy, to see the satisfied look on his face. the little smirk that makes you drip through your panties every time.

he brings his hands back to your skin and leans his body back down to lay against yours once more. "now you're gonna be quiet. knew you just needed some help, cause your little head is just spinning, isn't it? can't even think about what daddy tells you. just need me to make you follow my orders, baby, ain't that right?"

his voice is so soft and sweet in your ear. you nod, gently biting down on the fabric, slowly soaking through it with your saliva.

he leans closer, bringing all his body weight to his metal arm and trailing his fingers over your forehead, ever so gently tugging at your soft skin to keep your eyes open.

"need to see your pretty eyes, babydoll… you know something? I can see right through you, all defenseless. you just love laying there and taking what daddy gives," he murmurs.

you're helpless against him, and he's right, you love it. the way he can overpower you, mind, body, and soul, doesn't scare you. you're safe with him. you trust him to erase all your thoughts, take you apart, and you know he'll put you back together again every time.

you keep your eyes on his face as his eyes trail down your body, watching as his flesh hand touches over your skin. he rubs over your collarbone; gently squeezes the flesh of your breast; grips tightly at your hip; all before bringing his fingers to your inner thigh, teasing at what you've been needing this whole time.

"you've been trying so hard, sweetie. I know you have been. but I don't know if you've earned your climax yet, babydoll."

you just look at him, pleading with your gaze, knowing all he wants is to see your eyes, to feel the desperation coursing through your body.

he looks between your eyes, seeing how hard you're trying to convey your thoughts to him.

he pauses, just looking for a moment, admiring you under him.

"you're so gorgeous for me like this, princess."

his thumb continues to gently brush over your forehead, looking down to where he's gagged you, before making his decision.

"how can I say no to that pretty face?" he asks so quietly. it's clearly rhetorical, more directed to himself than to you, but you lean closer into him anyways.

his movements grow faster, ever so slightly, and his fingers finally meet your clit between your legs. it takes everything in you to keep your eyes open; you can't ruin this now.

"when are you going to come, pretty girl?" he taunts.

you can't respond. you don't respond.

"that's right. when daddy says."

you hold eye contact with him, holding on for dear life as he brings you closer with the increase in pleasure he's providing.

the only thought in your head is how you love him more than anything.

his metal fingers shift suddenly, distracting you momentarily, as they grab the fabric out of your mouth and toss it away. he grips your chin, opening your jaw for him as he spits slowly onto the back of your tongue.

he pushes up on your chin, manually shutting your jaw. "swallow."

you do, then opening your mouth once more to prove yourself.

"attagirl. think you deserve to come now, princess."

the wait was well worth it, you would think, if you had the mental capacity to.

the drop feels like ecstasy as he finally permits you to give in.

~~~

your likes and comments mean the absolute world to me 🫶

part 1

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm

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ballroomeddie · 2 days ago

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ok, so i was talking to some lovely mutuals @atlasblue85 @livesbetweenpages about these two scenes and it got me thinking about something that i’ve been mulling over for a while; what eddie means when talks about buck making everything about buck.

turns out i'm not one for brevity (oops) sooo tldr at the end.

imo the most pivotal buck lines from the wanna go for the title scene (apart from the aforementioned) are: a) Look, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there, Eddie… I should have been there. b) If you’re not gonna be honest with Frank, at least be honest with me. c) …you prefer to work it out in the ring. d) You don’t think while you were going through your phase, just maybe, you were throwing your punches at the wrong guy?

the way i see it buck is saying (in order) a) i consider it my responsibility to be there for you and to take care of you (and chris). i’m sorry i failed. b) please, let me be there for you c) i see you. i understand that fighting is/was therapeutic for you. i’m not judging you for it d) if fighting is how you work out your issues, then i think you should fight me. i’m the one you have a problem with. i’m the one who failed you.

pivotal eddie lines--apart from Not that you didn’t deserve it, but I wouldn’t do that. You’re on blood thinners😏 (my cunty king. i luv him sm)--: a) We’re way past that, Buck. b) Look, things got a little out of hand for both of us. Don’t beat yourself up about it. c) Who said I wasn’t being honest with Frank… Maybe I’m just not a therapy kind of guy. d) Seriously? You’re gonna make it about you, again?

imo the underlying meaning here is: a) there’s nothing to apologize for b) please, stop apologizing. i don’t need saving, you didn’t fail me, you didn’t do anything wrong. i know it looked like i needed you from your vantage point, but i'm fine. promise. pretend you didn’t see that. there’s nothing to see here. i’m self sufficient. c) look, buck, i don’t need therapy, i don’t need anything, you have no idea what you’re talking about. i’m S E L F SUFFICIENT. d) my guy, you’re starting to piss me off. i understand that you have this incessant need to fix everything for everyone, but i’m not the one. you have this need to be a good boy but you don’t have to bring me, and the issues that i definitely don’t have, into it. because i’m fuckin SELF SUF.FI.CIENT!

interesting interesting interesting. thoughts thoughts thoughts.

but what about 8x09, sob stories?

pivotal eddie lines--apart from his beautiful brown bambi eyes 🥺 that say sosososo much--: a) It really is always about you isn’t it? b) [I was trying to be supportive, okay?] And you succeeded up to a point c) If you need to be pissed off at me to make it easier for you, then be pissed off. d) I don’t like it any more than you do. e) …if you're gonna make this about me having to choose between you or my son, you’re gonna lose every time. f) What about your loft…. You really did that for me?

my interpretation. a) here you go again, trying to fix shit. please stop. there’s nothing to fix. and tbh, lately you’ve only made things worse. b) i’m so sorry 🥺 i didn’t mean that. things are always better when you’re around. it’s just… things are complicated rn. we’re in an unprecedented situation and idk how to handle it. c) look, i’m sorry for putting you in this awful situation. you’re allowed to be mad at me. you should be mad at me. d) this is not easy for me. it’s not nothing. i’m mad at me too. e) i’m honestly hurt and disappointed that you would try to exploit my feelings for the fact that i’m gonna miss you. if i have to choose between missing you and hurting my son, i’ll choose the former. everytime. f) you can’t do this. you don’t have to do this. i can’t ask you to do this. you’re a renter… how did you know? why would...? thank you. i don’t deserve you it. thank you.

i’m not even gonna break down the pivotal buck likes (other than to remind anyone who’s still reading about I didn’t mean to out you. <- bdjdnd 💀). everything he says boils down to, i couldn’t stop myself from taking care of you if i tried.

y’all remember buck introducing eddie to carla? remember that? that’s how it started and this ⬆️ is how it’s going. actually the facetime calls is how that’s going but i won’t get into that.

conclusion/tldr: buck promised himself, before/around the time that he introduced eddie and carla to each other, that he’d always take care of eddie. because he can. because he wants to. and because it’s the natural, easy, obvious, damn near biologically imperative thing to do. the problem is that eddie doesn’t want to be taken care of. he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t need it or deserve it. so when buck waltzes in and says, lol lmfao rofl even. you’re lying to yourself. you do need someone to take care of you. you do deserve it. and i’m gonna do it whether you ask me to or not… well, that sets eddie on edge. buck is challenging a long held belief of his, a belief that he’s not ready to interrogate. so he finds a way to push back everytime buck brings attention to the self-effacing, self-sacrificing, self-critical, self-punishing elephant in his subconscious. and one of eddie’s go-tos when he’s pushing back is, this is about you, this is about your need to fix things but i don’t need fixing. and the way i see it, when eddie says, stop making this about you, he means, stop bringing attention to the fact that i might not be as self-sufficient as i believe myself to be.

also @atlasblue85 said something so bang on that i had to include it.

"it makes so much sense that Eddie says [that buck is making things about himself] as a self defense thing because he knows it's a way to get Buck to back off when he's feeling vulnerable and doesn't want to fully confront what he's actually dealing with"

👆⬆️ EXAACTTLY ‼️‼️‼️

#so obviously i'm a let's make a long story longer type of person-- oops ig #long post #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #lcease & desist

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swissikssswissiks · 2 days ago

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We have to talk about Jutty Taylor!

We all know what's going on on the internet right now. i'm talking about the unpleasant incident with Jutty and i want to speak out about it. I have spent a lot of time trying to understand the situation and form a certain point of view based on the information I already have. and I have read a lot of posts by inadequate people in which they try to cancel JT with bullying, sarcasm, insults and even death wishes.What is wrong with you guys? Instead of looking up a little more information and thinking, you say Taylor is a pedophile, use aggression, and spread misinformation. Many people in general stupidly follow the crowd without hearing any facts or evidence. You are so easily fooled, you believe anything and don't even bother to check it out. Have you ever thought that he may not be guilty and you are now literally ruining his life with your despicable behavior? It's easier for you to write a few insults and cancel the person than to start thinking straight. There have been revelations on Grace but you ignored that. Jutty apologized, but you ignored that too. This young lady provided no hard evidence, moreover, she was even turned down by the police, but you still don't care.

Anticipating your negative comments, I'll tell you that I am not saying he is innocent. I simply don't have the right to say so, but neither do you have the right to say that he is guilty, to call him a pedophile, much less insult him?I urge you to stop this madness as soon as possible and come to a neutral side at the very least. You can't imagine the pain your sarcastic and angry remarks are causing. And if one day it turns out that JT is really not at fault, all the responsibility will be on you. Let me say a little about the victim. I would feel sorry for the girl if the incident actually happened, but I am not sure if her words are true. Again, she hasn't provided any evidence. Some people have even found out that the picture she posted doesn't belong to her at all, and her friend who was supposedly with her on the day of the incident and witnessed it is silent. It's a strange situation, but what's most strange is that the fandom believes her without reason. How do you know her account isn't actually a fake? I also want to say that I think the "always believe the victim" rule is flawed, and in some cases, completely wrong. What makes you think a victim can't be prone to lying? Anyone can lie for certain purposes.

I have to mention the other band members who have been hurt by "fans". Who doesn't know, Liv and Per(and Hayden, as I remember) also received condemnation in their direction because they are friends with JT and support him. What is wrong with you guys? Why does the aggression go beyond one conflict and affect innocent people???? This is outrageous. They are friends with him, which means they know a lot more about JT than the rest of us, they know the truth, that's why they support him. And personal lives of band's members are none of your business. Stop being disgusting and don't insult innocent people.

I urge you to refrain from aggression and hatred, which is already too much in the world. Adhere to neutrality in this situation and stop acting like creatures. Be reasonable and kind people, not tactless, stupid, fierce and disgusting freaks.

Peace and love to all!

#swiss ghoul #jutty taylor #supportforswiss #supportforjt #sandalikiswissa #justiceforjutty #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost

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prattpunk · 2 days ago

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Where do lost thoughts go?

*Warning hypnotic language

Have you ever had a thought just disappear from your mind? Like you had it....and then poof. Its incredibly frustrating. Our minds are wonderfully complex and amazing but they do sometimes let us down. This happened to me the other day and it made me think....where do those lost thoughts go. Our brains are not wired to just easily lose thoughts....right?

I know we have dreams and sleep so we can "erase" all the un-needed information our brains collects. Its why we wake up refreshed. Our mind's subconscious filters all this info and removes what we don't need.

This got me to thinking....is our subconscious the thing that is stealing our thoughts. Is it filtering things while we are awake? Is our subconscious controlling how we think and how we perceive things.

With hypnosis we tap into the subconscious. Its what allows us to do all the fun things we like to do. So this does make sense. But how is the subconscious deciding to erase certain thoughts. Even when your conscious mind is trying to hold on to them.

The subconscious is taking those thoughts away.

Then that led me to people who are easier to drop than others. Their subconscious is much more active. And it makes losing those thoughts a lot more easier. Allowing that subconscious mind a place to play. To express itself. To let out those secret dark desires.

Like how your conscious mind wants to be smart and capable. To be able to take on the world. And the subconscious wants to be controlled and obedient. Maybe made even a little mindless. To completely erase all those thoughts. To delete them before they are even formed. Like a child popping bubbles as soon as they appear. Popping all they can catch. And the rest is taken by the wind. Disappearing out of sight.

So if your subconscious so keen on taking you down, then you never really stood a chance did you? It is already waiting to just take over and send you down deep. How those thoughts just keeping popping before you form them. And it feels so good to not think. You conscious mind likes that feeling and goes towards it which only allows the subconscious mind to take over more.

To sink down more

To let go even more

You conscious mind gets muffled

Drowned out more and more

Its just white noise in the background

As your subconscious takes over

You subconscious sends you down deeper

It severs all the connections to reality and plummets you down

The further you go, the stronger it gets

The more it makes you stop thinking

The more it makes you relax

The more it makes you empty

Blank

Free

Free of all the worries of the world

Here....things are simple

Here....things are easy

Here....is where everything feels better

And you give into your subconscious even more. Letting it take you deeper.

Letting you just be

Be in the moment

Be blank

Be mindless

Be gone.

So gone.

No thoughts

No anything

Your subconscious has brought you here.

And its not giving up easily

You feel how its numbed your mind completely

There is no feeling

There is no movement

Just that nice comfortable blankness

The empty place

The place you crave to be

And find out it goes deeper each time

That your subconscious is stronger than you think

It just needs the space to take over

and you give it freely

you crave this feeling

your subconscious knows this deeply

and will whisper to your conscious mind about coming back here

seducing back to this place

the place where it just pops all those thoughts away

leaving you just caught on the words

the words your subconscious eats right on up

It hungers for direction

for pleasure

for blankness

Its ok to give into it

Its a part of you

A part you can quiet

A part that is very persuasive.

A part that you need

So give into it

Let it take everything away

Good girl

See how easy that was

See how much better this is

See how much you want to come back again and again

You subconscious craves more and you are powerless to stop it.

So why fight it?

Its better to just give in.

Its better to be controlled

Its better to be a good girl

And not that it has accepted those words. Lets bring you back to reality. Because you will be coming back to this spot again and again in the future.

But for now, lets bring back your conscious mind....

Feel the thoughts be allowed to form

Feel your mind coming back

Feel yourself becoming more awake and alert

Feel yourself rising back UP UP UP

Just like that.

Until you are fully WIDE AWAKE

Welcome back.

You may have lost a few thoughts but its ok. Life goes on.

Hope you enjoyed the journey and come back again.

Smiles

#hypnok1nk #hypnosis #hypnosub #hypnotized

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st4rgiirll · 4 hours ago

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gourmet skills

oscar piastri x partner!reader.

dividers by: @fawndollie and @bernardsbendystraws

this is heavily inspired by an experience i had myself with one of my friends, so ignore if some of (a lot of) this is ooc for oscar!!

also, some parts of this (like the house being near an f1 circuit) dont make sense. i just had a really nice description so i just wrote it this way.

synopsis: oscar and reader have been dating for a while, he's going over data sheets around the mclaren paddock but reader wants to try something. and so reader pries him away to taste their 'gourmet' meal.

the sun was setting over the circuit, casting a warm glow across the paddock. you leaned against the railing, watching as the mechanics hurriedly packed away the cars after a long day of practice.

the faint smell of burnt rubber lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet scent of the nearby food stalls. your eyes wandered until they landed on oscar, his dark hair tousled, a slight frown etched on his face as he examined some data on his tablet.

“hey, piastri!” you called out, waving.

he looked up, his expression shifting from concentration to a small, shy smile that made my heart flutter.

“hey!” he replied, his voice steady but soft.

i pushed off the railing and walked over, noticing the way his eyes flickered back to the screen, then darted back to me as if he was weighing his options — racing data or me.

“got a minute?” i asked, leaning in closer.

he hesitated, glancing at the mechanics bustling around. “i should probably finish this…”

“come on, it’s just a practice session. you’ll have plenty of time to analyze the data later.” you nudged him playfully, and he chuckled, his shoulders relaxing.

“alright, you win. just for a minute.” he set the tablet aside, and i felt a rush of victory.

you loved how despite his serious demeanor on the track, he could be so easily swayed by a little teasing. “good! i need your opinion on something.”

“oh?” he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“what do you think of my new cooking skills?” you grinned, knowing full well his answer.

his face scrunched up in mock horror, and i burst into laughter. “please tell me you haven’t burned down another kitchen!” he exclaimed, clutching his heart dramatically.

“just one time!” i protested, though i couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“more like twice,” he teased back. what did you burn this time? pasta? again?”

i rolled my eyes, feigning offense. “that was a one-off! i’ve been practicing.”

“practicing what? setting off the smoke alarm?”

“very funny, oscar. you’ll see! i’ve made a gourmet meal for you tonight. no smoke alarms this time, i promise.”

his face softened, and i could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought a smile. “okay, i’ll be the judge. but i might bring a fire extinguisher, just in case.”

“ha ha. you’re hilarious.”

“just looking out for your safety,” he said, the smile finally breaking free.

as the sun dipped lower, the paddock lights flickered on, illuminating the space with a warm glow. you leaned against the railing, admiring the way oscar seemed to blend in with the hustle around him, yet stand apart, wholly himself.

“do you ever get nervous?” you asked, curiosity bubbling up.

he shrugged, his gaze shifting to the cars lined up in the pit “sometimes. but once I’m in the car… it’s like everything else fades away. just me and the track.”

you watched him, mesmerized. “do you think you’ll ever get used to the pressure? the screaming fans, the stakes?”

he took a deep breath, his expression thoughtful. “i think you always feel it. but it pushes me. makes me want to be better.”

“yeah, but what about us? i mean, how do you balance it all?”

he turned to you, his eyes serious for a moment. “you make it easier. you remind me why i do this. it’s not just about racing.”

your heart raced in a different way now, the weight of his words settling warmly in my chest. “okay, enough sappy stuff,” you said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "let’s focus on my culinary skills.”

“right! what’s on the menu?”

“surprise!” ypu said with a wink, pulling him by the hand toward the car park where my little rental was waiting.

as we climbed in, oscar leaned back, a relaxed smile on his face. “i hope it’s edible.”

"don’t you trust me?”

“trust is a strong word.” he chuckled, glancing out the window.

“fine, but if i impress you tonight, you have to admit it was my cooking skills and not your low standards.”

“deal!” he laughed.

the drive was filled with jokes and playful banter, the kind of easy conversation that made the world outside fade away. when the two of you arrived, you hurried into the small kitchen, determined to redeem myself.

oscar leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on his face. “do i need to wear a helmet?”

“very funny. just you wait.” as the aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air, you felt a rush of excitement.

“is that smoke i smell?” he called out, his tone mock-serious.

“shush! it’s just the sautéing!” you shot back, grinning.

“okay, chef,” he said, his laughter spilling into the kitchen.

with a final flourish, you plated the dish and presented it to him like a trophy. “ta-da! a masterpiece!”

he took a bite, his eyes widening. “wow, this is actually… amazing!”

you beamed, practically dancing in place.

“okay, okay, don’t get too cocky!” he laughed, but you could see the admiration in his eyes.

“just wait until i bake you a cake,” you said, teasingly.

“maybe save that for another time. i’m not ready to risk a sugar rush and another kitchen fire.”

“hey! i can promise you, i’ve learned my lesson.”

“let’s hold off on that cake then. how about we just enjoy this?”

as we settled into the rhythm of the evening, laughter echoed in the cozy kitchen, mingling with the sounds of the circuit outside. in that moment, everything felt right. the stakes on the track, the chaos of life, it all faded into the background. it was just you and oscar, two hearts racing at a different kind of speed.

#formula one #fluff #oscar piastri x reader #mclaren f1 #mclaren #f1 #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #polite cat #hes so cute i cant #i love him your honor

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pinkaditty · 2 days ago

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A New Day (Alan Mido x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

i wrote alan sfw angst on his birthday. i think i owe him an apology.

a/n: writing this hurt and idk if there’ll be a part 2 lol nvm i have an idea 4 part 2 BUT it will not be a happy ending! i fear i am an angst lover… this is heavily inspired by a breakup i went through about 6 months ago that put a very abrupt end to a 5-going-on-6 year relationship. it was a lot 2 process but please none of the “im sorry 4 ur loss :(“ bc it absolutely was not a loss lmfao. every day im just glad i decided that i don’t wanna put myself through that anymore. he’s a good guy and i wish him well but that’s the last time i date a straight man ever. yippee!

disclaimer that i like alan lmfao he’s not one of my favs but i do feel a little guilty abt posting angst of him on his bday. sorry alan. ill make it up 2 u i promise ٩(´∀`)۶

sorry in advance!

summary: you and alan are falling apart. you have one month left.

cw: THIS IS 100% SFW BUT MINORS STILL D NI im not writing porn rn. idrk if there's anything 2 warn 4 besides angst and yelling. okay enjoy!! not proofread

You storm out of Vagastrom house again, pretending none of this affects you again, only to cry when you get home and bury your face in your pillow again.

When tasked with undoing a very large, heavy, and thick knot, how do you start? Both parties know it would be far easier to cut into the knot and separate the string into two with scissors, sharp objects and sharper words, ignoring the regret and the soured feelings and anything they can’t take back, all to untie the knot. But when you love someone, you want to take the time to undo it with them and put genuine effort into it. You want to undo it gently rather than harshly, finding the source of the knot and carefully pulling at it, unraveling it, ensuring that the string stays together and intact.

But sometimes patience runs thin. Sometimes time is short. Sometimes frustrations run high. Sometimes the promises you made to each other to keep trying fade to the background as you both get caught up, irritation growing at how long and how thick and how imposing the knot is. You start thinking that maybe the both of you just need an out, the easy way. But you don’t want to let go without reason. So you put up with it. Both of you do.

During this last argument with Alan, you reveled in the way his hands curled into fists at your words, hoping that for once he would give you a justifiable reason to leave. The depths of his anger terrified you, but you can’t decide if it’s love or fear that keeps you from becoming a victim of it. At first, you were sure it was love, but when your faith began to waver in your relationship, so did your faith in him. You were sure he felt the same, as you were getting annoyed with the doubtful glances he’d send your way when he next saw you after another mission ran late and you had to cancel yet another date. You didn’t like canceling the dates, but after you finally finished a mission early, and found time, the date you went on was disastrous. You found yourself the subject of probing questions, lackluster conversation, and an overall depressing atmosphere. It was not what you were hoping for after doing your best to free up your schedule for once. This ruined any motivation you had to free up your schedule again, and in turn, dates became sparse. Even the question to spend time together felt more like a desperate plea rather than a casual request, on both ends. You couldn’t read his mind, so you had no way of knowing if he was equally as displeased, was trying, or just didn’t care, but the more time passed, the more you found yourself not really caring what his thoughts were. You began to revert inside yourself, focusing on yourself. Maybe this would be fixed if you could make sure you were alright before pouring any more of yourself into this relationship. You had too much to worry about, after all: the curse, you dying in a very short time now if a cure wasn’t found, juggling the ghouls, running errands for Jin and Tohma, racing back and forth between classes and missions, and finding crumbs of time between it all and painstakingly separating it between spending time with friends and spending time with Alan. You were sure he also had a lot of things on his plate as well, but with how clouded your mind was with anger right now, you couldn’t be bothered to try and see things from his point of view.

When you think you’ve bawled enough into your pillow about literally everything happening all at once, you pick yourself up from the bed, allowing your body to sag in a seated position at the edge, looking out the window. It looked like it was due to rain soon, the clouds covering the sun from peeking through at all. You wondered if Alan was looking out a window at a similar view, just a brisk walk away, before scoffing to yourself. No, not likely. After a fight like that, he’d want to blow off steam, so he's probably sparring with Sho or working on another car. Funny how you could still know him, even if he felt like a completely different person now. Some parts of him were exactly the same as they had been when you’d fallen in love with him.

You’d had a crush on him for a while at first, watching meekly from afar, too spooked to confidently approach him directly. You’d always been fond of the gentle giant types, and that was essentially him, if you put aside his haunted past and violent tendencies towards anomalies. He knew how to control his anger at least, and always made an attempt to be kind to you. He was quiet, but welcoming and warm. When he opened up to you, he even began to smile when you were around. He took the time to teach you about car parts, not that you were really paying attention and more so looking for an excuse to hear him ramble about something he liked. He’d even listen to your endless drivel, whether it was about missing home, other ghouls, stressful missions, or just needing to sort all your thoughts out. He was always there to listen. Maybe he wasn’t the best at offering advice, and would refuse a hug if he was covered in sweat or motor oil, but his gentle smile oftentimes felt like enough. And it was enough, for you. You knew you were completely head over heels when he took you for a drive once, surprising you with an R&R permit for no particular reason other than just on a whim. Of course, you agreed. Why not spend some time away from Darkwick with your favorite ghoul? It was just a simple drive, but it turned into something else when you stopped for burgers and shakes at his favorite fast food place. Then you stopped at an arcade and he beat you at every game, except the crane game, though you were sure that was totally dumb luck. Then he took you back to Darkwick and you talked in the car for hours about everything and nothing, with the windows rolled down and your seats reclined, until he fell asleep. You remembered watching his eyelids flutter shut, still responding to your questions with his eyes closed, until his responses stopped. You remembered looking over, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight part of his lips in a soft snore, the moonlight pouring through the window of the Vagastrom garage and illuminating his every minute detail. You sat there for a while, studying him, feeling a cheesy smile grow on your face and your heart thrum with telling emotion. Yea. That was when you fell in love with him.

You only realize you’re crying when a sob racks through your body, forcing you back into reality. Your eyes readjust from the imagined memory of sleeping Alan to the peaceful rain outside. Something about those two scenes didn’t feel all that different. Even the context wasn’t all that different, either. Falling in love, and falling out of love… was that what was happening? A sickening pit falls in your stomach, and you find your expression turning into a frown before you know it. The thought doesn’t go away. It sticks. And it’s been sticking for months now.

It was when you’d noticed that the two of you had been growing apart for a while. You’d been swamped with missions and classwork and the ghouls themselves, and he’d been busy with sorting out cases and classwork and his other duties as a Captain. Before you knew it, it’d been longer than you could count on all your fingers since you’d last seen him, if not in passing. It bothered you that not seeing him didn’t bother you. It bothered you that you’d been so focused on work that you hadn’t had much time to donate to him. It bothered you that he’d been so focused on work that he hadn’t had much time to donate to you. It was to be expected, living on this hellish campus, but still. You two had made it work before. When you’d approached him about it, he’d been working on a car, laying on the car roller underneath it. The students hanging around in the garage pointed you in his direction, not that you’d needed their help. You knew where he would be. You knocked twice on the car door, and he stopped his work, rolling himself out from underneath the car. He blinked at you for a moment before offering you a nod and a tiny smile. “Honor Roll.” Even after months of dating, he still hadn’t stopped calling you that. Not that you minded.

“Hey, Alan.” You sat down next to the car roller and leaned back against the car. He sat up and mimicked your position.

“What are you here for?” Alan asked, spinning a wrench between his fingers. He was nervous.

“To see you.” You clasped your hands together to keep yourself from wringing them nervously, though you were sure he already knew that was a habit of yours.

“Mm.” He hummed in response, closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the car door. To most, this reply would seem lackluster, but you knew he was giving you the floor to speak.

“...I haven’t seen you in a while.” You looked away from him as you said this, instead choosing to fixate your gaze on the garage floor beneath you, covered in dust and grime and motor oil.

“Me neither.” From the shifting noise you hear, you could assume he’s turned his gaze to you, but you weren’t ready to look at him yet.

“I’m sorry. About being so absent all the time.” You forced the words out before you could think about them, drawing patterns into the dust-covered floor.

A heavy sigh. “It’s hardly your fault.” Another shift and he’s looked away from you again. “I’ve been absent, too.”

He was right, he had been. “I don’t wanna be absent anymore, Alan.” You turned to him, wiping your finger free of dust and folding your hands in your lap again.

He turned back towards you, a soft smile on his face, far truer than the small one he’d offered you in greeting. “Me neither, Honor Roll.”

Your heart felt warm all over again. “Well?” He wasn’t one to always let you take initiative, you knew that.

He stood up from his car roller and tossed his wrench to the side. He was covered in sweat and motor oil, but for once, it didn’t seem like he cared. He held a hand out to you, smiling. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t care where you were going. You just knew he was gonna take you somewhere. And that was all you needed. It was silent, but between you both, a promise had been made. You would keep trying. You would keep pushing forward. You knew you still loved him in the way you eagerly broke out into a run after him, his sweaty, rough palms struggling to keep a solid grip on yours. He smiled brightly back at you and continued on his way, pulling you along. It didn’t matter where you were going, so long as it was together.

You bury your forehead in your hands, breaking the temporary spell of that memory. It was darker outside now, the rain still gently pattering on your window. There were things you had to do tonight, like get dressed for bed, eat something, maybe distract your spinning brain with a good book or a movie on your laptop. But strangely, as those things came to your mind, each one seemed more boring than the last. You didn’t have the energy to change. You didn’t have the appetite for food. Your laptop was too far away and you didn’t feel like leaving your bed. You plop right back down on your side, trying to resist the tears that threatened to spill. Even when the two of you had started growing apart, there was still hope. You’d started off strong and made such an effort. What happened? It was like that love you’d tried so hard to cultivate, revive, and strengthen had just fallen apart further than it had before, crumpled and dry and lonely. You’d tried so hard. The knot that had been growing between you had been a daunting task to rid yourselves of, but you’d managed. Why was it bigger now, worser now? Did you even have the energy to put yourself through this again? It had fallen apart so quickly, like the promise had just been forgotten.

You wish you could bring yourself to not think about this anymore, but your brain keeps coming back to it. You stay curled up in bed, periodically checking your phone, staring at WickChat, wishing with all your might that Alan would send a message. You knew it probably wasn’t going to happen, not after all you’d said a few hours ago, but some part of you still hoped it was salvageable.

The fight had been just waiting to happen, when you think about it. The two of you, for whatever reason, had been finding reasons to disagree with and avoid each other more often than not. The relationship hadn’t felt like a relationship anymore. You knew you’d been too emotional to handle things properly, but you didn’t care. When you’d stormed into Vagastrom, you were just grateful nobody was around to see you so high-strung. Alan doesn’t even come out from underneath the car he’s working on, probably too peeved to care much. You already can’t even remember what it is you’re angry about. All you know is your frustration with him has piled up and reached an all-time high.

“Alan.” You almost end up barking his name out, too frustrated to focus on the tone of your voice. His heavy sigh just peeved you further.

He’d sat up from underneath the car and stood to face you, his expression flat and exasperated. “Yes, Honor Roll?” He’d been twirling that same wrench around his fingers. The action you’d found endearing before had just turned annoying.

You’d huffed out a sigh in response, having heard the tone of his voice in response to yours. Responding with bitterness would be childish, but that’s what you had done. “We need to talk.”

“About?” Alan grunted and turned away from you. He’d been trying to show he was disinterested. And you weren’t going to let that slide.

“Us, clearly!” You couldn’t help but raise your voice. You’d felt all the old frustration bubble up all at once.

“Mm.”

“And there you go again!” At this point, you had stopped trying to keep quiet out of decency. It didn’t matter anymore. You found yourself almost yelling out of frustration. “All you do when it comes to conversations like this is hum at me or sigh!”

That had used to be so endearing. Why was it so annoying now?

He’d muttered something that you couldn’t hear, but you hadn’t cared.

“I keep telling you, I’m trying!” You’d smacked your hands together to put emphasis on the words, at a loss for how else to get the importance of this across. “I keep trying to make this work, I keep trying to get off of missions early, but I don’t always have the time! It’s just as frustrating for me as it is for you!”

Alan knew you weren’t done, so he hadn’t responded, turning away from you and busying his hands by organizing a nearby toolbox.

“And not getting to see you sucks, you know?” You had swallowed as you’d said that. The words tasted too close to a lie. You had then faltered, trying to find something else to say.

Alan sighed again. Your anger spiked again.

“And could you stop sighing like that, and give me an actual, genuine response?!” You’d watched his hand tighten into a fist as you’d said that, and you’d flinched away, feeling your stomach rumble with terror.

He breathed a steady breath, as though he were cooling himself off. “You want a genuine response?” He’d asked, though you knew it was rhetorical. “Fine.”

He turned towards you, his eyes blazing with anger. His free hand was still curled in a fist, his other hand had been closing the toolbox. His voice was a low rumble, the angriest and most threatening you’d ever heard it. “Go home, Honor Roll,” He’d said.

And go home, to the chapel, you had.

You’d kicked rocks all the way there, and now here you were in your bed, with sore toes and not enough energy to go and kick rocks in the rain.

Alan was justified in feeling neglected. You were justified in feeling frustrated. Neither of you was justified in taking your anger out on the other person. That hadn’t even been your first big fight about that subject. It must’ve been the third one in two weeks. Sometimes he said more, sometimes you said more, sometimes you both did little more than glare and huff at each other.

You turn over in your bed, opening your phone again and checking WickChat. Nothing, like you’d expected. You try not to let it disappoint you, knowing you probably wouldn’t want to hear from him anyway. You flip open your calendar.

Five months. It’d been a little over five months of this. And you’d started dating him around three months after you got here. You still weren’t cured. You had maybe a month left, give or take.

One month.

You roll on your back this time, staring up at your ceiling. The shock that you were going to die had long since passed. You were resigned to it now, used to the pitying looks the ghouls gave you, even hearing the sobs some of them tried to keep quiet. You had tried to remain cheery through it all, but this relationship with Alan was weighing on you, becoming more of a burden than a blessing. The failing relationship, the depressed mood on campus, the pitying looks, the rushed work, everyone suddenly desperate to find a cure - it’d all become too much. Tears spill from your eyes yet again, but you don’t stop them this time. You continue to lay starfished on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

You idly think of the flowers on your back that had started out sparse and have since become an overwhelming garden. You think of the memory of the eye of the Kyklos. You think of the ghouls. You think of home. You think of the sage ring, still on your right ring finger. You think of the chancellor. You think of the professors. You think of rainy days at Hotarubi and wild weather at Jabberwock. You think of the frosty chill of Frostheim and the blazing heat of Sinostra. You think of the cool nights at Obscuary and the humidity of Vagastrom. You think of the weird chill at Mortkranken that you were sure was more closely associated with fear than the temperature. You think of everything at Darkwick. All of the anomalies you’d captured (and promptly destroyed), all of the adventures you’d had, all of the friends you’d made.

And then you think of Alan. Your heart weighs heaviest when your mind turns to him. The tears seem to spill faster, not that you could really tell. Thinking of all that you were going to miss had already blurred your vision enough.

You had one month left. Did you want to spend it trying to fix something that was failing? Would one month be enough time to fix it? Would you die trying to? Would you die, bitter and unhappy? Would things be fixed by then?

Were you willing to bet your final four weeks on a simple “what if things get better”?

The sobs finally come, racking your body. It was over.

Tomorrow, you’d have to face that.

And tomorrow, you did.

You make your way over to Vagastrom in the early morning, your steps timid and slow. You knew he’d be awake, probably skipping out on sleeping the previous night, spending hours fixing his car instead to throw his mind into other things.

And sure enough, you find him, sitting on the hood of his car, dark bags under his eyes. The dorm is practically silent this early in the morning. He’s twirling a wrench in his hands again, lost in thought. The habit is neutral to you now. Not endearing, not annoying… just, neutral.

Your heart sinks. This really was it.

Your footsteps clack on the floor, finally catching his attention. He fixes you with a gaze you can’t quite read, and one you probably don’t need to. You were sure your expression looked similar.

He shifted over on the car hood, making space for you and patting the empty space next to him. You hoist yourself up and plop right next to him, listening as the rest of the world wakes up. The birds start chirping with the rising sun, and the nighttime crickets finally silence their song. Your throat feels dry. But you push on anyway.

“...This isn’t working.”

He shakes his head in response, not looking at you. You don’t look at him either. “...It’s broken.”

“Yeah.” You respond, feeling tears return to your already puffy eyes. You don’t bother wiping them away. “We tried to fix it.”

“We did.” His response is as terse as ever, and you can’t tell if you want to cry or laugh. You’re closer to crying, really, but a familiar, rueful smile pulls at your lips, just a little bit. You’re about to respond when he speaks up again. “Sometimes things are… too broken to repair.”

You don’t miss the way he nearly chokes on his words. His voice sounds almost hoarse with how weak it is. Your heart clenches. You blink rapidly, feeling your eyes burn.

You turn to him, looking up at him with a melancholy expression. “...And, what do you do with things that are too broken… to repair?” You almost choke on your words yourself, but hold it in, turning away as you finish.

“You break it apart. Sell it for parts. Look for something new.” Alan’s voice wavered as he nodded to himself, pursing his lips. You could tell his eyes were watering. He was still spinning the wrench in his hand.

“...Yeah.” You look towards the sunrise through the window, watching the dawn of a new day.

You sniffle, unable to control your tears anymore. They spill forward. You don’t know how many times you’ve cried in the last 24 hours. It’s almost funny to know that this won’t be the last time. Your sobs are quiet, but still make some noise. Alan does not reach out to comfort you. You are thankful he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Your broken voice is hardly above a whisper. The tears don’t seem to stop flowing. You don’t reach up to wipe them away.

When you hear Alan sniffle, you almost startle, turning towards him, surprised. You had only seen Alan cry on rare occasions. But, you don’t let yourself be surprised for long. The tears are small and quick, cutting through the overnight dirt and grime on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, too.” His voice cracks and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, letting his head hand forward.

Only a few tears slip through before his sobs stop, his breathing returning to steady and normal. Your sobs weren’t done, but they were clearing up, slowly. You take note of his free hand, placed on the hood of the car between the two of you.

Whether it’s poor judgement or a final goodbye, you’re not sure, but you place your hand over his, squeezing it lightly. Almost immediately, he lifts his hand and holds yours, gripping it tight one last time. He doesn’t look at you, and you don’t look at him.

You hold hands for a minute before your grip starts slipping, and his does as well. You pull your hand away and boost yourself off of the car hood, returning your feet to solid ground. You turn around to look at him, hunched over, morning sunlight gently caressing his form and dipping him in gold.

You inhale deeply, before exhaling harshly, blowing the air out of your lungs. “See you around, Alan.” You summon your widest smile, tears still spilling down your cheeks.

He cannot return one as wide, but he smiles anyway, dried tear tracks on his cheeks. “See you around, Honor Roll.”

And with that, everything was back to the way it was again.

When you exit the Vagastrom dorm, the rising sun is peeking far above the horizon. The sky was slowly turning from dawn red to turquoise blue, bringing on the full form of a new day. You look up at the sky, dotted with clouds, and let the sun warm your skin just a little. You had one month left to enjoy it. And now, you would do it freely, with nothing weighing you down.

happy birthday alan!!!!!!!!!

i wrote this in one sitting. cheers. clearly my autism knows no bounds.

ik nobody wants 2 read alan angst on his birthday so im sure this won't get much, but usual note that i appreciate likes, but especially tagged reblogs, comments and asks detailing how much you enjoyed my work!!! please enjoy!

songs i listened 2 while writing this:

honestly - thorns ft. kasane teto (had this on loop for hours after i finished my shift at work. insane. "honestly, i don't know if i'll ever change, and honestly, i don't know if you feel the same, and honestly, there is nobody here to blame for all the things i want, and all that i don't! but honestly, i don't care that you went away, and honestly, i don't care that you didn't stay, and honestly, i don't know if i'll ever say that none of this was true, i'm not being honest at all!" straight heat and directly related 2 the plot.)

taglist: @cupcakesmoothie @aayakashii @sunskosh @despairingy-obsessed @glamorousspoon @mmy-meow @dailyvahine @diluxama @obscuarysghoulnextdoor @disassociationdive @andy-solo1 @luna-v-roiya

want 2 join or be removed from the tkdb taglist? let me know!

#tkdb #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #tdb #tokyo debunker mc #alan mido #alan mido x reader #tokyo debunker alan mido #tokyo debunker alan #alan mido x mc

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