#they really are hand in unlovable hand huh

[banchiedoingart]

there is no courage in flirting with fear

to prove you're alive

Reblog > likes!!!

[mj-slenderman]

Malevolent episode 41 so excited for the boys to fall down and be in big fucked up pits again

[sunsage]

Local monkey man with negative love life is cursed to continue not having any, doesn't seem all that bothered.

[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

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You were four years old when it happened.

As far back as you could remember, you’d lived in an orphanage. You’d never met your real parents, nor did it seem like they had any intention of coming to get you, just based on how your caretakers would act. They tried to convince you that your parents must have had their reasons; that they might not have been in the right place to take care of you, but it served as little reassurance. You felt unwanted, unloved. You wondered what you could have possibly done that your own parents wouldn’t want to be with you—why all of these children were missing their families. You didn’t understand, but it felt unfair. For whatever reason, you were undesirable. At least, that’s the way you felt.

On a rather uneventful day, you were out on the playground with some of the other kids from the orphanage. They were all playing together, but you were off by the sandpit on your own, fiddling with the outfit on your doll. At some point a cluster of them had broken off, and one of the boys came right up to you, grinned, and snatched the doll straight out of your hands.

You frowned at him. “Give it back.”

“Nuh uh,” he jeered. “You’re always so boring, [Name]. You never play with the rest of us.”

“I’m not in the mood to play right now. Can you please give me my doll back?”

“What’s so fun about these dolls anyways?” The boy squinted at the toy in his hands, and without wasting a beat, popped one of the doll’s legs clean off. “Whoa!” he cried out. “They break so easily!”

You felt like you should be bursting into tears, but oddly enough, the tears didn’t come. You were eerily composed, a sense of calm washing over you. Something was telling you there was no reason to get worked up. You felt your chest growing warm, and your eyes began to glow a faint, pink shade. You stepped up to the boy and grabbed him by the wrist.

“You ruined my doll,” you said. “Apologize.”

“Huh—?” He stared back at you, dubious, and something akin to realization overtook his expression. He began to grow red in the cheeks, his breaths became irregular, and he swayed unsteadily on his own two feet. The boy stared down at the doll and its now missing leg in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “I-I’m so sorry!” he spluttered. “I didn’t mean to… [Name]. I’m really, really sorry!”

You’d never seen the boy act like this before. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to go around teasing the other girls. You glanced down to where your fingers were laced around his wrist. You tightened your grip, watching the way his blush only deepened.

“I want a new doll,” you told him.

“Of course! I’m so sorry… I’ll tell the supervisors what happened and get you a new one right away, I promise!”

Even his accomplices seemed to be confused. “Dude, why are you apologizing to her? She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else!”

“She thinks she’s too good to play with the rest of us!”

You pulled away from the first boy and stared at the other two. Still hesitant, you reached over and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. You felt something rushing or pulsing through your body. The air felt like it tasted richer, sweeter. And this time you were sure of it—the moment your hand made contact with their bodies, each of the boys grew red in the face and started rocking on their feet as if they were drunk.

“Apologize,” you ordered again.

“We’re sorry, [Name]!”

“So sorry…”

You took a step back and marveled at what had just happened. All three of them were staring at you with flushed, puffy cheeks, as if they were awaiting your next command. Your small limbs were practically oozing with power. You were sure that this must have been what everyone was always talking about—the birth of your Quirk.

“You guys can leave me alone now,” you said, crouching back down inside the sandpit. “Please make sure I get a new doll and tell the supervisors that you were the reason it broke in the first place.”

They nodded their heads furiously, already rushing over to confess their wrongdoings. You hugged your knees to your chest and inhaled shakily. You didn’t know exactly what kind of power it was, but the feeling of others being so helpless before you… it was oddly exhilarating.

—

You explained to the caretakers the gist of what had happened, and they began speculating as to what type of power you had. It was worth noting that while some became more interested in you as a result of your newly-developed Quirk, others were a bit more apprehensive after finding out what had happened to the three boys. The teachers and caretakers instructed you not to use your Quirk on others needlessly, since you presumably had a power that could control people.

Of course, you didn’t listen.

The next couple of weeks cleared up some questions you had about your Quirk. To be more exact, you weren't consciously using it. It was a difficult power to control, and you would find that it activated on its own without your awareness. It became evident that your Quirk didn’t simply enable you to control others; there were other aspects to it that you were struggling to grasp. You were too young and naive to make sense of it all, but the one thing that was seemingly apparent was that your powers relied on attracting others to you.

You’d been rather quiet and reserved for the majority of your stay at the orphanage, but now the others flocked to you like birds. The boys especially seemed most susceptible to your powers. They would follow you around for near hours at a time, even going so far as to give you presents that you hadn’t even asked for. On some occasions, the caretakers themselves would tilt their heads and smile, saying what a “cute, charming girl” you were, before letting you get away with things that normally wouldn’t have been allowed.

At first, you thought you liked your Quirk. You were getting more attention than you ever had, and for the first time, you felt loved and desired. You thought that maybe if you’d been born with this power, your parents might not have abandoned you. All of the boys in the orphanage loved you, all of the girls wanted to be your friends, and they would each go to any lengths to make you happy. You could get anything you wanted. Truly, it was the best possible Quirk.

But this too, was a fleeting feeling. Before long, the attention became overbearing. You could never get away from it all, from the looks of desire and adoration. The friendships you’d developed with the children started to feel less genuine and more fabricated. You felt like they weren’t really your friends; that your power was just forcing them to be. These ugly thoughts started to pile on more and more, to the point that you began to resent your Quirk. You couldn’t control the power leaving your body, and it felt as if you were living life trying to navigate through a misty pink haze.

Several months passed, and a visitor came to the orphanage.

“I’ve come to take you in, [Name].”

It was a man with pin-straight black hair and striking red eyes. He introduced himself as Mikael, and declared that he’d already filled out all the required paperwork to adopt you. The orphan children began to cry, lamenting the fact that you would be leaving them. You were both relieved and anxious. Even if you couldn’t control your powers, here, at least, you could rest easy knowing that everyone adored you. You’d spent all of your life in the orphanage, and you were a little afraid to leave.

This guy will probably listen to anything I say anyways…

Mikael held you by the hand and led you outside once you’d bid farewell to everyone. He looked down at you, eyes gleaming, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “I think you’ll find that your Quirk will have no effect on me, descendant of Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite?”

You stared up at him, confused. He didn’t answer your question and instead chuckled to himself.

“Not to worry. I will teach you how to control your Quirk in due time. You’ve been blessed with a gift, young one. A beautiful power capable of touching the hearts of many.”

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[imyourbratzdoll]

Hey I was reading your X-men posts and I just had an idea and if it is possible for you can you write about reader was with Bucky or Steve or both (your choice) but they break her heart and she finds love again with Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) or Eric Lehnsherr (Michael Fassbender) or both (again your choice) and protect her from Steve/Bucky 😅❤️

hi honey! thank you for requesting this, I hope you like what I've written!

summary - love can be deceiving especially with the wrong person, but it's so much more when it's with the right person.

warning - cheating? angst, word whore is used, insecurities, small violence.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips (deactivated)

Bucky Barnes had been your light since the day The Avengers found you. He had been the one to comfort you when the nightmares would become too much, the one to love you like you’ve never been loved before. So why did it feel like your heart was being ripped out of your chest as you heard him talking to his friends. Why did it feel like the opposite of love?

“I’m so sick of Y/n being attached to me all of the time! And does she really think I love her?! Has she seen herself lately? She’s no Nat or Sharon. She’s just her, plain.” Bucky groans, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his beer. “Oh, did I tell you that I hooked up with a smoking hot babe last night?” He smirks. “Man could she bend.”

You suck in a breath quietly, not wanting to be heard and also struggling to hold back your pain. You walk back to your room, quickly packing your things and disappearing into the night. You knew it was too good to be true, not once in your life had anything ever turned out good. You always seemed to end up with the short end of the stick. You had nowhere to go, a bag in your hand and the moon shining down on you. You felt stupid, you should’ve stayed, found a place before you left. 

You decided to walk a few blocks, taking a random train, wanting to distance yourself. You had turned your phone off and threw it away at the first sight of Bucky calling you. You couldn’t turn back now, too busy with your head down, looking at the ground you manage to bump into someone. Your bag falling from your hands, hitting the floor with a thump. “I–I’m so sorry!” You go to kneel but stop when you notice your bag floating in the air. 

“It’s not safe for a pretty girl to be out this late. You don’t know who you might end up bumping into.” You blink, your eyes connecting with blue. The random man hums, “Ah, Y/n L/n. What are you doing so far from home? Don’t you know you have many people looking for you? Some good, some bad.” 

You shrug, “I don’t care…” You wipe your cheeks, ensuring there are no tear marks on them. “Who are you?” 

The unknown man stares, face like stone. Reminding you so much of the man you just left. “And here I thought I made a reputation for myself.” He studies you, “Erik Lehnsherr, but I also go by Magneto.” 

You nod. “It’s nice to meet you. If you excuse me, I have somewhere to be…” You lie, you recognise the name, you knew of the people he used to hang around before he fully embraced his dark side. You couldn’t have him handing you back out of spite, you didn’t want to go back. Not after what you heard. 

Erik’s hand flies out, gripping your arm softly. “No, you don’t. But I’m not a total monster, I won’t let a pretty girl like you stay out on the streets all night. God knows what will happen.” He begins to pull you along, ignoring your protests. “Be quiet, don’t make me regret being kind.” 

Your mouth falls open as you stand in front of the X-Mansion, beginning to feel uncomfortable as you realise these people may judge you. You weren’t a mutant, you were a freak, an unloved freak. “I–I can’t stay here!”

“Why not?” Erik looks down at you, “Oh, are you one of those vampires that need inviting in?”

You look up at him with your head tilted, “Huh? What… No. I just, these people are… and I’m me… Plain…” You begin to play with your fingers.

“Hmm, whoever said that should get their eyes checked. Now come. I’m sure Charles is awaiting our arrival.” Instead of dragging you by the arm, he moves his hand and opens it, waiting for you to slip yours into his. 

Months had passed since you had bumped into Erik, Charles had accepted you into their family, proving to you that you were one of them. Erik had come and gone many of times since he had taken you here, and each time you began to dread when he had to leave again. Your relationship with him was okay, it had begun quite stiff and slowly blossomed into a friendship, the only issue is you fell for him. But you knew you weren’t good enough for a man like Erik, Bucky had proved that. 

Today you were excited though, Erik was coming back, and you had decided to wear your favourite dress, remembering the first time you had worn it, and he couldn’t stop staring at it. Deep down your insecurities were saying it’s because he hated the dress and was wondering how someone like you could ruin a pretty piece of clothing by wearing it, but another part of you had hoped it was the opposite, that he liked your dress.

You walk out of your room, smoothing out your dress as you begin to head to the door where you hear voices. A smile forms on your face, ready to see Erik again. You enter the room and your smile falls, he had finally found you. You didn’t want to face him, he was the reason you didn’t think you were good enough anymore. 

‘Y/n, I don’t want you to think I invited him, I tried to stop him, but I cannot do much unless I control someone’s mind and you understand why I didn’t, right?’ Charles speaks into your mind, your eyes connect with his and you nod.

“This is where you’ve been this whole time?! Do you know how worried we were?! How could you be so stupid!!” Bucky growls, moving closer. It’s as though you up and leaving him had struck a nerve, but you don’t know why, he didn’t love you like you did him. 

You hated yourself in this moment, you wanted to stand up for yourself and show him that his words didn’t hurt, but everything was coming back, and you couldn’t move or speak. “I–I…” 

“Take one step closer to her and I’ll shove that arm of yours down your throat.” A voice speaks from behind you, Erik steps out from the shadows, moving closer to you. His hand rests on your lower back, calming you down when you didn’t even know you needed to be calm. 

Bucky spins his arm, glaring. “Who are you?” His eyes fall to where Erik’s hand rests before he looks at you. “Is this why you ran off? Because you’re a whore?” Bucky steps forward, ignoring Erik’s warning causing Bucky to let out a cry of pain as his arm begins to get crushed.

“I warned you to not step closer to her. Yet you ignored that and insulted her.” He moves in front of you, pulling you to stay behind him. “Charles may have not wanted to control your mind because he’s a good guy, but I’m not.” With a flick of his hand, Bucky rises and gets thrown through the door. Erik stalks forward and glares at him. “If you ever come near Y/n again, I will kill you.” He makes sure to watch Bucky leave before he turns and walks toward you before you can even open your mouth to thank him, he grips the sides of your face and pulls you in, bringing you into a passionate kiss. 

Was this what love felt like?

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[finxwrites]

strange & grimm, which btw sounds like an urban fantasy affectionately parodic hardboiled detective agency. probably queer.

It was a hot, muggy night in the Enchanted Forest. Everyone with a lick of sense was down in the fairy glens, hoping the Winter Court would put in an appearance and bring a breeze on with them. Lucky me, I’m the sucker who fingered the Snow Queen for the missing persons case last winter, so I’m persona non grata in the fairy glens these days.

Just as well. I couldn’t afford to leave the office, not when it’d been so long since my last case. Though on a night like this, I might as well not bother. It was too hot for crime. Even the leaves on the enchanted trees were drooping in the heat. 

I was just about to call it a night when a dame walked in my door. Tall, blonde, legs for days, with an air of tragedy that could put an unloved stepchild to shame. I looked her over suspiciously for any cheery woodland creatures hidden in her golden ringlets. If she was a princess, I’d turf her right back out of the office, case unheard. Princesses paid well, but they were more trouble than they were worth.

No mice poked their adorable little noses out of her pockets as the dame sank into a chair and fixed me with a hard look. “I hear you’re the best in the business,” she said without preamble. “And I need the best.”

I leaned back in my seat. “Baby, I’m the only one in the business. It’s not a good genre for private dicks.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, far too child-friendly for any sort of dicks.” Before I could recover from that little gem, she went on, “It’s a child I’m here about. My sister. She’s…she’s gone missing.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please, Detective, you’re my last hope. The royal courts won’t hear me out, they think she’s gone on the lam!”

I nodded grimly. “One of those Bo Peep situations, huh?” I get a depressing number of those. All it takes is one wolf in sheep’s clothing—you’d think the kids would learn.

The dame glared. There was enough cold iron in her gaze to put a fairy off her ambrosia. “On the lam, Detective. On the run. My sister has…something of a record.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Your sister the child? She some kind of crime prodigy?”

The dame fidgeted, looking away. “She’s…” She sighed explosively. “My sister is Goldilocks.”

I whistled, low and long. Crime prodigy indeed—Goldilocks was wanted in five kingdoms for the most impressive string of burglaries the Enchanted Forest had ever seen. No one could ever prove she’d done it, but the circumstantial evidence had piled up higher than mattresses on a pea. No wonder no royal court would take this case.

The dame’s shoulders hunched defensively, but she bulled on without trying to defend her wayward sister. “She’s gone missing, and I know it’s not another one of her sprees. Something is wrong this time.” She turned back to meet my eyes, her lovely features harsh with poorly-suppressed fear. “It’s her first crime come back to haunt her, I just know it is. They’ve always wanted revenge—especially the baby of the family, and he’s all grown up now. What they’d do if they got hold of her—“ She cut herself off with a watery gasp; her eyes were wet with tears. “Oh, it doesn’t bear thinking about!”

I handed her a handkerchief and gave her a minute to compose herself. It gave me a minute, too, to decide if I was really going to be this stupid. You don’t tangle with the big predators, not if you know what’s good for you, and especially not a whole family of them. Families are a dangerous thing in any genre.

But I was her last hope, and I’m a sucker for lost causes. And if I didn’t get paid soon, this business would become a lost cause itself. I said a silent farewell to my good sense as it packed its bags and left for kinder climes. “Alright,” I told the dame, “Give me the facts. We’ll see what kind of a story they tell.”

[usiel21]

The courting gift.

Thing: What about a diamond?

Wednesday: Don't be ridiculous Thing, Enid is worth more than any mere dia-

Thing: Oh no, i know that look.

Wednesday: Thing you are a genius.

Thing: ...This isn't going to end well.

1 Hour Later...

Wednesday: Enid, a family matter has arisen that i must attend to, I will be back by the end of the weekend.

Enid: Uh yeah sure, everything okay?

Wednesday: (Pause) Yes, it cannot wait. Don't wait up and if i shan't return, burn this school down and everyone inside.

Enid: Wow... you're such a psychopath! (Giggles)

Wednesday:

Wednesday: Flattery will... it won't... (Sigh) Los halagos no te llevarán a ninguna parte cuando ya me has capturado, en cuerpo, mente y alma.

Enid: (Smiling widely) I Love you too!

Wednesday: (Quietly) Do not jest with your words Mi loba.

Two Days Later...

Enid is stood in the common room of Ophelia Hall, watching the news with Yoko and Divinia.

News Presenter: ...We have some upsetting breaking news, The Tower of London was broken into last night where thieves took the Koh i noor, a diamond that was set in the crown of the Queen Mother. With an estimated value of Three Hundred Million Pounds, the jewel is said to be priceless. The Metropolitan Police in conjunction with Palace officials have confirmed that currently there are no suspects, this is without doubt one of the greatest heists in history, although authorities are baffled that only one item was taken.

Enid: Wow... what kind of person would steal from a dead woman's crown. (Shaking her head) Anyway laters, Wednesday is due back at any moment!

Yoko: (Grinning) Like a puppy eagerly awaiting their owners return at the door.

Enid: (Blushing) Shut up. Anyway i'll see you later!

Enid rushes up a flight of stairs, two steps at a time, a bounce in her step. She had missed Wednesday. She had missed her so much. She pushes open the door making Wednesday flinch.

Enid: Wends!

Wednesday: (Turning around sharply, hiding something behind her back) Mi loba.

Enid: (Narrowing her eyes.) What's behind your back?

Wednesday: ...Nothing.

Enid folds her arms with a pointed glare and tilt of her head.

Wednesday sighs, knowing she can't lie to Enid, not anymore, brings the item in front of her.

Enid: Wednesday... please tell me you have a really, really good reason for having the fucking Koh-i-noor in our dorm room???

Wednesday: (Weakly) I stole it for you. I planned to give it to you this coming full Moon. To court you.

Enid:

Enid: Wends... all you had to do was ask me out for a coffee or something, not commit the greatest heist in living history! (Tearily) But oh em gee, you did this? for me?

Wednesday: I would do anything for you, my fierce, fluorescent wolf.

Enid: (Preening and blushing) Oh my gosh... I'm going to have to get used to that huh?

Wednesday: (Striding forwards) As long as I breathe every breath will be spent making sure you never feel unloved ever again.

Enid: (Squeaking as Wednesday gets within several inches of Enid's face)

Enid: You...I...uh... you love me?

Thing:

Thing: Oh fer fuck sake, just propose already!

45 Mins later...

Thing: These lesbians, i can't anymore. They keep making googly eyes at each other from across the room and smiling, a hand can only stand to watch so much you know?

Weems: Wait... Wednesday AND Enid???

Thing: YES!

Weems: Wednesday smiling?

Thing: YES!

Weems: (Muttering) God help us all...

(The Koh-i-noor is never found)

[jiminiecrickets]

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2.2k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, handjobs, praise, shower sex

"you agreed. you pinky-promised. was what you wrote really that bad?"

he shifts on the couch, tucking his feet up to his chin and hiding his face behind it. his face is a very, very dark shade of red. "it's awful. horrible. you'll break up with me if you read it."

"then why'd you write it down in the first place?"

"i don't know!" he whines. "i was feeling brave!"

you set down the controller. on the large flat-screen tv, your characters circle the mario kart track behind the scoreboard. waluigi, jungkook's character, throws a tantrum in his race-car. "give me the paper."

"you'll hate me."

fourth place. fourth place. he can't believe himself. your name is highlighted at the top, neatly settled in first place. he'd been so comfortable, in the lead for the entirety of the match, and his big ego decided that an 'all or nothing' pity round would come out in his favour.

as quick as lighting, you snatch the crumpled ball of paper and unfold it, slapping jungkook's panicked hands away. your brows furrow deeper the longer you look at it.

"you're right. you were feeling brave."

jungkook slumps against your shoulder, his face pinched in embarrassment. "please don't think badly of me because of it, hyung..."

lowering the torn corner of paper, you ask softly, "would you like to do this with me, kookie? i'm interested."

his head shoots up. "what? are you serious?"

"no, i'm batman." he rolls his eyes with a huff and you grin, eyes crinkling as you pull him into your side. "yes, i'm being serious. thank you for telling me – i would never have expected something like this out of my cute little boyfriend."

if possible, his pout intensifies. he crosses his arms over his knees, staring determinedly ahead at the game. "'m not little."

you hush him, tilting his face towards you and pressing a long kiss to those pretty pink lips. he hums breathily, leaning into you with a hand on your chest. he whines quietly when you finally pull away for air, his chest heaving as he blinks at you with wide, dark eyes.

"seven days," he whispers, leaning in and throwing his leg over your lap, caging your thighs with his own. he rocks his hips slowly, savouring your low groan of pleasure. "seven days to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. that's your prize, baby – don't waste it."

eyeing his body hungrily, you grin like a beast unchained. you cradle his tiny waist, and playfully, you lift your hand against it, comparing sizes. "oh, darling, i'm not letting a single inch of you go unloved."

he nibbles on his lower lip as you tug his shirt out of the waistband of his ripped jeans. he's due for his gym session tomorrow – goes every two or three days, whatever he can fit into his schedule – and he'd made lunch for the two of you just a few hours ago. his skin is warm, his tummy soft, and it tenses with a gasp under your palms as they glide across his skin.

"mh... sorry, baby," he whispers, lashes fluttering as he blushes a dusty pink. "i should've done this on gym day..."

"hm? why?" you rock his ass against your lap with a soft exhale. you arch a brow at him. "do you think you're only attractive to me when you're hungry and dehydrated? idiot."

"hey," he whines, a protesting pout adorning his lips. he touches your hand on his stomach, fingers wrapping around yours. "'m not an idiot! just... i dunno... i wanna be handsome for you, hyung, y'know?"

you give him a look. "did i ask you out, or your abs?"

"well, me..."

"i asked you out after we finished three large pizzas at two in the morning. i think we ate about a kilo of cheese each."

he snorts. "yeah, yeah... i guess."

"uh-huh." you squeeze his hips and bring him down to kiss him, lips moving gently together. you part and bury your nose in his neck, lazily moving your hips against one another. he moans softly as you roll your palm against his bulge. "baby, you're always beautiful to me. on gym day or not – i would worship you for hours if you'd let me."

he giggles softly. "that's why i don't. you gotta be more productive than being buried between my thighs from dawn to dusk." he slips your belt free and tosses it – you barely felt him doing it, too busy engraving the sight of his sweet eyes and smile into the backs of your eyelids. "but, you know, a whole week to do whatever you want to me..."

you groan lowly at the suggestion, hastily pulling him out of his pants. you don't do it with half the grace that he does, but he seems to appreciate your enthusiasm, his cock already hard and twitching with anticipation. "mm, that does sound amazing. okay, ground rules: no touching yourself at any point. only i can get you off."

"fuck, o-okay, hyung. agreed."

you pump his cock slowly, capturing his lips hungrily. he drawls out a moan, his fingers drifting up your wrist. his other hand cradles the back of your head and he presses your foreheads together, his breath warm and quick against your cheek.

you flick your wrist and he whimpers softly, grip tightening around the base of your hand. his cock leaks as he bucks into your hand. you hush him, grazing your lips along his jawline. your hand quickens. "how does that feel, baby? good?"

"mm – mmhm," he whimpers. "it does, it does! feels really good..."

you spoil him too much. ever since you got together, he hasn't needed to touch himself – you're always right there, offering to do it for him. he's glad that you do – you can reach places so deep in him that he never knew existed, and you're always so gentle with him, making sure his pleasure is a priority.

he's dated a lot of people, but you're the first one who makes him feel so loved and important. it's almost embarrassing how much he loves you, how much he adores the way you pamper him.

he sniffles softly, burying his face in your shoulder. he grinds into your fist, cock dripping precome down your knuckles.

you hum softly, wrapping an arm around his waist. "you okay, darling? this too much?"

he shakes his head. "n-no... keep going. please. i love you."

it's sudden, and you stop moving for a half-second in surprise. "i love you, too, jungkookie. is everything alright?"

he nods, grabbing your hand and moving it up and down his swollen cock. it's cute and flushed red, twitching in your palm excitedly. "mhm. i just really love you – want you to know that."

who knew that love confessions mid-handjob could be so adorable? you smile into his hot skin and cradle him close as he gasps and jerks into your hand, spilling onto your shirt with a soft whimper.

for a long while, he remains completely lax in your arms, panting softly against your neck as he comes down from his high. when he opens his eyes tiredly, you smile down at him and kiss his cheek, tucking him back into his pants.

he whines quietly, reaching for your belt. "you didn't finish, baby... i can feel how hard you are."

you hum softly, tugging his hand away. "you need a shower, anyway. can i join you?"

his lower lip slips teasingly between his teeth. his eyes sparkle. "mm, of course. you're not getting away so easily, hyung-ah – i'm gonna eat you alive."

you smirk, letting him drag you to your feet and towards the bathroom. his eyes glint with mischief and he pulls you down by your collar to meet your lips with his, one of his hands tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. his thumb is hooked through a belt loop.

you groan into his mouth as he strokes your clothed bulge with a cheeky grin. "baby, don't test me. i'm the one with the week-long free pass to your ass."

 he winks. "why d'you think i'm doing this? last one into the shower loses!"

he wins. with the steamy water hitting your back, you cage jungkook against the glass, your arms sturdy beside him. you keep him safe, protected, from the world. not once does he feel trapped – not once does he feel confined in your love. no matter how closely you press against him, no matter how deep you are inside of him – you are his, and he is yours.

there's a certain freedom in being engulfed by your arms. he never expected it. spreading his thighs, kissing his shoulder – you love him like no other has. you love him in all the ways that matter and all the ways that don't because you're overflowing with it, that love of yours. even when you're balls deep inside him – an exciting, dirty kind of love that he blushes about in the mornings – you're smiling into his neck, murmuring about how lovely he is and how he deserves you, deserves your cock, deserves your love and deserves all that is good and bright. it's your turn to lavish him with love confessions and he can barely keep track of them all, his coherent thoughts running down the drain with each solid thrust of your hips.

"hyung," he whimpers, gnawing on his lower lip. he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers scrabbling for purchase fruitlessly against the smooth glass. your cock glides against his prostate and he grabs your hip, pulling you into him with a warbled moan. "f-fuck..."

"what's that, baby?" you murmur against his skin, hot and slick. your thrusts make him unravel, strong and hard and consistent against that spot inside him that makes him see stars. it's mind-melting. "you wanna tell me something?"

he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as your hips shift against his ass, angling differently. your cock just grazes his prostate and he clenches around you, a warbled cry of your name leaving his lips. he feels so tiny – his feet between yours, your cock buried so deep in him he can practically taste it. he arches his back, tight ass pressing back against your pelvis, and savours your growl and the way your hand grips the opposite side of his waist, gripping the slim shelf of his hip.

"gotta use your words, pretty thing," you husk. with every thrust, it takes longer to bottom out, and eventually your hips still entirely. he whines, high-pitched and wanton, and grinds against you – you keep him at bay with one hand pressed firm to the small of his back. "easy, pretty. can you do that f'me? can you talk to me, tell me what you want from me?"

you step forward, forcing jungkook to stand straighter, pressed closer to the glass. trapped in your arms, he has no room to move, no room to argue. he shivers, chest grazing glass, and can't help the unsteady shuffle of his feet. the hot, steamy water hits your back and glides down your neck, your chest, dripping onto his shoulders.

lifting a hand, you tuck it against his upper ribs, fingers pressed into the lean muscle of his chest. the flesh – pull and push, stroking and caressing. he lets out a whisper of a moan as your warm fingers flick over his nipple, hard and pebbled.

"want you," he whines quietly, voice cracking in the middle when your hand travels down his hot, slick stomach and glides over his throbbing cock. he grabs your hip, fingers digging into you until his knuckles turn white. "w-want you – want you close to me, closer, please, want you closer—"

he breaks off with a babble as you take his hands and pin them flat to the glass. the motion draws you ever nearer – closer, as he'd say, the sweet thing – and your cock reaches so deep inside him, pressing against his stomach. he's dizzy with it, veins buzzing and head detached from his shoulders.

eventually, he hears your chuckle, like a radio knob turned slowly louder. his heart rabbits in his chest as he cracks open his eyes, temple pressed against the cold clear glass. his breath fogs it, and water trails down his cheeks from his damp hair, stuck to his skin the way it always does when you tear him apart and put him back together. his cock is wet and sticky, the heat tingling in his lower spine with a pulsing desperation.

it's all over his tummy, he thinks distantly with a soft whimper. he'd be embarrassed if he could remember the word.

when you finally finish, jungkook's legs feel like jelly. he curls his fingers around yours, lacing them together as he pants against the foggy glass, his hair damp and the air thick with the smell of sex. you kiss him over his shoulder and he moans against your lips, soft and tired. he smiles and closes his eyes as you reach for the shampoo – he leans back against your chest as you smooth your hand down his stomach, gentle and warm. he can feel your pulse through your palms and your heart through his ribs.

"i love you," he whispers against your throat. he means it in every iteration it has ever been.

[turcott3]

unwritten

ethan edwards x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, angst, fluff, kisses

masterlist

-

you hopped off your bed to the light taps on your door. you opened the door expecting to see your mom but instead are met with the presence of your long time close friend.

“ethan?” you question, scanning the look on his face. to you, he was never hard to read and you could tell something was wrong.

“can i come in?” he asks.

“yeah yeah of course.” you say back up and letting the boy into your room. you sit back in your spot on the bed as he stands in silence after putting his bag down, typing something on his phone.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask, noting his unbreakable frown.

“huh?”

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” you ask.

“yeah i just-“ he starts and pauses, trying to think of what to say. you could tell he was holding back.

“just spill, you know i wouldn’t judge you.” you say, hoping to soothe the boy, something you’d figured out years ago.

“well, you know it was my last day of classes and i’d been talking to one of my classmates, in class of course, and we were kinda like getting close and flirting whatever. like an in class crush type of deal and i was gonna ask for her number today but then. fuck.” he pauses, pressing his lips to a thin line.

“and then?” you urge him to continue.

“she fucking asked me if luca was single.” he sighs out.

“well that’s just rude of her.” you say, seeing how he would react.

“i gave her his snap and stuff but like, i don’t know. it made me feel really terrible.”

“i mean that’s fair, but why?”

“because y/n. this shit always happens to me. every single time i think i have a shot at a girl, she wants one of my friends. like am i not good enough? not attractive? like what’s so wrong with me that i can’t be wanted.” he breathes out.

“oh eddy.” you frown, beckoning him to sit on your bed.

“i’m sorry, that was a lot you probably didn’t wanna hear.”

“no no, keep talking, i know there’s more. it’ll make you feel better.” you say placing a sympathetic hand on his arm.

“i just want someone to love me and to want me. i’m 21 for christs sake. all of my teammates and my friends have girlfriends. i just feel left out and it sucks. i’m happy for them of course but i just want someone for me to love and they love me back. i really don’t feel like im asking that much.” he says, trying to hide the tears that fell as he spoke from his heart.

“no one will sit and listen to how i feel, ever. the feeling of being unwanted is like this endless fucking void that can’t just be filled by hookups, i just feel myself slipping deeper everyday.” he continues, less shy about his tears now. you lean up and wrap your arms around him in his fragile state, causing him to release the damn that threatened to break. you lean back, holding the brunette to your chest. the two of you were never very physical but at this moment it was the only thing you could think of to help him.

“i’ll listen ethan, i’ll always listen to you. i’ll always be here for you. it’s gonna be okay.” you say, hugging onto him tighter. you hated seeing him this upset, you’d never seen him like this before and it broke your heart. you found yourself shedding a few tears yourself. he sits up from your grip and observes your state, tears dampening your cheeks.

“why are you crying y/n?” he perks up, wiping the tears that fell.

“because ed, i can’t stand hearing you say this. i can’t believe YOU feel unwanted and unloved. people are stupid to not see who you are. ethan, you’re so lovable and everyone is a fucking dumbass for not wanting you. you’re the sweetest guy i’ve ever met, and i know we’ve been friends since forever ago but i feel awful. i feel like i could do more to make you feel better.” you say remaining strong on your statement, the urge to cry fading away.

“how about this, you stay the night with me. we have a movie night and stay up and talk and then tomorrow we have a lake day. just me and you.” you offer as he nuzzles back to your chest. an unfamiliar feeling.

“your dad will let us take the boat?” he asks.

“i mean he won’t let anyone else drive it except you so.” you giggle.

“for real?” he says sitting up.

“yes.”

“sick.” he replies, getting comfortable on his side of the bed for the night. the two of you sat in a soothing silence as a movie played on your tv. as the a/c kicked in you grew cold, goosebumps littering your skin. you buried yourself under your comforter, trying to avoid making your discomfort being obvious.

“you good?” he asks.

“yeah, just really fucking freezing.”

“come here.” he says pulling the covers over him, pulling you to his side. you drape your arm over his toned and shirtless abdomen, you heart rate spiking at the contact. you didn’t know why you felt so nervous. well you did, but you weren’t going to admit it.

“thank you eddy.”

“of course y/n/n.” he smiles, placing his chin on top of your head. you could get used to the feeling of being in his warm embrace. as the night continued, you hardly lost contact with each other. talking and laughing in the comfort of his arms.

“you think we should go to sleep?” you sit up checking the time on your phone.

“probably, we got a busy day tomorrow.” he giggles, shutting your tv off and laying down getting comfortable.

“g’night ethan.”

“night y/n, sleep good.” he says quietly as the two of you drifted off to sleep with the thought of each other on your minds.

-

“you ready?” you ask standing on your back deck.

“as i’ll ever be.” he smiles, taking the bag from you and walking down the deck. he steps onto the bought tossing the back to the ground before reaching out a hand to help you onto the boat.

“thank you kind sir.”

“of course madam.” he replies and a smile spreads widely across your cheeks.

“alright let’s get this shit show on the road.” he says turning the key, the engine kicking on.

“please don’t get me beat up this time.” you say grabbing onto his shoulders.

“i’ll try.” he smiles as you sit in the co pilot seat.

“good.” you reply, relaxing as he cruised off smoothly. you loved watching him drive as he smiled, bringing the two of you to corners of the lake you hadn’t seen before, your heart fluttering as he talked about all the good memories he had with his buddies there, but the feeling of sadness oozing its way in. he hasn’t been with them much outside of hockey in months, let alone here on the lake.

he slowed the boat to a stop, shutting off the engine and tossing the anchor off the edge. you were in a quiet area, no other boats anywhere to be found. he sat back in his seat without a word. you stretched your arms out as you got comfortable in your seat, ethan taking your hand in his from across the walkway. your face slowly turning pink as he adjusted his grip on your hand as he sat on his phone. his thumb brushing back and forth on your knuckles gently.

“hey eddy.” you say and he looks up not letting go.

“i’m glad you’re here with me.” you smile, squeezing his hand.

“me too.”

“i’ve never seen these parts of the lake before, they’re gorgeous.” you say, taking in the territory around you.

“i was hoping i could make some new memories here.” he smiles turning his head to look at you.

“well i hope im doing an okay job.”

“you’re doing more than okay y/n.” he giggles, a blush spreading across his face. you stand up out of your chair, sadly letting go of his hand.

“shall we?” you ask, holding up your life jackets.

“we shall.” he smiles. moments later, the two of you jumping into the water.

“jesus it’s cold.” you say re-emerging from the water.

“a little yeah.” ethan giggles, shaking the water out of his hair. you swim over to him, wrapping your arms gently around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder from behind.

“i think that’s a little better.” he says quietly.

“yeah.” you sigh. the two of you remained in the water for a while longer swimming and talking, laughing. it felt nice to be out on the lake alone with your best friend, who you soon hoped would be more than that.

“should we go find a new spot?” ethan asks, helping you back onto the boat.

“yeah we should.” you reply, wrapping yourself in a towel and sitting on the bench seat, ethan plopping down right next to you.

“today has been really fun y/n.” he smiles at you.

“yeah it has.” you reply.

“for the first time in a while i’m not worried about anything else. i haven’t felt this content in so long.”

“me either ed. i’m so happy to be here with you right now.” you smile, taking his hand back into yours. you say in a comfortable silence for a brief moment before he takes your cheeks into his hands, bringing your lips to his for a moment. he pulls away as your face burns red. you were scared he would regret it.

“i’m sorry that was-“ he starts and you interrupt him by pulling him back to your lips, melting into the kiss instantly, his hands placed delicately on your waist as your hands rest comfortably on his cheeks. you pull away giggling as he’s forehead lands on your collar bone. you kiss him on the temple as he sits up.

“let’s go to a new spot yeah?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his face.

“okay.” he smiles softly, the two of you taking your place back in your seats.

-

you say freshly showered on your bed as ethan returns, brushing his hair dry with his towel. he tosses the towel in your hamper and hops back onto your bed, finding his way cuddled to your side.

“hey ethan.” you say, twisting his damp locks between your fingers.

“yeah?” he asks leaning up a bit.

“seeing you so fragile yesterday was honestly really hard for me, i wasn’t really sure why but, i know now.”

“what was it?”

“because all this time i wanted you.”

“what do you mean?”

“i want you ed. i want to hold you, kiss you, love you. it broke my heart hearing how unwanted you felt. but it hurt me because i had gone so long feeling this way and ignored my feelings.“ you admit and he smiles.

“i’ve liked you for years, i was just scared you’d never feel the same way. i just wanted female attention to replace how i felt about you. i didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

“i love you ethan. so much. please let me love you, the way you deserve it.” you say as he pulls you into his chest.

“thank you y/n. god, i love you so fucking much.” he replies lifting your chin with two fingers and bringing your lips back to his, the two of you now more inseparable than before.

-

[runninriot]

written for @steddie-week day 4

and the @steddiesongfics july prompt

Easy

prompts: trade, body swap & song: Nik Kershaw (Wouldn't It Be Good) | wc: ~1.2k | rated t | cw: recreational drug use | tags: steve has a bad relationship with his parents, good uncle wayne appreciation, repressed feelings, steve has a crush on eddie, friends to lovers | also on ao3

They’re lying on Eddie’s floor, sharing a joint like they often do. Hanging out, just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company.

Eddie’s been rambling for the past ten minutes, talks about how he’d like to swap bodies with Steve for a day, how he’d want to experience a day in Steve’s life first-hand.

   “Why the hell would you want that?”

   “You got it easy,” Eddie says matter-of-factly and Steve snorts at this very untrue claim.

   “Yeah right, I wish.”

   “What could possibly make Mr popular rich boy’s life hard, huh?” Eddie teases and Steve knows he doesn’t mean it in a hurtful way but it still stings.

   “You don’t know a thing bout it,” he answers simply, before snatching the joint from Eddie’s fingers and taking a long drag.

Steve doesn’t want to open up that box. He came here to forget, not to talk about what’s keeping him up at night.

   “So? Tell me then. I wanna know. Because- and don’t take this the wrong way, Stevie – but I really can’t see it. I mean, look at me. I’m certified trailer trash. I know what it’s like to live on nothing but toast and peanut butter for weeks because the washing machine broke and the next pay check isn’t yet due.” Eddie laughs but Steve can’t find it in him to join in on it.

He hates when Eddie calls himself that, trailer trash. As if living in a trailer park makes him less of a person. It doesn’t! It just means that Eddie and his uncle are less fortunate than others.

Steve didn’t do shit to earn the comfort of growing up in a big house, was just... lucky to be born into the Harrington family.

Wayne on the other hand is doing his best, is giving his all to make their life as good as possible.

Steve envies that.

Wayne is an honest and hard-working man, and even if Eddie likes to joke around and belittle himself for their situation, Steve knows he cherishes everything Wayne has done for him. Steve knows Eddie will do everything to make him proud. To repay him for taking him in when he needed a place to stay. For always being there for him, for supporting him. For loving him unconditionally.

They might not have much but they have each other. It’s something Steve would trade everything he owns for without hesitation.

In a heartbeat, he’d give up his inheritance for a relationship with his parents that is as respectful and loving as the one between Eddie and his uncle.

Because Steve might have a nice car, a pool in the backyard, and a name that can open doors for him but- at home, he feels lonely, unloved. He’s a failure, his father keeps reminding him. And worst of all, he’s afraid to be his true self around them because they’d never accept it, would never understand.

   “Steve? You with me?” Eddie pushes himself up on one arm, his face hovering over Steve’s. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to-“

   “Nah, you’re good. Just got a little lost in my thoughts.” Steve offers a weak smile but he can sense that Eddie doesn’t buy it.

He knows him too well.

Has this annoying ability to read Steve like an open book.

It’s like he can see right through him, can see right through Steve’s little white lies whenever he tries to talk himself out of something.

There’s only one thing Eddie doesn’t know about him and never will. It’s Steve’s best kept secret; not even Robin knows. Because he can’t risk his parents finding out about it.

If Eddie knew, maybe he’d understand and take back what he said earlier because yeah, sure, Steve’s life might seem easy from an outsider’s point of view, someone who only sees the shiny exterior of his golden cage.

It’s a false illusion, because contrary to Steve, Eddie does not have to hide a certain part of himself out of fear of the consequences.

Wayne loves him regardless, accepts all of him. Wayne knows, and he’d put up a fight with anyone who doesn’t agree with Eddie’s... choices.

Steve’s father would kill him if he ever found out that his son is-

   “Alriiight, enough for you!” Eddie sits up and reaches for the joint that’s slowly burning down in Steve’s hand.

Their fingers brush and it feels like the world stops for a second. Steve finds Eddie’s gaze, can’t look away, slowly loses himself in Eddie’s dark brown eyes. The air is crackling between them and Steve feels tiny electric shocks prickle on his skin when Eddie lifts his free hand and cups his face.

The hand doesn’t linger, unfortunately, moves up his temple to brush a strand of hair back from Steve’s forehead. It’s a kind gesture and Steve wishes he could lean into the gentle touch.

But he can’t. He can’t let the wall crumble because Eddie would instantly know what it means.

Would know that, behind layers of pretentious confidence, Steve hides this vulnerable part of himself.

That there, locked away in his fragile heart, burns a small flame. A flame he tried to smother, that keeps flickering unrelenting.

Because every time Eddie looks at him, every time he smiles, every time they touch – it’s like gasoline to the flame, setting his insides ablaze.

Eddie’s hand retreats but the sensation on Steve’s face remains, hot and red. He knows he’s blushing, hopes he can blame it on the buzz from the weed.

   “Sometimes I wish-“ Steve realises too late that he said it out loud.

   “Wish what?” Eddie asks, curiously waiting for Steve to continue.

   “Sometimes I wish things were different.”

   “What would you change?”

    This right here, Steve thinks. You being so close but not close enough.

   “I’d change who I am.”

   “Who would you want to be, if you could choose?”

    Yours.

   “I’d want to be someone who’s brave.”

   “Pff, you’re literally the bravest person I know.” Eddie scoffs affectionately.

   “If I’m so brave, then why I am so scared?” Steve knows it’s more than he should confess, too much for Eddie not to keep digging.

   “Scared of what?” Eddie looks at him like he’s searching for the answer in Steve’s eyes, intense and pensive. And then he smiles, bright and warm and fond in a way that makes Steve’s heart stutter.

Inside him, the flame flares up, spreads heat from his heart through his veins and Steve knows, in that moment, this might be his only chance.

   “Scared of my feelings for you.”

Eddie kisses him and suddenly, everything does seem easy.

Kissing Eddie back is easy.

Leaning into his touch and holding him tight is easy.

Loving Eddie is easy.

Because it feels right.

It doesn’t matter what his parents will think of him if they know – this is right and it’s all he wants.

This is who he is underneath.

This is who he wants to be, openly and unafraid.

   “You don’t have to change, Stevie. You don't have to be anyone else. I love you just the way you are.”

And that, Steve realises, is more than enough.

[hehehereliesmysanity]

IDIOT

“It’s no wonder nobody falls in love with me,” Wille says with tears in his eyes.

“What?”

“I know why I’m so unlovable.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m not smart, not pretty, not cute, not good enough. Why would anybody fall in love with me?”

“Open my chat with Sara,” Simon orders, handing his phone over to his best friend.

“Huh?”

“Type your name in the search bar.”

Wille types “your name." He gets nothing.

“You really went all in with the “not smart” part, huh? I can’t believe I’ve been pining over a complete idiot for years.”

@youngroyals-events

[itsabouttimex2]

hey 👋 could you please do more of platonic yandere hawks x teenage bartender reader pls ? :)) I love your work

(Aw, thank you! I’ll go back and tag this series as “Teenage Bartender” since I’ve got a few fics for it now)

Patronage

Out of all the people you’ve ever served, Mr. Takami is definitely your favorite patron. The League of Villains ranges from outright bad to somewhat decent when it comes to personality, each causing you trouble in their own way.

Mr. Bubaigawara is also pretty alright, but you have to cut him off after a while so he doesn’t drink himself to sickness. He’ll switch from thanking you for looking out for him to criticizing you for being a “mood-killer” in the same breath. You like to believe that the kinder half of him is the “real” one. It always feels more sincere, in your opinion. You try to see the good in everyone around you, after all. No matter how hard it may be, or how dangerous or depraved the individual is.

Maybe you’re an optimist, Keigo Takami thinks to himself, nursing a non-alcoholic strawberry spritzer. Or maybe you’re simply too naive to see the dangers of the killers and criminals around you. Maybe it’s a case of feeling obligated to love the unloved, to accept the spurned, to try and save those dedicated to hurling themselves headfirst towards irredeemability. Maybe you sympathize with them, with what they’ve been through in their tumultuous and checkered lives.

No matter what the reason is, what really matters is that you, in spite of whatever horrid circumstances have landed you in the middle of these villains, playing caretaker and maid and nanny to drunk, belligerent murderers…

You’re still kind.

That’s why Keigo truly believes that you, more than anyone else here, can be redeemed.

Not only because of the way you treat him, but also the way you treat your “coworkers”.

When Toga gets immediately drunk off of whatever cutesy cocktail she begged you to whip up, you help her get to a couch and make her lay down, leaving a bin by her side. When Shigaraki is having another one of his tantrums, you line up all the broken glasses and worn down equipment you have onto the countertop so he has something to focus his aggression on. You listen close to all of Spinner’s rants about Stain, even if you don’t understand a word he’s saying.

You see something in them, clearly. Keigo isn’t quite sure what it is exactly, but he’d love to know. Do you care about them? Do you think they could redeem themselves? Do you think you can off-put their suffering and bloodthirstiness by being kind? Do you consider them to be family? Do you consider him family?

You’ve been around him long enough to see him as a friend, surely. You treat the winged double-crosser with the same forthcoming kindness that everyone receives when they sit at your counter, ensuring that he’s happy, hydrated, warm, and not-

“-hurt? Mr. Takami, did you get hurt?”

“Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t quite catch that one. Run it by me again?”

“That mission ran a little long, didn’t it? Usually you’re back a lot sooner, so I wanted to make sure that you were alright, Mr. Takami. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Keigo is a well-guarded man. He doesn’t give away too much and he’s good at hiding his feelings and thoughts. Still, he can’t keep himself from smiling right now. With a gloved hand, he reaches out to ruffle your hair.

“Just fine, kiddo. Things got a little troublesome- when don’t things get troublesome, huh? But i got the job done no problem, like always.”

You try to meet his smile evenly, taking his drained glass and giving him a fresh drink in turn. There’s a moment of strange silence, something’s there’s never been between the two of you.

“I’m really glad,” you quietly admit to him, breaking the lull. “I think you’re… you’re the only one who talks to me the way you do. I don’t…”

He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his twined fingers. “Talk to me, pint-size. You’ve got my ear. I’ve got some time to kill.” He adds the last line just to make sure that you know he won’t mind if this takes a while. Even if he didn’t have the time… he would make it, for you.

“I really, really do like everyone! Really, I do! But it just feels… it all feels so endless, Mr. Takami. If someone isn’t mad at me, they’re puking on the floor. If they aren’t puking, they’re crying in the corner. If they aren’t crying, they’re picking fights. If they’re not fighting, they’re breaking things. If they aren’t breaking things, they’re mad at me for something. It just goes on and on, and I- I just-“

You pause, your breath hitching inwards sharply as you bury your face into your hands. You put your palms flat on the countertop, staring at your weary reflection on the polished surface.

“I’m so tired, Mr. Takami. And I feel like I’m never gonna get to take a break.”

“Okay, come over here,” Keigo guides, leading you around the counter by your hand and towards where he remembers seeing you head each night. Your personal room, he assumes. “The bar,” you try to argue as he pulls you along, “needs me at the counter. What if someone comes by for a drink?” Your words fall on deaf ears, it seems. “Most of the league is made of grown men, kid. Trust me, they can stomach a few hours without alcohol.”

He opens the door, giving himself the first view of your room he’s ever seen.

Knowing that you can’t see the face he’s making, the undercover hero allows himself to frown at the sight.

This isn’t a bedroom. This is a storage closet with a small bed and a nightstand. It’s barely four feet wide, and just about six feet long. The sort of room you’d put spare brooms and mops in, where you’d hide away a half-used gallon of drain cleaner or spare dish soap bottles you had gotten on sale. A place too claustrophobic and enclosed for anything except supplies.

But instead, this room had been given to you, a literal teenager who was giving their all to support the League in spite of getting nothing out of it.

For just a moment, his blood boils.

The League can pretend to be good. They can pretend to be heroes and freedom fighters. They can pretend that they’re fighting for a fair and just society. They can pretend that they aren’t monsters and murderers.

But this is how they treat their own. He’s always known this. The League of Villains prioritizes powerful, dangerous individuals above all else, prioritizes those who can spread chaos and mayhem in the name of their destructive goal. And you don’t fit into that powerhouse category, so you get shuffled away, tucked out of sight when they don’t have you serving them or playing babysitter to grown drunkards.

Keigo thinks he understands it, at least. But the truth is that some of the League do care for you. Twice, Spinner, Magne, Toga, Mr. Compress… all of them do care about you, as a friend or as family. And in turn, you care for them.

But he doesn’t think of that. As he helps you into the cramped bed, he thinks of “saving” you, and getting you out of here. Of bringing you home and keeping you safe from the harms and horrors of the world around you.

And there will soon come a day that you tumble out of the villain’s claws and into a hero’s talons.

[kingfisheress]

The beauty within you

Warnings: mentions of murder, insecurity about appearance and body, tooth rotting fluff, grammar and spelling mistakes

It had been an exhausting day, for all of you, Bo, Lester, Vincent, you, hell even for Jonesy it had been. You had been dealing with an particularly big group of tourist, 11 of them, some easier to kill, but some…. Some really were a hard kill, but in the end, you‘ve gotten all of them. The last one of them, who was killed by Vincent himself, was not only throwing things at him, but also gruesome words, like freak, monster and so on. After it was all done, you had asked him , if everything was alright and he of course signed a quick ‘‘Yes, I’m fine.‘‘ But you knew, something was off.

Now as you were walking down the hallway to your shared bedroom, you saw your husband, through the crack through the door, a lightpuddle on the floor before the room. He stood there, mask in his hand, studying his deformed, but incredibly handsome face, a frown on it. You sighed and entered the room, with a light knock on the doorframe, his eyes shooting to where you stood, quick to put his mask back on.

You closed the door behind you, walking towards him. ‘‘Rough day, huh?‘‘,

You asked, carefully, quiet almost as if you were scared, you‘d shoo Vincent off. He only nodded as you wrapped your arms around him, giving him some comfort. After you both stood in silence, you spoke up:

‘‘ If only, you could see the beauty that is within you.‘‘

You pulled him towards the mirror, standing behind him with your arms wrapped around his muscular torso, his hand on top of yours. Your weddings rings rubbing against each other ,causing a clinking sound.

He avoided looking at the mirror, as you grabbed his chin and pulled off his mask. ‘‘You may see an unlovable man in the mirror, but you know what I see? I see the person that matters the most to me in the entire world, the kindest, lovable and most beautiful man there is.‘‘

You paused and took his hands in yours turning them in your grasp, stroking lovingly over his knuckles. ‘‘ I love your hands. Those are the hands of an artist, capable of doing wonderful and amazing things, creating wonderful artworks.‘‘

You carried on, as he didn’t stop you. ‘‘I love your arms, knowing how easy they can lift me up and carry me around.‘‘

‘‘I love your hair, it’s so soft, so long.. I’m so jealous of your hair.‘‘

You still didn’t stop.

‘‘ One of my favourite parts of you is your face…. You have no idea, how beautiful you are. Your eyes remind me of the ocean or the sky… and your lips, so kissable.‘‘ As demonstration, you turned his head towards yours and pressed a love-filled kiss on his lips.

But you know…. My favourite part of you,‘‘, your hands slid upwards, away from his torso, towards his ribcage, resting upon his fast beating heart

, ‘‘is your heart. You love me so good, care so much for me. Your heart is mine and my heart is yours. Forever.‘‘

He turned around and caught your lips in a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around you. ,, I love you, Vincent Sinclair and I always will.‘‘

As you hugged him, he whispered in his barely used, rough voice

‘‘ I love you‘‘

————————————————————————

Hey guys, let me know if you want more of this ❤️

Love you ❤️❤️❤️

[guksvault]

HOUSE OF BALLOONS | JJK

08- XO/THE HOST

synopsis: fleeing the pressure and pretense of your elite life, you stumble into the seductive chaos of the House of Balloons. there, Jungkook waits— ready to make you question everything you thought you knew

w/c: 3.7k

warnings: mentions of alcohol & drugs, another HOB party, smut, fingering (f.), reader rides jks fingers oops, jk touches himself, praise if u squint, cops are back, readers parents are!! unhappy!! reader drug mule pt 2, joons bottle garden mention!

!minorsdni!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, landing squarely on Jungkook’s face and forcing his eyes open. He groaned, dragging a hand across his face before squinting at the phone still clutched in his hand. The screen lit up, and his stomach sank. Six hours.

He didn’t really remember what he’d said. His memory was patchy, a mix of loud music, too many shots, and your voice cutting through it all. He’d probably rambled, maybe said too much, but you stayed on the line anyway. That was the thing about you. You always stayed longer than you should.

His thumb immediately presses the call button, and he throws his phone to the side with a groan. Slowly, he rolls out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and forcing his feet to move toward the stairs. The smell of coffee hits him—he needs pain relief for his thumping head.

“You look like pure shit,” Joon muses from the kitchen, pushing a cup of coffee toward Jungkook.

“Fuckin’ feel like it, too.” Jungkook takes the cup, offering Joon a quiet thank you as he leans against the counter.

Yoongi enters the kitchen just as Joon leaves, muttering something about repotting one of his bottles that someone (definitely not Jungkook) knocked over last night.

“Fuck, you look like ass.” Yoongi laughs, ruffling Jungkook’s hair before pouring his own coffee.

Yoongi had developed quite the soft spot for Jungkook over the years. If you asked him, he’d probably tell you that Jeon Jungkook was larger than life, that the people he chose to surround himself with were lucky, and that, despite being an asshole most of the time, Jungkook was one of the most important people he’d ever meet.

Yoongi saw Jungkook for who he really was—underneath all the bullshit, the walls, the rules he built to protect his heart. At the end of it all, he was just a kid—a kid who needed love more than anything.

But Yoongi also knew the mask Jungkook wore: cold, heartless, unlovable. He knew it was all a defense—a way for Jungkook to shield himself from the world. And Yoongi knew that, because he’d seen the cracks in that facade: he’d heard Jungkook crying, soft and raw, on the anniversary of his mother’s death, or when he’d gotten too drunk and spilled his fears into the night, to the moon.

“How’s Bee? She comin’ tonight?” Yoongi mused from the other side of the kitchen, all a little too nonchalantly.

Jungkook froze for a second, caught off guard, “Huh?”

“Bee? Is she coming tonight?”

“Why would I fuckin’ know?” Jungkook’s eyes avoided Yoongi’s, felt a little nervous. Thinks maybe Yoongi doesn’t approve of Jungkook sleeping with his best friend.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Jungkook stands there awkwardly, glancing back at Yoongi like he’s grown three heads. “I mean—Huh?”

Yoongi shrugs, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Kook, chill. Unfortunately for me, your bedroom’s next to mine.” He pretends to shiver, making a dramatic gagging noise. “Don’t have to sneak her in and out, man.”

Yoongi taps Jungkook’s shoulder, offering him a brief smile as he turns to leave the kitchen. No words needed—his actions say it all. The pat, the smile, the quiet understanding. Be smart. Play nice. Have fun. I love you both.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It feels like an eternity until Jungkook finally spots you later that night at the House of Balloons.

You’re wearing a black mini dress that hugs your body just right, a leather jacket tossed over your arm, and platform boots with stockings—ones Jungkook has already decided he’ll be ripping off later.

You’re standing with Valerie, both of you throwing back shots and catching up. Valerie’s talking about her latest boytoy, while you fill her in on everything… except Jungkook.

There’s no real defense for not telling Valerie about Jungkook, but somehow, he’s become a subject that’s treaded lightly between the two of you. Every time you bring him up, Valerie changes the topic or seizes the chance to mock him, calling him a himbo or dickfaced twat.

Your eyes meet his across the room. He’s lounging in his usual spot, legs spread, hair falling messily over his face, and when his gaze locks with yours, you see him absentmindedly toy with his lip ring. He cocks his head toward the stairs, a silent invitation.

You glance at Valerie, her tongue tangled with some stranger’s, giving you an easy out. You slam the rest of your drink back, then make your way upstairs, into the familiar walls of Jungkook’s bedroom.

He follows behind, locking the door and immediately turning his focus on you. Sat so prettily on the edge of his bed, fidgeting with the rubix cube you had snaked off his desk.

He steps closer, standing right in front of you. “Hey, D.D.”

You glance up, watching him stand between your legs, his fingers brushing through the ends of your freshly chopped hair. “New look, huh?”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, your fingers running through your hair. “I was drunk. And it’s practically therapy—crisis? Destroy your hair.”

Jungkook’s fingers pause, a slight frown crossing his face. “Crisis?” He squats down between your legs, his hands landing on your waist. “Husband didn’t do anything to you, right?”

You let out a small laugh, your hands brushing over his wrists, gently pushing them toward your thighs. “No. And stop calling him that.” You raise an eyebrow, your tone shifting slightly. “Not important. Just hair. Is that what you got me in here for, or?”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to your hands as you guide his between your thighs, his fingertips grazing just under the hem of your dress. They dig softly into your skin, and he opens his mouth to speak—but the words die on his tongue the moment he notices your legs inching apart.

When it hits him that underwear had been decided to be forgotten tonight, he curses under his breath, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to hold in the groan that wants to escape his throat.

“What the fuck, D.D.,” he mutters, his voice rough, hands sliding to push your thighs further apart. “You’re fuckin’ asking for trouble.”

His fingers hook around the hem of your dress, inching it higher over your hips, his breath catching as he takes in the sight of you.

He’s still kneeling between your legs, tongue wetting his lower lip again, breaths growing heavier as he stares at your cunt like he’s a kid in a candy store. Thinks he’s going insane, thinks you’re insane.

Your breaths fall into rhythm with his, and he hasn’t even touched you yet, but you’re already unravelling. The way he’s looking at you—eyes half-lidded, plump lips glossy from his tongue that keeps darting out to wet his lower lip, that half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—he looks at you with hunger, with pure desperation.

You press your palms into the mattress behind you, leaning back slightly as your hips roll forward, silently begging for any kind of friction. “Touch me?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, a soft, hushed curse escaping his lips before he drags his gaze back down to your core. He inches closer, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you watch him trail kisses down the soft skin of your thigh, inching closer to your centre. He pauses, pulling his head back just enough to let two fingers run slowly down your folds. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he murmurs.

The tips of his two fingers tease at your entrance, gliding up and down softly as he coats them in your slick. “Fuck—Kook, please?” you whimper, the ache in your core almost unbearable. You need him to push his fingers in, to work them just the way you like.

Your hips grind upwards, pleading. “So desperate, D.D.,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. Then his fingers sink into you, all the way to the knuckle, without hesitation. You ask, you receive. Who is he to deny when you ask so nicely?

Your head falls back, and the string of curses and moans spilling from your lips is quickly becoming Jungkook’s favourite song. He should record it—maybe get Hoseok or Yoongi to sample it for one of their mixes. They’d be signed in no time, he’s sure of it.

Your hips roll against Jungkook’s fingers, desperate and needy, and it has him nearly drooling, watching you work yourself over his hand.

“Yeah, fuck yourself,” he mutters, eyes locking with yours. He gives you a small nod, “Can you do that for me, D.D?”

For a moment, your hips falter, a hint of shyness creeping in. But when Jungkook looks at you like that, like he always does, it’s impossible to resist. Slowly, your hips begin to roll again.

He watches as your hips grind against his fingers, eyes locked on his, lips parted with soft breaths leaving your mouth each time you sink down.

“So good, look at you. Doing so well.” His thumb presses against your clit, making it roll each time your hips grind down on his fingers.

Jungkook’s free hand has been pressing against his hardened cock ever since he saw your lack of underwear, and watching you fuck yourself on his fingers only has him dipping his hand into his pants to touch himself.

His hand pumps his cock, his own groans blending with yours. He watches your hips quicken as his fingers curl, pressing deeper into that sweet spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer, the way your walls tighten around him—he sees the furrow in your brows and hears the desperate whines of his name spilling from your lips.

“Ah–I’m gonna cum, fuck!” Your hips move faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.

“That’s it, D.D.” Jungkook’s voice is strained, his hand pumping faster around his cock, the sound of his breaths mixed with yours. “You’re doing so well, so pretty, baby.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, and for a moment, his chest tightens. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that. The frustration is instant, the thought of how stupid it sounds flickering in his mind. But there’s no time to dwell. You’re moving against his fingers, hips grinding down, and the heat between you both is undeniable.

He shifts, his thumb pressing firmer against your clit, feeling the way your body reacts, the way your walls tighten around his fingers. He can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. The slip-up is there, hanging in the air, but he forces himself to focus on the feeling—on the way your breath catches, on the way you beg for more with your body.

His frustration turns inward, and with a sharp exhale, he focuses on pushing you closer to the edge. He wants to lose himself in the rhythm, in the way you’re coming apart on his fingers, and make himself forget the stupid words that fell out of his mouth.

Your eyes are locked on his, and he can see that you’re not mentioning it. You’ve noticed, but you’re not calling him out. Instead, you keep moving, letting the heat between you build.

It’s just one mistake. He won’t let it stop this. He won’t let it stop you.

“There, fuck—right there, Kook.” Your voice is breathless, your hips stuttering as you grind down on his fingers, desperate for more.

He’s lost in you again, will always be lost in you when you say his name like that. Like it’s a lifeline. His hand starts to pump his cock again, wanting to come undone with you.

But just as you both start to push against the edge, there’s a sudden, loud knock against Jungkook’s door. Neither of you acknowledge it at first, but when you hear Joon’s voice ring from the other side, you’re both frozen.

“Cops, man. Their fuckin’ back!”

Fuck.

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s, and he’s already looking at you. His fingers are still stuffed inside you, hand still wrapped around his cock.

“Be down in a sec, gotta hide the fuckin’ bag,” Jungkook calls out, eyes locked on yours. He’s half tempted to say fuck it, let the cops knock his door down and see exactly how he’s got you right now.

Your hand comes to Jungkook’s wrist, regretfully pushing it from you and letting his fingers slide out. A whine from your lips, a groan from Jungkook’s.

You’re both on your feet now—you’re fixing your dress while he’s rummaging through his closet.

“The fuck are they doing here again?” you ask, the tension still thick in the air.

Jungkook shrugs, his voice low, “Had dramas with the street rager boys last week. They know if they snitch about drugs or some shit, they’ll be here in no time.” His grumble grows as his hands wrap around the backpack.

“I can take it again,” you offer, nodding at the bag.

Jungkook looks up at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “Are you sure?”

You nod firmly, reaching out to take the bag from his hands. He offers you a small, almost grateful smile, whispering a soft “thank you.”

“Go. I’ll let you know when you can bring it back.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next three days after sneaking out of the House of Balloons with Jungkook’s bag had passed in a blur. You’d thrown yourself into visiting your fellow socialite friends in Seoul, immersing yourself in their familiar world of idle luxury. Whether it was because you missed them or because you couldn’t bear the weight of your parents’ watchful presence, you didn’t care to figure out.

This morning was no different. Tuesday brunch, macarons arranged like jewels on silver trays, delicate cups of tea, and endless gossip. It almost felt as if nothing had changed at all—except for you.

The version of you they knew would have been at the centre of the chatter, laughing, throwing in sly comments, and keeping secrets. Now, you found yourself quiet.

Your parents had informed you before you left that dinner was set with the Kims and that no excuses would be tolerated. Fucking fantastic.

The click of your heels against the marble tiles echoed through the penthouse, breaking the heavy silence with every step.

“Is anyone home?” you asked, tossing a grape into your mouth as you slid onto one of the stools behind the kitchen island.

The housekeeper glanced at you briefly, pressing her lips into a thin line before gesturing towards the stairs, slightly hesitant.

Your eyes snap to your bedroom door at the top of the stairs, half ajar. “Fuck.” You nearly launch yourself off the stool and race up the steps.

Hands flat against the door, you push it open, breath hitching as the scene unfolds before you.

The closet doors are wide open, the black backpack you’d shoved to the back—hidden behind a row of designer bags—now emptied onto the floor. Pills, packets of coke, miniature bottles of alcohol.

And your mother.

She’s kneeling on the carpet, mascara smudged around her red-rimmed eyes, tears staining her cheeks. Her delicate fingers clutch a Ziploc bag of white powder, trembling as she turns to face you.

“Are you fucking serious?” Her voice cracks as she rises to her feet, hurling the bag at you. “This is why you’ve been so difficult? Because you’re a junkie?”

The bag hits your chest and drops to the floor, but you barely notice. Your eyes are wide, your words stumbling over each other. “Mum, stop! It’s not even fucking mine!”

She lets out a harsh, humorless laugh, the sound like a slap. “Not yours?” Her voice rises, shaking with fury and pain. “Your hair, the way you’ve been acting, your attitude—it all makes fucking sense!”

Her cold hands grip your shoulders, shaking you hard enough to make you stumble. Tears streak her face, her sobs uncontrolled. “Rehab. You’re going to rehab. Let’s see how long you last there!”

“Rehab?” You twist in her grip, panic flaring as your hands fly to her wrists. “Are you joking? They aren’t fucking mine!”

Your father steps into the room, his hand coming to rest on your mother’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest as she sobs uncontrollably. “You’re embarrassing us,” he mutters to you, voice low but sharp. His eyes meet yours, filled with ice. “Your mother is right. Perhaps treatment would benefit you.”

You laugh—a sharp, bitter sound that feels like it slices through the room. You shove past them, dropping to your knees as you begin cramming the spilled contents of the bag back inside, each motion rough and deliberate.

“Rehab?” you spit, shoving a plastic bag of pills into the backpack. “You think drugs are the reason I’m barely fucking here?” You stand, chest heaving, tears streaming down your face to match your mother’s. “Try living with two narcissists who want to marry me off for their own fucking benefit.”

“Enough,” your father snaps, his voice cold and final, as if that single word could stop the hurricane inside you.

“No, you want to talk about enough?” Your voice cracks. “You think that shit is normal? You think I’m the problem here? You guys have lost the fucking plot.” You hoist the bag higher onto your shoulder. “The drugs aren’t mine, but honestly? Could you blame me if they were?”

Your mother’s sobs grow louder, muffled against your father’s chest, and his face darkens with barely-contained rage.

“Out,” he says quietly, venom dripping from his voice. “Rehab, or get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, the room is silent except for your mother’s gasping cries. Your gaze locks on your father’s, and all you see is disapproval and disgust—the same look he’s always given you, only now a little more cruel.

“Perfect,” you mutter under your breath, your voice void of anything but exhaustion and anger. You swing the bag over your shoulder, stepping toward the door without so much as a backward glance.

As you grip the doorknob, his voice cuts through the air one last time.

“Don’t come back until you’re ready to help your family.”

You pause for a second, the weight of his words hanging in the air, but you don’t respond. You open the door, step outside, and slam it shut behind you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It’s not really a surprise to anyone that you’ve ended up squatting on the bricks that hold Joon’s bottle garden, a cigarette burning low between your fingers.

“Fuckin’ hell, Bee,” Yoongi mutters, exhaling his own plume of smoke into the cool night air. His eyes flick toward you, sharp but not unkind. “You know you can stay here, yeah? No questions asked.”

You manage a small smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe for a few days,” you mumble, taking another drag from your cigarette. “They haven’t cut me off yet, so I’ll figure something out. Get a place or something.”

Jungkook is standing at the sliding door, dressed in his work uniform, completely oblivious to the shitshow that is your life. He leans against the frame, knocking his head to the side—a silent invite to join him upstairs.

You stamp the cigarette out, blowing out one last drag. “Be back in a sec.” Standing, you tap Yoongi’s knee as you pass, earning a small nod from him.

The steps up to Jungkook’s room feel strangely familiar despite the chaos in your chest. When you push the door open, he’s already seated at the edge of his bed, shirt discarded, his eyes waiting for you.

“Didn’t know you were coming over tonight,” he says casually, though the tilt of his head suggests he’s been thinking about you all day.

“Me either.” You manage a small smile, sitting beside him before flopping onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, mirroring your position, though he props himself up on one elbow. His pinky brushes against your lip, gently moving the stray hairs caught in your gloss. “Miss me?”

You swat his hand away, scoffing playfully. “Yeah, missed you sooo much that I let my parents find your stash and kick me out.”

Jungkook freezes, his fingers hovering midair before falling back to his side. “Wait, what?”

You hum in response, your eyes are on the ceiling but you can see Jungkook’s expression drop, “D.D, fuck? I’m sor—“

“Don’t be.” You cut him off, he isn’t at fault. ““It’s not your fault. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out, and—well—here it is.”

Maybe there was a reason you hadn’t hidden the bag as deep in the back of your closet as you had before. Why you hadn’t bothered to fully cover it or lock your bedroom door this time. Like some part of you wanted the fallout to happen. Wanted to force yourself out of a life you’d been clinging to out of obligation.

You glance at Jungkook briefly, catching the guilt lingering in his features. “It’s my fuckin’ stash though, D.D.”

You sit up, turning to face him fully, frustration bubbling in your chest. “And? I took the bag. You didn’t force me to. I offered.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair, the weight of the past few hours hitting you all over again. “Okay?”

“Still, D.D, I shouldn’t have let you take it.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his guilt, and you can’t take it anymore. His voice—always so soothing, always so soft—feels like a chain around your chest, tightening with each apology. You don’t need his remorse. You don’t need his pity. You’re not some delicate thing that needs to be handled carefully. You’re tired of being treated like a mess that needs fixing.

Before you can even stop yourself, your hand is on the back of his neck, pulling his face toward yours. His eyes widen in surprise, but there’s no time for him to say anything. You crash your lips against his, not gently, but with a force that takes him by surprise.

He freezes for a moment, but then his hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens. It’s messy and urgent, your frustration pouring out in the way your mouths move against each other. There’s no apology in this kiss—just raw need, the way your bodies crave each other without the need for words.

“Don’t need your pity. Just fuck me.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[verycharismaticdragon]

Been thinking about Luo Binghe. As one does, but in this particular instance of why, waaaaaay before I actually like... understood large portions of his character and themes tied to it, I still came out of the novel having imprinted on him.

Because I've talked lately about how important it is to read deeply to actually understand him, but I definitely didn't do that on my first read. He was absolutely as confusing and weird to me as to any of the ppl that hate on him, I just. didn't feel the same despite seeing the same picture.

And after mulling this over, I think this is due to his character soothing a very particular anxiety for me. As a mentally ill neurodivergent person - and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one of those who feel this way - I have definitely wondered at times if I was much more difficult to love than ye average neurotypical. Not in the way of mental illness making one feel unlovable (though dam it sure does that.), but more in the "woah my symptoms are sure a handful to deal with, hard to imagine someone would sign up to do all that work on a life partnership scale" way.

And you see, in media you definitely get (positively portrayed) characters who have a similar problem. But the authors don't really... manage to portray those characters' concerns as having weight. Because they shy away from making those characters symptoms, well, too problematic - lest they actually become unlovable for the audience.

MXTX, however, goes full throttle with Luo Binghe. He's undeniably, glaringly difficult. He does so many things that he really shouldnt have (that he instantly regrets, actually), quite a few of those hurting the person he loves. He gets in his head so much he nearly causes an apocalyptic event over that person saying 'uh-huh' to someone else without even meaning it. He needs constant reassurances. "A handful" doesn't begin to describe him.

And... throughout all of that, he is loved. We are in the head of a guy who loves him. Who gets exasperated, and doesn't understand, and goes through a lot of shit because of Luo Binghe - and yet never stops just, loving him and caring about him, whatever happens.

So Luo Binghe is someone who is genuinely difficult to love - portrayed so without pulling any punches. Definitely more difficult than an average nd guy like me or u. But. He is portrayed as deserving of - and receiving - unconditional, boundless, and eventually commited love anyway. Even when it is actually, forgive the overused quote, rotten work.

He gets to have that.

Yeah, no fucking wonder I tucked him into my ribcage right next to my heart even before I really understood why.

[cokoweee]

Enjoy some good ol cringy angst

~

🎵all I’ve ever done is hide🎵

Music flitting through the air as she laid motionless on the bed. Her arm erupted in goose bumps bed as she reached her hand out to grab a pillow and squeeze it to her chest. The contact she’d been craving so violently was lost against the frigid pillow. She wrapped it against herself tighter anyway, hoping that if she held it long enough it might morph into something that would hold her. Someone warm, with blood pumping beneath their skin; a heart beating in tandem with hers.

But it didn’t.

She was alone.

She didn’t have anyone.

🎵I feel like a person for a moment of my life🎵

She didn’t cry. It didn’t do her any good to cry over something that couldn’t be fixed. To cry over the fact that she was unwanted. Unloved. Her own family hadn’t reached out in months. She missed them. And just when she thought she’d started to get comfortable around Othello he’d pushed her away.

🎵To feel your weight in arms I’d never use 🎵

She looked down at her pillow, a soft shade of purple. What was it like to be someone’s favorite? Was it really as nice as her mind made it seem? Were their hugs warmer? Their smiles brighter? Would their eyes light up as they saw her? Would they think of her often, reaching out to her when she needed it, and even when she didn’t just because they wanted to head from her. Would they make her feel safe in a way she’d never felt before?Would they hold her tight and strong as she slept basking in their warmth?

🎵Oh to be alone with you 🎵

What was it like, she wondered, to be wanted?

Really wanted. Not for her body or looks, but for her. For her stupid laugh and her interests. To be wanted despite her mistakes. For someone to want her even after she messed up time after time. She didn’t need someone to love her, just to want her to be happy. For someone to want need her to be there and expect nothing out of her except that she be herself.

Would she ever know? Had she ever known? She thought her family wanted her when she was younger. She remembered her parents praising her for her tech achievements. That they’d held her when she woke from a scary dream. How they’d make her favorite meal just to cheer her up. How much of it had been real? Was it all a facade to make her feel better about her pathetic life?

The pillow was her body temperature now, a poor substitute for the touch she needed so desperately. It was mocking. She kicked it away and wrapped her arms around herself. She hated it. She hated herself for wanting someone. Why would she force someone to fit her mold? Even she didn’t want to be around herself, why would anyone else?

🎵but I don’t know what else I would give than try to kiss the skin that crawls from you 🎵

~

Song is To Be Alone by Hozier.

Also this definitely wasn’t inspired by that vague note on that doodle. Nope nope nope.

Toodeloo

~the annon who writes sometimes

ANGST? FIRST THING IN THE MORNIN? WACK

Oh so y’all read those notes huh? 🫡🫡🫡

Eating this up. In my pocket it goes