#when everything’s made to be broken; i just want you(s) to know who i am

[saturnzskyzz]

Like a Mother would.

Summary: After the Mingle game, Hyung-ju is extremely dealing with the lost of what was once her friend, now deceased by this squid game. Geum-ja sees this and almost instantly cheers her up.

Warning: angst, self doubt, dysphoria??, tickling, and yeh! That's about it! (Not really a warning, but I'm wanting y'all to know that I think the ship Geong-seok and Hyun-ju is a really cute ship, so this fic heavily implies that. Thank you for listening to this short talk🫡) another thing to know (no, we don't know Hyun-ju's family, and no, I'm not implicating that her family was nonsupportive of her transition. This is just a second family type bond!!)

A/N: I'd like to tag @letupabit because I let them see this idea before doing this fic, cause AAAHH Geum-ja heals my mommy issues, and the players deserves cheer up tickles. EAT THIS UP GANG!

| ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴏᴇᴛs sᴏᴄɪᴇᴛʏ ᴇᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs.. ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛ ǫᴜᴏᴛᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ's sᴛɪʟʟ ᴀɴ ᴇᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴅ��s ғᴀɴs!! :ᴅ |

(Happy late tickle day! :] I meant to post this on the 31st, but I made this kinda long in the making 😅

Squid game divider

Incredible losses had their unfortunate fate as the players had to play the cruel, agonizing game of Mingle. They were glad that they were finished, but the loss of many didn't cover their comfort for the rest of that evening. Including Hyun-ju.

She lost Young-mi to those sick fucks all because others had pushed her to the ground to get to a stupid door. Oh how she wanted to bash player 333's head into the wall closest to him at that very moment. But she resisted. Dammit, she resisted.

All the players walked out of the arena, and back into their resting area's, or large dormitory as others would assume. With Hyun-ju's adopted group at their designated hang-out spot, she quietly sat in her's, eyeing Young-mi's usual place. Young-mi.. What a kind soul she was?

Hyun-ju thought she couldn't take the burden of loosing her. She was brave. Really brave. Well, it was no lie that she was scared- they were both scared. But with Hyun-ju, standing next to Young-mi, she felt as if she could have Conquered anything when by her side. Now that she's gone..? She felt terrified. Oh Young-mi? What a person she could've been?

Geum-ja felt the sorrow in Hyun-ju's heart. She felt everyone's, actually. The loss of someone who you were destined to stick with till the very end was very familiar for her. That's how she felt with her son. So seeing Hyun-ju sit there in her own melancholy was devastating for Geum-ja. Oh this won't do.

She got up to sit next to the poor girl, and looked at her with gentle eyes, slowly placing a hand onto Hyun-ju's, causing the taller one to look at her with the most saddening of eyes. This broke the mother's heart.

"She was a kind young woman, hun." Geum-ja said soothingly, like a mother, Hyun-ju had quickly thought.

The young woman only nodded, looking back at Young-mi's spot. Growing sadder by the second.

Geum-ja felt so sorry for her. As a mother, she wanted to do everything in her power to just hold her in her palms and to protect her from anything cruel and inhumane if she could. But she knew she couldn't. No metaphor could save the broken souls in this place. Not even Geum-ja.

"How about.. I cheer you up, yeah?" Geum-ja said suddenly, catching Hyun-ju's attention. She now stared at the mother, contemplating the idea of possibly being cheered up be someone who she has only met for three days; but it felt like an eternity that they've been in this fucked up place with nothing but themselves to give comfort. If there is any of that now to help with their sanity of getting out of there.

"I do this a lot with Yong-sik, or eh.. My son! Aha.. You don't have to feel pressured by it, it's your choice dear." Geum-ja reassured the best that she could, hoping that she could help at all for poor Hyun-ju. Anything!

Pondering the idea a bit more, Hyun-ju finally answered in a low and tired tone, yet sweet and kind at the same time. "I.. Wouldn't mind the concept of how you could help. Thank you." With a small, reassuring smile, she turned to face Geum-ja to give her full attention.

Geum-ja smiled at that. Relieved that she could help, she repositioned herself, but not too fast as to possibly startle the woman. "If you ever get uncomfortable, please don't hesitate to stop me at any time, alright?" She said thoroughly to make sure that Hyun-ju has free will. She wants to make her as comfortable as possible after all.

Hyun-ju only nodded that time, kind of confused as to what the mother was talking about, but didn't protest nonetheless. She kind of wanted to know what she had up her sleeve to try and lift up her spirits. If that was even possible in a place like this?

"Could you turn around for me?" Geum-ja calmly said, never once wiping that reassuring smile off her face. Hyun-ju complied, now her back facing Geum-ja.

This grabbed Yong-sik's attention and immediately averted his gaze, knowing what was to come. It's been such a long time since he's received something like that, he almost forgot about the generous offer. Of course, he wasn't feeling jealous of the act, he knew he loved when his mom did that with him. It brought a sense of security and comfort, as well as a closer bond with his mother, so seeing her repeat the offer with someone else who is mourning the loss of their friend, he grew a smile on his face to see his mom always wanting to sooth others from their worries.

Once Geum-ja knew that Hyun-ju was comfortable enough in her spot-deciding to lean on the closest pole of one of the bed frames to her-that's when she got to work. Carefully, and lightly, she began to trace along her back in a repetitive motion.

Unsurprisingly, it was immediately effective. It soothed Hyun-ju almost instantly! the feeling was unexpected at first, but the repetitive back and forth helped her get used to it fairly quickly.

Geum-ja saw the girl in front of her lower her head in satisfaction. Hearing a comfortable sigh, she smiled to herself, thanking that the method was working at least a little bit in Hyun-ju's favor. The mother was still unsure if it was actually working for her or not with the jacket in the way. Oh, This won't do.

"D-do you mind taking off your jacket? I'm unsure if this is really working in your favor if you had the thick layer on." Geum-ja asked respectfully. Hyun-ju understood her question, and agreed to take the jacket off. In one swift motion, she took the jacket and placed it on her lap, allowing Geum-ja to continue her tracing on the now thin layer of the shirt that her and all the other players were put in.

"Thank you, dear." Geum-ja said sweetly, continuing her tracing from before.

The feeling was the same, yet it had a more effective feeling than before because of the jacket. Hyun-ju had noticed this quickly, but it was soothing to feel yet again. Laying against the pole again, she sighed comfortably.

"I just..? I want to thank you. You hardly know me, yet you want to comfort me.." Hyun-ju quietly said, just enough for her to hear.

Geum-ja smiled at that. "Well,, I'm a mother. Mother's attend to whoever is feeling down just to help them get back on their feet, dear." She answered, deciding to use the same up and down motion on her spine, revealing a sharp gasp from the younger. Geum-ja quickly retreated her hand.

"Oh my, are you alright? I'm so sorry, I should've asked if you had any injuries before hand-" she was briefly stopped with a patient hand, as Hyun-ju turned to face her.

"N-no, it's alright! I'm fine. You can continue if you want, I'm just.. A bit sensitive on my spine is all." Hyun-ju admitted kind of quietly. The light blush on her features seemed to make way due to her embarrassment. Geum-ja's worried face turned into a small smile at the discovery.

"Oh? Well, if you want me to continue! I appreciate the reassurance." she gave a few small pats on Hyun-ju's shoulder before continuing. She decided to trace her spine again, but carefully this time. She noticed instantly that hyun-ju was trying to keep her giggles from spurring out.

The woman had a small smile that she couldn't seem to hide away, resulting with her lowering her head down, closest to the pole she was leaning up against.

Geum-ja noticed that each time she'd trace up, her body would arch away from her fingertips, but when she traced down, she'd move back to her normal position just before she'll arch again, but would fight against the instinctive reaction each time. Geum-ja found that quite interesting.

Deciding to enlighten a few giggles out of her, she quickly analyzed where it would tickle most on her spine, and decided to trace her fingers on that spot more than the rest. Almost instantly, she made Hyun-ju melt into a puddle of her own giggles.

They were quick, quiet and breathy. A giggle that Geum-ja never thought she could muster out of her mouth, but they were endearing, and reassuring to hear.

She looked for any uncomfortable movement to cause her to stop her onslaught, but she didn't get anything like that. Hyun-ju just kept close to the pole as a way of leverage, and a sort of grounding, and kept releasing her beautiful sounding giggles.

"I take it that you like this?" Geum-ja broke the nonspeaking silence, causing Hyun-ju to blush a little out of embarrassment.

"Ihihi'm sohohorry.." She apologized quickly, thinking that maybe she's not deserving of such kindful acts.

"Oh this won't do. Hun, you can laugh your heart out! We kind of need to in a place like this to distract ourselves, right?" Geum-ja demonstrated her words by moving her hands closer to Hyun-ju's sides, making her jolt in surprise with a squeal, making her quickly cover her mouth to stop any further ones from coming out.

This caught the attention of Yong-sik and Geong-seok. Yong-sik already knew what was happening, so he turned his head away once again with a smile, and Geong-seok kind of just stared at them, or more so at Hyun-ju. He saw her crumbling into pieces just by Geum-ja's light touch, and it brought a blush of his own. How sweet she sounded, and carefree she was finally letting go? How she was trying, but also not really, to hide her smile? The way that he could just see a glimpse of her features? it adored him. She looked so beautiful. The smile that was creeping up on him was present.

"See? It's okay to laugh. I know you need it anyways, dear!" She said happily, enlightening more giggles to come out of the woman.

Although Hyun-ju was glad she could let loose and laugh, she also felt guilty for letting it out so soon.. Even after the mingle game..

She panicked a little by her thoughts, moving a bit as her mind mad her unsure of the situation. "Ihihi- geheheum- ohohor.. Ehehaha, wait!" the sudden slip up of her name caused her to panick even more, guilty flowing through her heart.

Geum-ja stopped her assault, worried for the young woman all so sudden. "What is it dear? Are you having second thought?"

Hyun-ju was a nervous wreck. She didn't know what to conclude in her head. So, she turned her body a bit to look at the mother with apologetic, and empathetic eyes. "Well.. I-i'm not so sure if laughing right now would be best since.. I mean? It's just.." Hyun-ju was finding it hard to spill out her thoughts. She knew that Geum-ja wouldn't judge, but she held back. She looked at her with worry. How overwhelming this place could be for someone, let alone overthinking things? She felt sorry for her in the most empathetic way.

"I believe that Young-mi would have wanted you to smile, and laugh.. There's too much sorrow in this place, and I'm sure it's driving all of us crazy. If we dristact ourselves from that, it'd be better to get through all of this, yeah?" Geum-ja reassured the best that she could, bringing a hand to softly lay on the woman's knee.

"I um.. I don't know..." Hyun-ju quietly said, looking down at where the mother's hand was laying. She wanted to break free from this dreadful feeling, but the guilt that layed right on top of her heart trapped her from doing so.

"I for one want you to cheer up!" Geum-ja said suddenly, squeezing her knee now. The surprised gasp and chuckle from her shocked the both of them.

"Yohou wouldn't dahare..." Hyun-ju said carefully through suppressed giggles. Geum-ja took that as a challenge.

"As a mother, I would!" Geum-ja said with glee. She started squeezing Hyun-ju's knee repetitively now, resulting in more clear chuckles from Hyun-ju.

"AH-ahaha, hohohold ohohon!" she gripped the offending hand while continuing to lean against the pole, trying to gain an upper hand in the situation, but ultimately failed because she didn't want to accidentally hurt Geum-ja in the process. Thus, resulting with her taking it.

"Yohou seem to be hoholding on just fihine!" Geum-ja couldn't help but giggle with her. Hyun-ju's laughter was just that contagious! And someone seems to be giggling to themselves as well. (Geong-seok, just SIT with them at this point)

The genuine bond seemed to lift up Hyun-ju's spirits a little bit. With all this laughing and releasing her stress and anxieties, she almost felt like she was right at home.

She wanted to move spots, deciding that maybe her sides would be less ticklish? how wrong she was once she darted straight for them.

Hyun-ju felt the ticklish sensation electrify her entire body as she jolted back, a higher squeal coming out of her mouth, causing the woman to blush even deeper as if her face wasn't flushed enough.

"AAH- AhahaAHAaha, O-OhohommahahaAHAaha- uh- Wahahait.." Realising quickly of what she just blurted out, she tried to stop Geum-ja's hands from tickling her further, but she was one step ahead of player-120.

Geum-ja looked at her in shock, retreating her hands after she had hesitated to pull them away in the first place. As she saw the horror on Hyun-ju's face, Geum-ja was quick to bring a reassuring smile, as well as reassuring words.

"Ohoh, dear! No need to make that worried face, it's alright!" She tried to reason, noticing the shock and worry never leaving Hyun-ju's face.

She began to spew out panicked apologies. "I-I'm so sorry.. I didn't mean to call you that,, it just came naturally.." she began to fidget with her hands as she always does when things got overwhelming.

Geum-ja, returning her soft touch back to her knee, never once left the smile that shown proudly on her face. "You can call me mom if you see me as one, you know?" She said, stroking her thumb on her knee now, making sure it didn't enlighten anymore panicked giggles this time.

Hyun-ju looked at her with a confused face this time. "I.. I don't understand.." Hyun-ju said empathetically.

Geum-ja looked at her with the softest of eyes a mother could give. " Well.. There's people in our lives who we look up to as if they were family.. They may act like how an authority figure would act, it's just how our minds see it!" she explained. She never once looked away from Hyun-ju.

"Yeah.. But it's only been a few days since we've known each other, and since.. Well.. The type of place we're in? It's confusing as hell to look up to others in this place.." Hyun-ju spoke with reason, as if she would then talk down on the poor woman who was just trying to sort out her thoughts of the situation.

"Wehell.. Like I said, I'm a mother. No matter how short, or how long you've known me, I'll always think of you as my own.. Cause in this place?" she looked around then, pausing her sentence, "there's gotta be at least someone you should look up to in dire situations like this one, dear." she finished with a smile, like always.

Hyun-ju didn't know what else to say at that point. She was holding back tears by the realization that she was finally recognized as someone who isn't just trans, but as someone's own child. No hesitation. No doubts. She felt accepted. She felt like herself.

All that thought, the woman finally let the tears flow gracefully down her cheeks, letting drops fly from the side of her jawline. When Geum-ja noticed this, she didn't hesitate to pull the woman into her arms, embrasing in what felt like to Hyun-ju, a motherly hug. She allowed herself to fully cry by now. Letting it out, but still holding back on wanting to scream her feelings out.

Geum-ja soothed her by rubbing her hand on her back, like a mother would. Swaying them back and forth a little, like a mother would. Giving hyun-ju the love and care, like a mother would. She gave it all.

"T-thank you.. For this." Hyun-ju finally said after a bit of silence, never once breaking the hug.

"Like I said dear, I'm a mother." Geum-ju said, still having the sweetest smile. She looked over to Yong-sik who finally watched the scene unfold, and she grew her smile at him, letting him know that he has her as well. This caused Yong-sik to smile with her. The cure of a mother's love is so much stronger than the endurance of trying to out live this place.

"She'd be proud, dear." Geum-ja said, softly. Continueing to sway back and forth with Hyun-ju.

[lightsoutmatthews]

New Rules - Andrei Svechnikov

Summary: You and Andrei used to date, now you´re trying to let go of him with a set of new rules which should work (more or less)

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x female!reader

warnings: angst (some), sexual themes (not explicit, hints to), mentions of break up, hints to toxic behavior, mentions of being drunk

word count: 3.05k

authors note:

this is my very first time publishing anything I´ve written like ever

feedback is appreciated

english is not my native language so bear with any grammar or spelling mistakes

Svech is portrait as kind of toxic, that´s not how I see him irl

I hope you enjoy :))

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ONE: Don’t pick up the phone, you know he´s only calling cause he´s drunk and alone

“Give me your phone.” Your friend demanded as you checked it for the millionth time that evening. “What?” Confusion was written all over your face even though you knew exactly what she meant. “You are not waiting for his call.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

She knew you were waiting. He had just lost the metropolitan division final round against the Rangers. They had battled hard, almost came back to equalize the series after being down 3-1 just a few days prior but it wasn’t enough. Seeing the defeat on his and his teammates faces after they once again did not even come close to winning the cup broke your heart.

You were there when they got swept in the eastern conference final the year prior. You comforted him after the game, let him get drunk out of his mind and then brought him back to your shared apartment where he cried in your arms over not being able to be on the ice to help his teammates reach their ultimate goal. 

“We both know he will call as soon as he´s drunk enough. He always does.” Unfortunately, your friend knew your relationship well enough for that. When you were together, he always called after bad games. Sometimes when he was drunk, sometimes when he was sober, but he always called.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should have blocked him the first time it happened after you broke up. He was injured again. Taking a puck to the face. You had broken up a few weeks prior to that after one of your many disagreements was the tripping point for you.

He slurred his words during the phone call, begging and pleading for you to take him back. That he would change, for you. It broke your heart to turn him down.

“Give me the phone, girl.” Your friend held out her hand again, waiting for you to finally place the device into it. Your shoulders slumped. You knew you should give it to her because you would give in as soon as the call came through. Her face tensed when you made no move, just kept twirling the phone around. “You want him to call.” It was a statement not a question. You didn’t have to answer for you both knew you did.

“You need to get over him.” She hissed, slamming her drink down on the wooden bar top. “You relationship was toxic. He manipulated you. He wanted to take away your dreams and make you a trophy piece he can put next to the Stanley Cup one day. A beautiful thing on his arm he can show off. When will your realize?” Her face turned red as she spoke, her voice laced with venom.

A loud sigh left your mouth. She was right but still there was this feeling deep inside your chest that made you go back to him. “Grow up. He´s a playboy. A kid they gave too much money to who now thinks he´s the king of the world and can get away with everything because he´s good at shooting a rubber disk at a net.”

Each word stung in your chest. You knew she was right. “And yet I still love him.” Right on que your phone started to ring. Andrei Svechnikov.

“If you take this, I can´t do this anymore. I´m done watching you getting your heart broken by this asshole. You know he is only calling because he is drunk and alone.” You rolled your eyes. You knew she didn’t mean it; she just didn’t want you to get hurt again.

“Hey…” you said before dismissing her by turning around.

TWO: Don´t let him in, you´ll have to kick him out again

You thought he had gone back to Russia during the off season but when you had a knock at your door in the middle of the night. A gasp left your mouth when you saw the scene on the other side.

Seth Jarvis and Jesperi Kotkaniemi holding up a very drunk looking Andrei shooting each other worried glances as they waited for someone to open the door.

You leaned your forehead against the cold wood for a second, contemplating if you should let him in. With his state it would mean that he would spend the night, and you would have to kick him out again the next morning. Guilt would eat you alive if you let him stay but something in you knew you could not let him stand out there.

Three pairs of wide eyes looked at you after you gathered the courage to open. Jarvy and KKs eyes soon turned into guilt. Unspoken apologies filling the air. “BABY.” Andrei shouted. Peaking your head left and right you made sure no neighbors were nearby. “Hey.” You weren’t sure any of the men heard you. “He insisted on coming here.” KK stated, his words laced with guilt.

The both of you knew he knew better than bringing him here, so did Seth but you knew once Andrei had an idea in his head it was hard to get him to stop. “We´re sorry. We will take him home.” Seth fidgeted with his left hand and brushed it over his already tussled hair.

Your eyes wandered over the slump body of your ex-boyfriend. He was barely hanging on to his teammates shoulders. It must have been quite the process to even get him up here in the first place. “Bring him in.” KK exchanged a worried glance with his teammate on Andrei´s other arm. “Are you sure?”

Another loud sigh escaped your mouth before you could stop it. You knew you should say no. “Just do it, I will deal with the consequences later.”

Once Andrei was settled on your couch, deep asleep within seconds, you and his teammates stood in silence. Unspoken words heavy in the air. “We shouldn’t have come here.” Seth broke the silence. “It´s fine.” That was the end of the conversation.

The next morning you were awake way to early after the late-night disturbance. Andrei was still asleep on the couch when you walked into the living room. “Why are you here?” you whispered into the quiet space.

“I miss you.” Goosebumps rose on your arms at his reply. “Drei…” He groaned as he sat up. His hair tussled, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes shot red from the alcohol he indulged in last night. “I´m sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking coming here. It was like a reflex when Jarvy and KK tried to take me home.”

“It´s fine.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “No, actually it´s not fine. Andrei, what are we doing? You call me when you are drunk, you show up at my doorstep when you´re drunk. Jarvy and KK apologized approximately fifty times for your behavior last night. We broke up months ago because YOU could no longer deal with my dramatics. You´re here for what exactly? Because it is certainly not to beg me for forgiveness.”

“I saw you on your date a few nights ago.” His confession hit you like a truck. You went for lunch with a guy from work a while ago. A friend from work, but you didn´t tell him that.

“And that gives you a right to do what? You can’t state any claim to me. We broke up, Andrei.” You clapped your hands over your face. The exhaustion from the long night now coming back to haunt you.

A beat passes with no reply. “Leave.” His eyes shot up in surprise. “What…?” You knew he wanted to say more but no words came out of his mouth. “Leave, Andrei. Leave and never come back. Never contact me again. We are over. I want to move on with my life and moving on does not include you.”

THREE: Don’t be his friend, you know you´re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning

Months passed without seeing him after you threw him out of your apartment that night. You moved on with life. A few dates here and there, but nothing came out of it. Sometimes he was on your mind during them. In the beginning you compared them to him even though you didn’t want to, but things got better with time.

The more time passed between the last time you saw Andrei and the present day the less your thought about him actually. Your friend, who obviously did not stop being friends with you because you picked up the phone, was happy with the development and set you up with various different people throughout the passing time.

All came crashing down the next time you saw Andrei. It was New Years Eve. You were at a club in Miami to celebrate. Some girlfriends talked you into a trip over the year change and you said yes. Having been wrapped up with work prior to the holidays you were excited to let loose for a bit.

The bass hammered through your body a few hours into the evening. Alcohol had been flowing in masses, and it was still an hour until the new year. You swung your arms over your head to a Latin song you liked, your girlfriends next to you. “The guy over there has been starring at you for the past 10 minutes, you should go talk to him.” one of them yelled into your ear.

You followed her finger and looked directly into pretty blue eyes. The guy had blonde hair and muscles that everyone could see under his slightly too small shirt. “Go talk to him! He´s hot!” Your friend yelled again.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He greeted you as soon as you slid on a chair next to him. “Hey there yourself.” Flirting came easier to you when you had drunken but something about talking to him made him nervous. “What´s a pretty girl like you doing here ringing the new year in all alone?” You knew it was the worst way to open a conversation and in a sober state you wouldn’t have fallen for it but in this scenario, you looked up at him with heart eyes.

“Waiting for a guy like you to talk to me.” I shot him a wink which made him chuckle. You and he fell into an easy conversation. He told you that he´s here for a bachelor party and you told him about your girls trip to Miami. Conversation flowed easily, you blushed as he bought you another drink and brushed a strand of your hair out of your face. His touch lingering a little longer for just a friendly gesture.

“Babe, there you are.” The words hit you like ice cold water. The familiar Russian accent sending a shiver down your spine. “Babe?” The guy in front of you questioned as he saw the tall Russian step into your space. “Yeah, man, thanks for taking care of her, when she´s drunk she likes to wander. You next drink is on me.”

Perplexity was written all over the guys face but Andrei´s expression was ice cold, so he took the hint.

“Are you out of your mind?” You went off on him as soon as he was out of your earshot. “Hello to you too, malysh.” The Russian term of endearment something you had grown familiar with over time. “Fuck off, Andrei.” You pushed him out of the way and marched back towards your friends, but he stopped you by grabbing your arm.

“Let me go.” You whisper yelled as to not draw too much attention to you two. He didn’t comply. “Svechnikov, I´m warning you. I told you the last time we saw each other that you don’t have any claim to me anymore so, I have no idea what your little stunt back there was supposed to be but thanks for that.”

“He looked like a douchebag. You´re not good enough for him.” You huffed out a grunt. “And for whom am I good enough? You? Don’t make me laugh.” He grimaced. “I didn’t come here to fight.” His English getting worse with the alcohol, but you still understood him well enough.

“Then what are you here to do?” The two of you had wandered around in the club, now standing almost in the middle of the dance floor. “I wanted to apologize. You blocked me on everything so I could not do it via text, so I took my chance.” Your eyes narrowed. You didn’t really know what to do with his confession.

“I would like for us to be friends. I know you hung out with KK and Jarvy.” Your eyebrows raised. Friends. He wanted to be friends. “What?” The tone of your voice must have caught him by surprise because his eyes widened. “Friends.” He repeated.

“Ten… nine… eight… seven…” the countdown started in the background. You were still trapped in the bubble Andrei´s words put you in, so they sounded like you had something stuck in your ears. “Let´s start the new year with a truce. Friends. We hang out occasionally, you come to a game every now and then. I promise to stop texting you drunk and to call you, and to show up at your house in the middle of the night unless you ask me to.” He slurred, half of his words getting lost in the chanting and celebrating happening around you.

You knew you should not do it. You knew this would end in disaster, just like it did the last times but were unable to tell this man no. He had captured you from the moment he first entered your life and put his spell on you. “Fine.”

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You blinked your eyes open stung by the brightness that hit you when you fully woke up. Holding your hand in front of your eyes, blocking the sun from hitting you in the face. This was not your hotel room; you could tell from the window you were looking at alone. Behind you the rustling of sheets let you know that whoever you went home with was still with you.

After taking a deep breath you tried to manage the headache that immediately hit you. The last thing you remembered was talking to Andrei, setting a truce with him about being friends. A mistake, you immediately thought.

Taking another deep breath, you picked up your phone and checked the time. Shortly after eleven in the morning. You didn’t remember when exactly you got here or how, but you knew that you were naked which meant you drunkenly slept with someone.

Usually, hookups were not your thing but today you could bring yourself to care. This is why you came to Miami. “Good morning, malysh.” Your heart skipped a beat. There is no way. Blinking a few short times to make sure you were not dreaming you turned around.

Andrei lifted his hand to block out the sun just like you had a few minutes earlier. “Fuck.” You mumbled. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. No, this is not happening. I´m dreaming.” You pinched yourself in the arm, jerking as it actually hurt.

Andrei chuckled behind you. “You okay?” His voice was rough and still laced with the screaming that had happened the night before. You buried your head in your hands. This could not be happening. You could not be in his hotel room, having come back to old patterns again. Your heart was racing, your hands were trembling, and your breathing was getting more rapid by the second.

“Malysh.” His voice mealy above a whisper. Shortly after you felt a soft kiss to your naked shoulder. “You´re panicking.” He correctly reads your actions. “Go.” was the only thing you said to him. “Baby, I can´t go, this is my hotel room.”

“Andrei, please, leave me alone for a few minutes.” He sensed the urgency in your words, so he slowly got up. “Okay, but we will talk about this after.”

And if you´re under him, you ain´t getting over him.

You took a few deep breaths, telling the situations was not as bad as you thought. At least you didn’t go with a stranger. An ex-boyfriend was not that much better, but it could have been worse. Drunk you is acting on sober you´s thoughts. Is what you thought. Did you still have feelings for Andrei? Was that a question you wanted to think about right now?

Andrei returned before you could finish your internal discussion. Shorts hung low on his body, his bulge visibly staining against the front. “There is no way you are turned on right now.” You tried to deflect. “What do you think happens when you are naked in my bed. You´re the hottest woman I have ever come across.”

You weren’t sure if he was being serious. Sure, he told you the same thing multiple times throughout your actual relationship, but he was with hotter people after. You saw the gossip, the models he was surrounding himself with after you had broken up.

“Stop thinking, Malysh.” The more he called you this specific Russian nickname the more you were taken back to your relationship. The problems but also the good memories. You knew this must end after today. You couldn’t let yourself get back to this.

He stepped into your space and started to prep your neck with kisses. “You´re thinking too much. Let me help you turn your head off just a bit.” He moved his kisses further down your neck before he pushed you down, so your back was hitting the soft sheets of the bed.

It was easy for him to climb over you and still reach every part of your body. He placed a short kiss to your lips before he started wandering again, placing kisses to every inch of you that was available to him.

This was the last time you were indulging in him; you were telling yourself. But the idea vanished when he sucked on your neck, leaving a mark as if you were his again.

You would deal with the consequences later.

[armed-with-a-waffle-iron]

Feeling so fucking emotional about Tim/Steph today, I can’t explain it.😭 I wholly blame Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls!

[dog-bimbo]

toji n his sweet housewife — 18+ only ! minors do not interact

husband!toji 's got a craving for all things sweet and soft and absolutely delicious and that's you, his housewife! the minute you wake up, your find his huge body swallowing your tinier frame, drooling over your night dress as he cups one of your tits—he's safe and sound with his darling and has absolutely nothing to worry about. you sit up, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before you get out of bed and head towards the kitchen. the guy eats like it's his last meal and when it comes to your cooking, he just can't have enough of it. he eventually wakes up from his slumber, frowning a bit because you're already out of bed. the first thing he wants to see when he opens his eyes is you. to him, you were not just a woman who fed him, kept the house clean and the bed warm, you were something more than that. his only goal in life is to see you happy and smiling wide.

husband!toji has a musky scent to him which is even more prominent as he comes closer to you and hugs you from behind—feeling up your soft flesh, leaving sloppy trails of kisses over your collarbone and murmuring a soft "'mornin' sweetheart.", his stubble tickling you all the while. "good morning." all you had to do is look up at him with your eyes filled to the brim with nothing but love and he swears to god that he could melt right there. the two of you have breakfast in peace and as always, he's grateful for how you always make such hearty meals for him. he's aging and that dad bod he seemed to slowly morph into was proof that he's been well and happy for the past few years. gone was the toji who was rough around the edges and a product of his upbringing—he's healing now and it's all because of you.

husband!toji hates leaving you but he's not a bum no more, he's a hardworking man—and everything he does is for you and only you. "here's your lunch, i made your favourite." and as those words slip out of your mouth, he finds it harder and harder to bid you farewell. but he never leaves without a kiss. you stand on your tippy toes, slinging your arms around his big, strong shoulders as you plant a kiss on both of his cheeks, his forehead and finally his lips which leads to a fully blown out make out session before you break the kiss. "'m gonna miss you so fucking much..." he groans as he huffs. at his manual labour job, he chews his co-workers' ears off as he rambles on and on and on about you.

husband!toji doesn't necessarily get tired from all this, it's faaaar more easier than the contract hitman job he did in the past. it's just draining—he plops on the couch as he leans back and you immediately rush towards him—"i missed you so bad, darlin' how was your day?" he groans as his face brightens up a bit. all a man like him needed after a hard day of work was a woman like you—the absolute love of his life. knowing very well that at his core, he's a fragile man who needs some sweet tending.

husband!toji surely has changed his ways in all ways but one—he's still the man who has molded your tight cunt to perfectly fit his horsec0ck and he'll continue to do so with fervour </3 his red, angry tip kisses your cervix, stretching it impossibly as you cry out. "hang in there hun, 'm gonna take goooood care of ya'" his heavy balls slap against your pussy and his thrusts have left the mounds of your ass almost red as he alternates his pace from languid to hasty to best suit your orgasms. he's never been much of a giver with his past lovers but with you, his darling housewife, he'd do anything to see you blissed out with tears running down your eyes, murmuring broken words of praise that adds on to the heady scent of sex and the feeling of your gooey walls milking the jizz out of his c0ck.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud—

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."

[bombuni]

contains: jongho watching you use a dildo lol

minors dni

“Jjoo-ngie…”

Your pathetic, desperate whines are music to Jongho’s ears. It fuels his ego to see you so broken and needy, tear-filled eyes begging for him from where you drag the plastic toy over your slit. It’s disgustingly adorable, he thinks, how cute you look with a cock between your legs.

He’d found you exactly like this when he got home from work, wrecked and sweaty from hours of trying to replicate his touch on yourself. You’d cried and begged for him to finally relieve you and he almost gave in right then and there, but Jongho’s a man with a will made of steel. He’d only taken the purple, flimsy thing from your hands and pushed it gently back into your leaking hole. His mouth had watered at the sight of your mouth dropping open, as if just his presence had now changed everything for you. Your cute pleading eyes set his goal in mind: to enjoy the sight of your desperation. See how far he can get you before his urges take over.

“Just keep fucking yourself, sweetheart. Or is that too much for your tiny brain to understand? Do you need Jjong to do it for you?”

He swallows a moan when you unabashedly shout for him to take over, how sure you are that Jongho will take care of everything for you. He feels his hand twitch.

Your pussy is still wet as if he’d been playing with it for hours, and your chest is filled with waves of emotions, all surrounding the one man who’s eyes remain on you. You’re annoyed with how satisfied he is watching you be pathetic, embarrassed at how desperate you’re acting, but all of that is simply overshadowed by the straight flood of desire in you. Your mind only screams Jongho, Jongho, Jongho.

Your tiny hands shake in frustration with every push you give into yourself, “‘S so- I c-can’t! Jjongie, I can’t, p-please just-“

You’re so cute. So, so cute, and his cock jumps when a tear slips down your cheek. He sighs and moves slowly towards you, like you’re a nuisance, like his gut isn’t on fire right now and his mind is clouded with need. He finally reaches you, leaning down towards you and setting both arms besides your head, trapping you. The sound of your squelching pussy is still heard, and his tummy swirls with your adorably love sick grin.

The way your entire body relaxes once his hand reaches towards your clit makes him giggle, “So cute. You just wanted my attention, didn’t you? You want me to make you cum?”

“Please, Jjongie want it so bad-“

God, how he loves when you beg. He loves how embarrassed you get when he teases you outside of sex, how he’ll remind you of how much of a slut you are for him when you’re being a brat. He loves how you submit yourself to him, how much you enjoy being his plaything. It comforts him to know you trust him this much. But it’s also just really fucking hot how wet you get.

His pointer fingers rub at your clit, gliding easily in circle motions with the help of your slick, “Pretty, pretty girl…”

Jongho’s quiet praises push you off the edge, your entire body writhing as the pleasure takes control of you and makes you twitch in ecstasy. He mumbles more encouraging words that you don’t really hear, but the sound of his voice is just enough to push you through.

There’s a soft, timid thumb caressing your hip when you come to, “Couldn’t wait for me to come home?”

bom note: we are so back. i had to for my freakribos. anyways what r ur thoughts on mutual masturbation san or typical stuck-porn scenario san?

[moomuzan]

B⃣   U⃣   Z⃣   Z⃣   K⃣   I⃣   L⃣   L⃣

ੈ INFO — you’re their affair but the mafia wants your head!

༘⋆ PAIRING — pm! dazai, chuuya & akutagawa x gn! reader

༉‧ TAGS — angst, mentions of killing & death

➶ ˚ A/N — please let me write a part two

Mori’s words cut through the haze of DAZAI ‘s thoughts like a knife. “Get rid of them.”

Dazai’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, the world had stopped turning. His eyes flickered to the desk, where a glass of whiskey sat untouched. “Get rid of them,” Mori had said. So simple. So final. So damn easy.

But Dazai had always been good at lying. To others, and especially to himself. He didn't expect to feel this conflict, this gnawing sense of betrayal, not when it came to the Mafia—not when it came to this. But the moment Mori had delivered the order, Dazai had known. He had known exactly who the target was.

It’s you. It’s always been you.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his mind raced. The affair, the stolen moments of tenderness, the way they both pretended it was nothing more than fleeting… He never thought it would come to this. But here it was. The consequences of living a double life, of finding solace in someone who could never belong to him.

Dazai’s lips curled into a faint smile, as though mocking himself.

Did Mori know? Did he know that the one person he’d ordered to be eliminated was the one person Dazai had secretly allowed himself to care about?

Dazai wasn’t so naive to believe his mentor wouldn’t play both sides, wouldn’t force him into this situation for his own amusement.

The mafia executive wasn’t sure if he could live with the idea of losing you... or if he could carry out the hit, knowing it would destroy him.

His fingers hovered over his phone, the screen showing your contact. If I call... if I tell you... could we run away? The idea of abandoning the Mafia made him laugh bitterly. The thought of betrayal, of leaving behind everything he’d built... but it wasn’t the Mafia he feared losing. It was you.

Yet, when the moment came—he would do it. He would bury everything, including the feeling you had given him. Because that’s what he did. He always did what was expected.

CHUUYA sat in the dimly lit room, the weight of the letter in his hand heavier than anything he’d ever held before. Mori’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Get rid of them.”

“Them?”

Chuuya was used to the cold indifference of orders. He’d executed people for less. He had done it with no hesitation, no second thoughts. But this—this was different.

The person Mori was speaking of wasn’t just someone. It was you. You, who had filled the hollow space in his life, who had shown him a side of himself he had long buried. He never expected this to happen—not with you. He never let anyone close enough to matter before. But you had broken through that wall with nothing but a smile and understanding.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, fighting the tightness in his chest.

Could he do it? Could he actually carry out the hit on you?

He stood up, walking to the window, staring out at the city below. The light of the streetlamps blurred as his anger and confusion boiled over.

Did Mori know? Did he know about the late-night meetings? The stolen kisses in dark corners?

Chuuya gritted his teeth. He wasn’t that naive. Mori had eyes everywhere, and nothing escaped his notice. The question wasn’t whether Mori knew—it was whether Mori was playing a sick game. Did Mori want to test his loyalty, push him over the edge?

“I won’t do it,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaking with the weight of his decision. But then, the cold truth hit him.

If he didn’t do it... what would Mori do to you?

AKUTAGAWA stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His jaw was clenched, his eyes cold. But his mind was anything but calm.

“Get rid of them,” Mori had ordered.

The word felt like a punch to the gut. You. The one person who had wormed your way into his life without his consent, and yet, now, you were all he thought about.

It’s a mission, he told himself, a simple task. Nothing personal.

But it was personal. Everything about this was personal. He had never intended to care, but he did. His mind flickered to the stolen moments, the rare smiles you’d shared, the quiet understanding between you two. You were a weakness he’d allowed himself to indulge in, and now it was all crashing down.

Did Mori know? Did Mori know that Akutagawa had let himself fall in love with someone he should have never even thought of?

The possibility gnawed at him, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the task at hand. He had a duty, a responsibility to the Port Mafia. Loyalty was everything. And yet, there was this one painful truth that sat at the back of his mind: If he killed you, he would be killing the part of himself that wasn’t just a weapon.

His fingers flexed as he gripped his coat tighter, the faintest tremble in his hand betraying the turmoil inside him.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. “I can’t do this.”

But he had no choice.

He turned away from the mirror, eyes filled with a mixture of anger, pain, and uncertainty. You had made him feel human—had made him feel something that had terrified him. And now, for the sake of the Mafia, for the sake of his loyalty, he would have to bury all of that.

[moonlightdreamzz]

BANG CHAN

🎧 ➤ waves by normani

SUMMARY ✰ You and Bang Chan can’t let each other go, no matter how hard you try—love, hate, and jealousy pulling you back every time. But when he sees you at an afterparty soaking up someone else’s attention, he can’t help but remind you who you really belong to.

GENRE ✰ (A)(S). ComplicatedEx!BangChan, Idol!Reader

“Chan, are you even listening?” Felix’s voice breaks through the quiet hum of the car, an edge of frustration in it.

Chan blinks, slowly coming back to reality. His gaze drifts over to his members—Felix, Seungmin, Hyunjin—all watching him with concerned, yet exasperated expressions. He can feel the weight of their eyes on him, but his mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t want to think about you. Not now. Not when everything inside of him is already tangled up.

“I hear you,” he mutters, but his voice feels distant, even to him.

“You hear us, but you’re not listening,” Seungmin presses, his tone gentle but firm. “Every time you see her, you lose it. You think you can walk in there and be fine, but it’s always the same thing. You end up making it worse.”

Chan sighs, leaning back against the seat, rubbing his temples. He knows they’re right. He knows how it always ends—confusion, regret, the same broken cycle. But no matter how hard he tries to escape it, he can’t.

“Yeah, Chan. What are you gonna do if you see her with another guy tonight? Hm?” Hyunjin’s voice is quiet, but it’s the question that hits him the hardest. He feels his chest tighten. The idea of you laughing, talking to someone who isn’t him, sends a wave of something—jealousy? Longing?—that he can’t quite name.

“Chan, please don’t do this to yourself,” Felix adds, the concern in his voice clear. “We’ve seen this before. You can’t keep going around in circles like this.”

But it’s already too late. Chan knows the feeling too well—the pull, the ache of wanting you when he shouldn’t, of seeing you with someone else and realizing all over again that he can’t let go.

“I won’t do anything,” Chan says, though even he doesn’t believe the words. They sound hollow. Empty.

Felix doesn’t respond. Seungmin just shakes his head, looking out the window.

They’ve said all they can say. But he knows they’re right. He can feel it in his bones, that familiar sinking feeling in his stomach.

He opens the door, stepping out into the night air, the cold biting at his skin. His heart races, and for the first time tonight, he’s not sure if he’s ready to face what’s coming. But he’s already in too deep, and he’s never been good at turning back.

He remembers how it all started, the first time he saw you backstage. The laughter, the way you seemed so effortlessly in control of your world, yet with eyes that hid a quiet sadness. He never could resist that mix of strength and vulnerability. That’s what drew him in and made him want to know you more. At first, it was easy. You were his best friend, his confidant. You made him laugh, made him forget about all the chaos around him. You had this way of taking the edge off, making the world feel a little lighter.

But as the months passed, he started to notice the cracks. They were small at first—an offhand comment here, a moment of silence there—but they grew, and eventually, they consumed everything. The late-night calls turned into long silences. The plans to see each other? They became last-minute, pushed aside for work or another obligation. Chan wasn’t blind to it. He could feel the space between him and you stretching, growing wider. And despite his efforts to keep it all together, the love you once had, the connection, started to wither.

He runs a hand through his hair as the memory hits him of the night it all fell apart. The fight you had. Words said that couldn’t be taken back. Feelings hurt that couldn’t be healed with a kiss. It wasn’t just the distance or the work—it was the way you hurt each other. He wasn’t there when you needed him, and you... you didn’t know how to let him in anymore.

Then there was the cheating. A mistake. A huge mistake that both of you made. But even after all that, neither of you could walk away. The pull, the connection, the history—it was too strong. And so you stayed in the mess of it all, the on-again, off-again dynamic that felt like it was slowly suffocating both of you. Neither of you could let go, but neither could you figure out how to make it work.

Now, you've settled into something that almost feels safe: late-night booty calls. It’s the one thing neither of them can resist. No strings attached, just the raw, heated tension they both try to ignore during the day. No conversations about what went wrong, no expectations about what happens next. It’s simple, at least for now. You call when the loneliness gets too much, when the memory of each other feels too strong to ignore. And he answers—because how could he not? The pull is always there. It’s messy, but it’s easier this way. It’s safer. No risk of heartbreak, no need to face the reality that they’re both still hurting. They can just be there for each other in the dark, in the silence, and it’s enough for now.

But right now, that doesn't matter, because you're off again.

Chan stopped keeping track of the fights a long time ago. Maybe it was because he was so exhausted with his rollercoaster of emotions, that he couldn't keep up if he tried. Or maybe it's because he knows that the reason doesn't matter—you both always find your way back to each other anyways.

The party’s electric, buzzing with laughter, flashing lights, and music so loud it vibrates in his chest. But to Chan, it all feels surreal, like a scene from a movie that he’s forced to watch, not be part of. The air is thick with the heat of bodies moving, the scent of alcohol, and the hum of a good time. But none of it feels right—because you’re not by his side.

He scans the room, fingers tightening around his drink as his eyes flicker across the crowd. His thoughts drift back to the nights when you two would sneak away from everyone else, just the two of you in your little bubble of secret smiles and stolen glances. Those nights felt different. They felt real. You were never loud about it, never making a show. It was in the quiet moments. A light brush of your fingertips against his arm as you walked past him, barely noticeable to anyone but him. Or when he’d press himself against you in the crowd, just to feel the heat of your body, the closeness that made him ache in ways he couldn't describe. The brush of your lips when you’d lean close to whisper something in his ear, and how every touch, every glance, sent a rush of excitement through him.

No one knew. Only your members, the ones who had seen the way you’d sneak off together when you thought no one was looking. That secrecy made it thrilling. It wasn’t just being with you—it was being with you in the dark, where nobody could judge, where no one could tear you apart. It was the unspoken understanding between the two of you, the way your body language said everything when words failed.

It was alive, in a way that nothing tonight felt.

“Starting your bullshit already?” Changbin sneers teasingly, his voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music.

“Shut up,” Chan mutters, his eyes snapping out of their search for you only momentarily to glare at his member.

Changbin’s laugh echoes loudly, even over the music. He lifts his hand high and slaps it onto Chan’s shoulder, shaking him aggressively—as if trying to snap him back into reality. “C’mon, hyung. I got a girl for each and every one of us. Y/N, as much as I adore her, is old news. Stop searching the room like some lovesick puppy. Take some shots, have a good time, and meet…” He pauses dramatically, swinging his free hand behind him like he’s presenting the grand prize.

Winter steps out from the shadows, radiant and self-assured, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

“This,” Changbin declares, his grin wide, “is Winter.”

Winter’s eyes meet Chan’s, and she doesn’t look away. She’s bold, the kind of girl who doesn’t need to play coy. The other Aespa members hover close by, quiet and polite, but their presence only amplifies Winter’s confidence.

Chan doesn’t miss the silent exchange of looks between his single bandmates. They’re already thanking Changbin in their heads, no doubt.

He feels Winter’s gaze burning into him, waiting for a reaction. Maybe this is what he needs—someone new. Someone who doesn’t come with history, heartbreak, or late-night regrets.

“I—uh,” he starts, but Winter doesn’t let him finish.

“Do you dance?” she asks, her voice smooth and enticing.

“Not really,” he replies, shifting on his feet.

“Perfect,” she quips, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the crowd before he can protest.

The music feels louder here, the bass vibrating through the floor and up his legs. Winter’s hand is warm in his, her movements confident and fluid as she guides him into the rhythm. She doesn’t push too hard, just enough to make it easy to follow her lead.

Chan tries. He really tries. But then he sees you.

You’re on the other side of the room, dancing with Nicholas from &TEAM. You’re smiling, your face lit up with the kind of joy that makes his chest ache.

The world tilts.

For a moment, it’s just you and Nicholas, the way he spins you effortlessly, your laughter ringing out even over the music. And suddenly, nothing else matters.

Chan’s grip on Winter loosens. The memory of his last conversation with you slams into him, unrelenting. “I don’t know what I want,” he’d told you, the words slipping out in the heat of frustration. He’d left you standing there, hurt and confused.

And now here you are, moving on. Or at least pretending to.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” Winter says, her voice cutting through the noise as she leans in closer.

“I don’t,” he mutters, barely paying attention.

Winter studies him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She’s no fool—she can see where his focus lies.

Across the room, Nicholas pulls you closer, his hand resting on your lower back, and it’s all Chan can take. Without thinking, he moves.

Winter calls after him, but he doesn’t look back. He’s pushing through the crowd, his steps quick and determined, until he’s standing in front of you and Nicholas.

You blink up at him, surprised, your smile faltering just slightly.

“Can we talk?” Chan says, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the party.

Nicholas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t speak.

“Please,” Chan adds, the word slipping out before he can stop it.

The moment the bathroom door shuts, you turn to face him, arms crossed and a smirk already tugging at your lips. “Oh, this should be good,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go ahead, Chan. Explain why you just had to drag me away from having a perfectly good time.”

His jaw tightens as he leans against the sink, staring at you like you’re the problem. “I couldn’t just stand there,” he says, his tone sharp.

“Why not?” you shoot back, stepping closer. “You’re the one who left, remember? You said you didn’t know what you wanted, so why does it matter what I’m doing now?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the frustration pouring off him in waves. “Because I see you with him, and it makes me—” He stops, biting down on the words like they might burn him.

“Say it,” you challenge, tilting your head. “What, Chan? It makes you jealous? Possessive? You can’t have it both ways. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

“Like you’re any better,” he snaps, stepping into your space now. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing out there. Dancing with him, laughing like you’re so happy. You knew I’d see it.”

“Of course, I knew,” you reply, unfazed. “Why do you think I did it? You think you can just leave me and expect me to sit around waiting for you to figure out your shit? Please.”

His lips twitch, caught somewhere between anger and something darker. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable,” you counter, crossing your arms tighter. “Every time I start to move on, here you come, pulling me back in like clockwork.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You think I want to feel like this? Like I’m losing my mind every time I see you with someone else? I hate it, Y/N. I hate that I can’t let you go, but I don’t know how.”

You scoff, but your voice softens, the cracks in your armor showing. “You think I don’t get it? I do. I feel the same way, Chan. Every time you’re with someone else, it’s like—” You break off, shaking your head with a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t even matter. None of it matters because, at the end of the day, we’re always right back here, aren’t we?”

His gaze locks onto yours, the anger melting into something softer, more desperate. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “We are.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence thick with unspoken truths. Then you break it, your voice dripping with venom even as your eyes betray your longing.

“You’re a mess,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you’re any better?” he retorts, his lips curving into a dark smile.

The tension crackles like a live wire between you, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. You take a step back, your resolve wavering.

“I hate you,” you say, but the words lack conviction.

“I hate you too,” he replies, but his voice cracks just enough to betray him.

“I hate you,” you say, a smirk curling at the edge of your lips. Your voice is sharp, dripping with venom, but your eyes tell a different story—challenging, taunting.

“I hate you too,” Chan snaps back, his steps deliberate as he closes the space between you.

“Good,” you purr, leaning into the tension like you’re daring him to keep going.

“Great,” he growls, his smirk matching yours.

“You’re so predictable,” you say, tilting your head as if you’re bored. Your gaze dips to his clenched fists before rising to meet his eyes again. “Always running back when you see someone else enjoying me.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop moving forward. “And you love it, don’t you? The attention. The games.”

You shrug, pretending to think. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you lose your mind.”

“Careful,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous.

“Careful?” You laugh, the sound light and airy, cutting through the heavy tension like a blade. “You think I’m scared of you, Chan?”

“You should be.”

“Please,” you scoff, taking a step toward him instead of away. Now it’s his turn to stop in his tracks, his confidence flickering under your steady gaze. “I’ve seen you at your worst. You think this is supposed to intimidate me?”

His eyes narrow, the air thickening, heavy with the unspoken truth between you. Without a moment’s hesitation, he steps into your space, his hands moving to grip your wrists as he pins you against the wall. His lips crash against yours, urgency and hunger taking over, a kiss that speaks volumes of the years of unspoken desire and tension building between you.

The kiss is raw, hungry—teeth clashing, lips bruising, each touch igniting the sparks between you. But it’s his hands that drive you wild, pulling at your clothes, fingers working to expose more of you, to claim what he’s always wanted.

You fight him for control, sliding your hands up his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt. But he’s too strong, his touch too demanding, the power dynamic shifting as he forces you back into the wall, his body pressed against yours with a possessiveness you can’t ignore.

“Is this what you wanted?” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick, his breath hot.

You can barely answer before his lips are on your neck, sucking and biting as his hands roam, caressing every inch of exposed skin. You gasp, biting back a moan as your hands travel lower, desperate to feel him, to pull him closer.

“I think I want more,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire.

Before anything else can happen, Chan pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. His chest rises and falls with quick breaths, his grip on you firm, almost possessive.

“We should get out of here,” he mutters, his voice rough, the weight of what’s about to happen settling between you.

You nod wordlessly, a silent agreement passing between you. The game is over. The act of pretending, of keeping this thing between you casual, is over.

With one last heated kiss, Chan pulls away, quickly adjusting his clothes and reaching for the door. You follow his lead, stepping out of the bathroom with him, hand in hand, both of you silently agreeing that the rest of the night belongs to you.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, the rest of Stray Kids are watching, their eyes trained on the bathroom door. Hyunjin leans over to Felix with a sly grin, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"It's like taking candy from a baby." Hyunjin chuckles. He takes each individual bill from Felix"s defeated hand, blessing each one with a "thank you".

Unbeknownst to Chan, Felix and Hyunjin placed a bet while he was vigorously showering and coating himself with cologne, all "just because". Hyunjin had no faith in Chan being able to control himself, but Felix was carrying a generous heart today.

"I don't know why I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Shit is embarrassing." Felix scoffs--annoyed and amused all in one.

Seungmin appears behind the two of them, placing his arms over both of their shoulders. "The real bet isn't whether Chan was going to lose his shit--it's how long they're going to stay together this time."

Immediately, the bets start flying out of their mouths. Two weeks! A month! 48 hours!

Meanwhile, you and Chan didn't make it to either one of your dorms. The second the door shut in the car, he threw you into the back seat. He knew you well enough to know you didn't have on panties. He can't help himself right now. His face is buried deep into your p__sy, he's missed you so much. His face is covered in you, and the only words he can mutter as you grind onto his tounge is "I love you so much" "You taste so good, baby" 'Use me like the slut I am"

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — it was all yellow | carlos sainz

Description: After finding Carlos in bed with an internet starlet, you decided to break up with him. 5 years later, you meet him again.

Pairing: actress/singer!reader/carlos sainz

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

A/N: I got so many requests for this typa trope and I only got the idea now. Super sorry for the 6 month delay WAHHAHA.

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yn.ln: the vibe that we bring to the function. btw 💚 HOTDS2 is out!

liked by danielricciardo and 71,923 others

>comments

danielricciardo: Helaena Targaryen >>> - edited: Helaena Targaryen <<<

echibano82: MAN!! 😭

ynforever: the rise and fall of a midwest princess is my fav album of urs

formula.unoworld: sainz fumbled a baddie

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because.official: Carlos and Pinon 😘❤️ #MyHeart

liked by carlossainz55 and 6,293 others

>comments

foreveryoung78: Wake up Carlos the fatherhood allegations are strong today

solonglondon: U ever heard of a boy named Pablo Sainz? 😳

bestfriendsfw: miss Because...go and tell ur mans - landofanbase: HER NAME ALWAYS TAKES ME OUT 😭 WHY IS HER STAGE NAME "BECAUSE"

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WHO IS CARLOS SAINZ'S NEW GIRLFRIEND? BECAUSE...

Brezziana Aziza, whose stage name is Because has gained fame because of her relationship with Formula One Driver Carlos Sainz Jr. Previously known on social media as an influencer who vlogs about her daily life, netizens began to call her "Because" well because of her excessive use of that word.

Although she has stopped using that word since, the name has stuck. She is currently under fire for visiting a Shein Factory in China. For more details please click this link: Shein sent American influencers to China.

>comments

becauseunitedfanbase: she's so funny n quirky i get it why carlos loves her

breatheinlouder: if pablo does belong to sainz, brezziana broke a family up - corduroy8chan: the family broke because sainz allowed it to be broken, she's homewrecker because...? - becauseunitedfanbase: more like home renovator

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Just an Inchident (Charles L., Max V., Lando N., Carlos S.)

Carlos Sainz holy shit guys did you see twitter

Charles Leclerc Yeah man Is it real?

Lando Norris i did some research and this kid's 6-4 yrs old there's a chance mates

Carlos Sainz how am i even supposed to ask her? it was so awkward when it ended i totally regret doing that to her but im so happy with because now

Charles Leclerc There's a fat chance that the kid is yours man

Lando Norris ask her like a civilized man dude i saw a reel where someone asked her if pablos yours

Max Verstappen Who uses reels mate? 🤣 2 reacted 🤣

Lando Norris well she avoided the question silence means yes if you aren't the father she'd answer it

Carlos Sainz maybe she wants to torture me

Charles Leclerc She's a good person man I don't think that she'll do that Plus she's above using her son for leverage

Carlos Sainz and how do you know that Charles? we haven't spoken to her in years

Max Verstappen She grabs coffee with Victoria on Tuesdays I've actually known about Pablo for a while now

Carlos Sainz 👍🏻 2 reacted 🤣

Max Verstappen 👍🏻 .

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yn.ln: i want a velaryon burial #HOTDS2

liked by 93,192 others

>comments

danielricciardo: the camera quality sucks just letting you know - yn.ln: thanks! i have eyes btw

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yn.ln: A lot of you wanted to comment and ask questions about my son, and I never really posted about him because I'm not like those parents who use their kids on social media for likes and clout.

Five years ago, I gave birth to my first baby, Pablo L/N (09/12/18) and every day has been filled with laughter and warmth 🦋 he was not a secret, but I tried to keep his life private. Now, a lot of people feel like they have the right to know everything about him. What he looks like. Who his father is. I'm telling you that it doesn't matter.

You don't have the right to his face. You don't have the right to know about his family life because it doesn't concern you and it never will.

Thank you so much to my friends!! @danielricciardo @rileykeough #DakotaJohnson and #ChrisMartin

liked by 1,239,901 others

>comments

danielricciardo: ❤️

rileykeough: 🥺 i love you and p

victoriaverstappen: We love you! - yn.ln: thank you vic, playdate with luka and lio soon? - victoriaverstappen: Absolutely!

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email to destinybumgarneroffice@gmail.com (Y/N L/N publicist) from danielkirkmanhq@gmail.com

Good morning Dessie.

This is Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist, Daniel Kirkman, in light of the rumors between my client and Miss Y/N L/N we humbly request the truth about Pablo L/N's paternity in order to legally and publicly clear things up. Speaking as your old friend, these past few months have been stressful both physically and mentally. Even if there's a sliver of hope that the kid is Carlos' please update me.

Warm regards, Daniel Kirkman.

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email to danielkirkmanhq@gmail.com (Y/N L/N publicist) from destinybumgarneroffice@gmail.com (Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist)

Good afternoon Mr. Kirkman.

I can see that the years have hardly changed you, you still have horrible email etiquette. Because we are old friends, I spoke to Y/N. Truth is, the things that I'm going to share today will ruin your client's reputation if our emails are ever leaked. Remember the fallout of 2018? We both celebrated New Years in Y/N's Santa Monica House.

Actually, New Years was the day we found out that she was pregnant. Not a doubt in our hearts that the baby was Carlos'. We were about to tell him but the moment we landed in Ibiza, she saw Carlos in bed with Brezziana. (I refuse to call her Because!! BECAUSE it is confusing and preposterous.)

I think that hiding Pablo from his father wasn't right, but I don't blame her for doing it. As for the paternity test, Y/N agreed but the team will come back to you with the legalities and such. As a 'friend' I want to tell you that the best Carlos is ever going to have is him paying child support and seeing the child once or twice a month.

Y/N has a lot of lawyers, more than we do friends. And judging by Carlos' personality, I don't think that he'll fight for his son.

Warm Regards, Destiny Bumgarner

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email to destinybumgarneroffice@gmail.com (Y/N L/N publicist) from danielkirkmanhq@gmail.com

Good evening Destiny! What makes you think that Y/N's going to win the legalities? + I never expected you to reveal all of this via chat. You sure that I won't betray you?

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email to danielkirkmanhq@gmail.com (Y/N L/N publicist) from destinybumgarneroffice@gmail.com (Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist)

I got dealt with the winning hand now Dan.

I know you're smart enough not to doubt me. :)

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email to destinybumgarneroffice@gmail.com (Y/N L/N publicist) from danielkirkmanhq@gmail.com

All is fair in connections and clientele?

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email to danielkirkmanhq@gmail.com (Y/N L/N publicist) from destinybumgarneroffice@gmail.com (Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist)

All is fair in life, Dan.

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oliviacooke: sorry for drinking your juice hun. 📸 pablo l/n

liked by 283,192 others

>comments

yn.ln: haha thanks for carrying his bags liv

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There are only two things. Truth and lies.

Truth is indivisible, hence it cannot recognize itself; anyone who wants to recognize it has to be a lie.

The past that you've tried to bury has slowly began to reveal itself. Maybe it was your fault, you aren't sure...

Carlos Sainz was a horrible man. He cheated on you. He didn't apologize. He admitted that another woman made him happier. Was there something special about her? A simple internet starlet with no proper claim to fame made him feel more alive.

"You've got to face him anyways." Dakota placed a glass of wine on the coffee table. "Pablo isn't his. He doesn't even look like him." you shook your head, unable to accept the inevitable truth.

"I've read all the posts on Twitter, they don't think that I have the right to push my son away from his father. Carlos is immature, I don't think that he's even capable of being a father." you scoff, taking a sip.

Haven't you given your son everything that he needed? An iPad, a big house, private education, and vacations in all the nice places.

"Two wrongs don't make a right." Destiny breathed.

"- from what Kirkman says, Carlos has changed. I don't encourage you to be romantic partners or even best friends, but please be civil for Pablo. Please let him have a civil relationship with his father." she added. "I hate it when you're right." you looked away.

You've seen his posts. You've seen his interviews.

There wasn't a bone in his body that screamed mischievousness anymore. He looked tame. Happier.

He achieved all of that without you, and maybe you could be that too.

You can be everything without him too.

"So you'll talk to him?" Dakota asked.

"I'll give it a try." I relented.

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Look at the stars.

Look how they shine for you.

The music played in the background as you sashayed your way into the VIP section of your friend's restaurant. Destiny was an angel enough to close shop and ensure that your privacy was protected especially in these vulnerable moments.

A sigh escapes your mouth, hearing that song in the background. As much as you adored Chris Martin, this song was getting in your feels.

You take a sharp turn, halting once you see his figure.

The very same man that shattered your world in Ibiza. The very same man that looked you in the eyes while he admitted that someone else made him much much happier than you, his fiancee.

And it was called Yellow.

"Thank you so much for being here, Y/N." your name sounded soft on his lips. Behind his brown eyes, there was sorrow - not to be confused with regret because he looked better than he ever was. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" you chuckled.

While nothing about you has changed.

Carlos has changed drastically.

"Destiny told me about the emails. Your team wanted a paternity test, right? You don't need it, Pablo is yours." you decided to be straightforward, not bothering to sugarcoat the truth.

You could feel that bitterness on your throat, like tears were threatening to spill out of your eyes, like you just swallowed a pill and forgot to drank water afterwards.

"Uhh - I found out on New Years day, and I wanted to tell you in Ibiza." you didn't bother to continue the story. He knows what you mean.

For you I'd bleed myself dry.

"I'm sorry, really sorry for not being a man. I know that we were about to get married, and I got scared. I was 24 years old, everyone was telling me that I had another life ahead of me. I was young. I wanted to ruin my life. I-I shouldn't have brought you with me." he apologized, trying to find the words that could articulate his feelings.

This was all that you needed from him.

An apology.

"When Destiny found out, she grabbed me by the ear. Told me that I could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve you. I believe her, and I want to do everything to make it up to you and Pablo." he promised, but there were still words unsaid - the turn of his brows telling you that he wasn't willing to return back to normal.

That he still loves Because more than he's ever loved you.

"Do you love her?" you smiled bitterly. Your smile.

Look how they shine for you.

"I betrayed both of you that night. She didn't know that we were dating. She didn't know who I was. I apologized to her and she forgave me, but I realized a few years after that I should've apologized to you too." he admitted. "- I love her, really."

You knew that he wasn't lying.

.

.

.

destinybumgarner: this is the PINK PONY CLUB

liked by 712 others

>comments

yn.ln: WAHAHAH IM JUST HAVING FUN

danielkirkman: crowns c / o pablo the prince

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part two

A/N What driver or actor should we pair reader with? 😭 comment to get tagged

[erosiism]

A CASE OF REGRETS | YANDERE DUKE X M!READER.

prompt: you die during a rebellion, and he turns back time for you in desperation | reader is childhood friends with claude (OC), both are planning a rebellion to usurp the throne.

character(s): duke, you

warnings(s): nil

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, not beta read, excerpt from my fic on wattpad, to make amends

FIND MORE MOMENTS OF CLAUDE AND THE READER HERE.

"Y/n!"

Blood spurted out.

"Y/n!"

Your vision blurred.

"Oh gods, are you okay? Are you—"

Your ribs hurt: were they broken? Bloodied? You could certainly taste the horrible taste of iron present in your tongue. It was clear to you that somehow you were dying. That something had turned against you. That you were...

"Please, please, please—"

Through your muddled vision you could make out a figure. A familiar silhouette running towards you, legs stumbling in desperation, breaths ragged.

It was nice to know that when you died, someone would grieve for you. That someone would cry for you.

There was only one person in the world who cared so much for you.

"Claude," you murmured. There was a smile on your face. "There's no need to cry..."

"Y/n, please—no—"

"Save it." You sighed, "there's no way I'm going to be surviving this."

It was true. Blood jetted out of your wound in spurts, staining your tailored uniform with a bright, crimson hue. You had loved that color mainly because Claude had ruby eyes, but now it just seemed gruesome, horrid. Pain had simmered down into a steady brew, and you wondered if your pain tolerance had simply grown stronger, or it was a telling sign of your fading consciousness.

"You were such a brat last time." You murmured. "You used to throw tantrums and everything...for a while, I thought you despised me. Even when we became adults, you were still heartless, cold...so why do you weep for me? Why do you grieve my death?"

I was a fool last time, Claude thought silently. I was a fool. I was a fool not to have shown my affections last time.

Because the truth was plain and simple, written in ink, written in the stars: Claude adored you. Was it not you who had held his hand in the gardens for strolls? Was it not you who accompanied him throughout, was it not you who could make him crack a smile, make him laugh? It had been all you. Every single joyous moment he had was caused by you. When he had finally received the title of the Duke. When he had finally defeated his family and his foes.

But Claude had been so wrapped up in his own troubles he had failed to notice your problems. Your dastardly family. Your...

He had neglected your wellbeing—he hadn't seen your deteriorating state, your weakening smile—he hadn't see any of that. He had been self obsessed, too engrossed in his own matters that he hadn't even—

Claude had taken too long to warm up to you. He could have been sweeter earlier. Made your life easier, no matter what it was. Claude had taken a while to truly open his heart to you: he had been rude, ungracious, curt. And you had been patient. Endlessly patient with him.

"We can save you," Claude said desperately, "we can."

You laughed. A tinkling, magical sound—but at that moment, it was so damned. So fucking painful to hear the cracks inside, the strain hiding inside the tone.

He knew it would be the last time he would ever heard it.

"You are the Emperor. You finally reclaimed your right to the throne. You finally..."

"Y/n," he whispered.

You shook your head.

"You achieved everything you sought for."

Perhaps he did. But the thing he truly wanted had been in front of him this whole time and he had been blind. Utterly blind.

And he would never forgive himself for that.

The tears slipped. His voice felt suffocated; choking.

"Don't cry," you touched his cheek gently and that pulled Claude temporarily out of his panic—"don't cry, alright? It was inevitable, Your Grace. Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Your Grace. Even then, you hadn't referred to him by his name. If he had another chance—just one singular chance—

He would allow you to call him by his name.

You were his everything.

You're my heart, Y/n.

If you die, then that would make me heartless.

There was so much blood, Claude realized. Coating his palms, running down your back. So much of its thick texture, its color, all drenched. Every single bit drenched—

Why was there so much blood? It wasn't his. He  wasn't unhurt, really. He wasn't that well off, but not to your extent. You sounded so tired when you spoke, so faint. So weak. You could have disappeared any second. Claude held you in your arms softly, gently—you could disappear any moment, your breaths wavering and quivering.

No, no, no.

I love you, Claude thought deliriously. I love you. I love you. I love you so much—

The voice grew and became stronger; louder even as you grew cold. Claude rocked you even when your hands fell, holding one to his own cheek. Your hands still had the faintest bit of warmth. He clung onto it desperately; motionless with the tears dried up with his throat feeling like sandpaper.

You can't leave me, he'd thought deliriously, hugging you close and rocking you again and again and again, you can't leave me.

Y/n L/n, I love you too much to let you go.

.

.

Claude had failed to save you. In front of him, your beauty was still visible in his eyes; your (h/c) hair, your (e/c) eyes—because of his arrogance, his incompetence, you had unfairly died. He had not noticed the blooming feelings in his stomach until you had been cold in his arms, and his tears had splattered on your cheek.

The universe has been cruel to you.

He had stood by your side and had watched you suffer and suffer and suffer; and for what? Only for the gods to turn their back on you? What was the point, really? Claude had been with you this whole time. Had seen the sacrifices you poured in, had seen—

He should have been the one that died, Claude despaired. Not you. Never you.

That night he couldn't sleep. The place was too empty without you. He had been crowned Emperor. But there was no you to accompany him by his side.

There was...absolutely no point.

Why was he even alive at this rate? Claude wondered. Everything would go back to life before you. Tedious. Long. Meaningless.

"Your Majesty, the Empire—"

"—do whatever you want." Claude rasped out. "Just...just..."

Please. If the Gods are listening. Please, please—

Turn back time. For me, for Y/n.

For...

[ The Gods have heard your prayers ]

.

.

Turning back time was unheard of. Something in the legends. Something Claude didn't believe in. Yet when he woke up—there had been disappointment in him, he had assumed that this was heaven yet you were nowhere in sight—there was the familiar surroundings of a room.

Not the Emperor's bedroom.

The bedroom from the manor he once lived when he was the illegitimate son of the Duke.

I must be dreaming, Claude thought. There was a flicker of hope he didn't dare to believe in. I must be dreaming of the happier times and the million what ifs.

Pain was tugging at his heart. It was painful. Everything was painful...

"—don't bother him. He just recovered from a sickness."

What?

What?

Delusional. Hallucinating. Delirious. To hear your sweet, sweet voice in such a dream—perhaps this was heaven after all. Claude didn't ever want to wake up. He didn't.

Because you were there. In front of him.

He sucked in a breath.

As sweet, as polite as he remembered. Every inch of his face had been committed to his memory. Every contour, every line. He had mapped you out in his head and had aligned you with the thousands of dazzling stars in the universe because you were the reason he bothered to continue living. Because you had become his reason for living.

You stood, in regal attire, with your posture as graceful as he had remembered. The sunlight streamed in through the paneled windows, caressing your features and alighting upon your lashes. He swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Ah, you are awake, Your Grace." You smiled at him.

"Y/n L/n," he said finally. "Y/n L/n." It's been so long since he could say this name to someone who would hear and respond to it. So many times he called your name out of your desperation in vain: hoping for some sort of hallucination to pop up, for some sort of inkling that your voice would carry over to his ears.

And you smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled—

Claude reached out to you and buried his face into your clothes.

You gave a startled smile.

.

.

The Duke had done a 180 complete turn.

"Y/n," he spoke with uncharacteristic fondness that you just didn't understand, "you are..."

Tears. There were tears on his cheek. Had you done anything to offend him? You thought not.

"Your Grace..." you reached out to brush his forehead with your fingers, "are you alright? You don't seem to have a fever."

Claude stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh," You heard him say, and then, "you are as beautiful as I remembered."

What?

"Your Grace, are you really sure you are fine—"

Claude dashed forward, not even registering your words. He crushed you in his arms, a hand in your hair, head buried in his neck. He missed this. This warmth and this scent. Home, home. It's the smell of home. It's the smell of you. It's you. It's you. It's you. 

It worked, he thought. It worked. It fucking worked. I traveled back in time. 

"... Well then," you gave a small chuckle, confused upon what was happening, "it's a relief to see you have awoken—why are you crying?"

"You're here," Claude breathed, his first tangible words since his return. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here, Your Grace." You looked at him with confusion etched all over your features, frowning. "What's wrong? You..."

The Duke was looking at you like you were the only one that mattered in the world. And that—

Wow. What kind of coma did he have, to be behaving so peculiarly?

You wiped his tears, sighing and fussing.

"You know what—never mind. Tell me later—why are you still crying, Your Grace?"

Claude held onto you tighter.

Maybe he had bad dreams in his coma, you thought. He was holding on to you like you were a lifeline. Like you would disappear any second, any minute.

As though he would never let go of you again.

You patted the Duke's head gently, slowly, fingers running through his hair. "Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Those words. It was so hauntingly painful to him.

Claude didn't want to remember anymore. He didn't  need to remember. He had succeeded. The Gods had listened to him. You were alive and breathing, in front of him. You were—

Alive.

reblog/like the post! comments are appreciated even if you read this before :)

[sinofwriting]

All Relaxed - Jenson Button/Reader/Logan Sargeant

Words: 1,698 Summary: Jenson sees how stressed Logan and his girlfriend are and just wants to get rid of it for them. Note(s): Slightly NSFW, Dom/Sub Relationship/Dynamics. Dom!Jenson, Sub!Logan, Sub!Reader. Don’t be like them and approach a brand new dom/sub relationship like this, I beg of you. Also, no one ask how this ship popped into my head, I can’t be held accountable for my thoughts.

Masterlist | Support Me! 

Jenson watches as both Logan and Y/N practically stumble into where the fan stage would be happening. You’d think they had just woken up, but he can tell that still sleep is invading them. The circles under their eyes have worsened and his worry grows when he notices them both shake their head at food being offered. The same thing they did yesterday as well.

He more than knew how rough Formula 1 could be and that was before they made the calendar twenty-four races long. But he never had been that exhausted. Some of it was without a doubt the treatment of Williams affecting him and Jenson had tried alleviating that, trying to somewhat step into the mentor role, but it was obvious that he wasn’t doing enough.

And poor Y/N had broken down in his arms the last time they saw each other about everything going on with her family and school.

He wants to fix it. To see them without any worries, to see them relaxed. All loose limbs, no tension, eye bags and circles gone. He’d like to see them not look so gaunt as well. He’s sure Elias is fine, but it’s obvious he doesn’t know Logan. Benny would have straightened Logan’s current less than stellar eating habits in a few days and Jenson knows it’s been at least a month of Logan barely eating anything unless it’s one of his premade meals.

It’s the thought of wanting to see them all relaxed that has him begin to plot. It would be far too easy to invite them to his house in California. Undisturbed, no close enough neighbors to really bother them, not that he planned on really having them leave the house. If anyone spotted them it would be the end of a peaceful trip. And he knows that they are both free for the next two weeks. He had heard Logan mention it just the day before.

He starts making a list of groceries that need to be ordered, then he makes an email to a friend who owns a private jet and owes him a favor. He texts his housekeeper, asking if she wouldn’t mind going to his house today if she has time and straightening up the place.

As he starts to order the groceries, his attention is drawn away by the sound of a breathless sort of sigh. His eyebrows quirk up when he notices that it was her and he follows her eyes and fully understands, his throat going a little dry.

Logan had been put into a tight-fitting team shirt, something either tailored to him or knowing Williams and their budget they had just given him a smaller size and it looked good on him. The thin fabric clinging to every muscle and inch of his upper half. Jenson hadn’t realized that Logan had gained that much muscle since last year, even despite not eating it seemed he was keeping it well.

He watches as Logan smiles at him before looking at his girlfriend, sending her a small wink and Jenson can’t help but look at her, see how she reacts, and he shifts in his seat seeing the grin on her face, the way her shoulders have slightly relaxed.

What he wouldn’t give to see them both all relaxed for him, laying flat on their backs in his bed, letting him take care of them. He nearly drops his phone as the thought strikes him. Fuck.

—

Jenson watches amused as they walk around his house. Perhaps it was stupid to still invite them to his house after realizing he wanted them both in his bed. But he couldn’t continue to let them go about running on fumes.

“You guys go get settled, take a nap, rest, and I’ll cook dinner.”

“Let me help, Jenson.”

He shakes his head at her offer, “I’ve got it, sweetheart. I’ll come and get you both when it’s all ready.”

She looks ready to protest again, Logan as well, but he gives them both a stern look, and a simmer of arousal hits him as they both immediately start walking to the guest bedroom with quiet thank you’s. This might end up being a bit harder than he thought.

It does end up being harder than he thought, a lot harder in fact. It seems him realizing he didn’t just find them both attractive but also just plain and simple liked them had opened the floodgates. And their responses to him taking care of them was certainly not helping either.

It was only the third day of them being here but Jenson was sure he was going to cause a bit of an issue with the water with how many cold showers he might end up taking. His satisfaction of them letting him take care of them instantly turned to arousal.

That same day however after dinner as they laze about in the living room while he cleans up the dishes he realizes that they might feel the same way. They can’t stop looking at him. At first, he thought maybe they wanted something but were too shy to say something but when he looked over, they both looked away, clearly flustered at being caught and when he went back to cleaning up, their eyes were on him again, lingering.

It’s confirmation, but he doesn’t plan on doing anything about it, not until hours later as he does his rounds in the house, making sure everything is locked up and he passes their room and he hears them both.

The light sound of skin coming together, small whines and breaths that are more like gasps. His hand palms himself before he can stop it and then he hears it. His name. He freezes, thinking he must have misheard, but then he hears it again, the both of them moaning his name.

He barely makes it to his bedroom, back against the door as he presses his hand into his bottoms and jerks himself off, finishing quickly and making a mess of his sweatpants.

Jenson of course brings it up the next morning. The two are so flustered that even if he hadn’t heard he could guess that something happened.

“Good sleep?” He starts off with, hiding his smirk by taking a drink of coffee.

They both nod, shoulders tensing a little and that has him frowning, setting his mug down. He just started making progress on their tension. “You both sounded lovely.”

Logan’s head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at him while she gasps, hands coming up to cover her face.

His eyes flicker between the both of them. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you both say my name like that again. Maybe with the visuals as well.”

She makes a squeaky noise at his words and Logan’s cheeks have managed to turn more pink.

“And just to be clear, I wouldn’t want it to be a one time thing, or just sex.”

“But, you want the both of us? I mean more with the both of us?”

Jenson smiles gently at Logan’s nervousness. “Yes, the both of you. I want to take care of you two. And sex doesn’t have to be on the table, I’ll still happily do it without anything sexual, but I figured I’d put it on the table.”

Logan looks a little confused but before Jenson can say anything else, she’s giving a slight tug to Logan’s shirt.

“He’s offering to be our dom.” Her voice is quiet, the words clearly meant for Logan, but her eyes flicker over to him as well.

The American’s eyes widened. “Oh. I, we’ve never,”

“Done this before?”

They both shake their heads.

“I sort of figured. It’s not something I’ve done lots of either to be clear and never on this level. The last time I dommed was years ago and it was just sex. What I would like with us would be more than sex if we even agree to have sex be a part of it at all or to do this.”

“Why do you want to?”

Jenson smiles at her question. “I like you both and want to take care of you. You’re both stressed, spiraling. Barely sleeping or eating. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears with how much tension you both are carrying. I want to ease that, take everything off your shoulders, make it better or rather easier to deal with.”

“And you like taking care of people.”

“Not everyone.” He corrects. “I’m a bit too selfish for that, but certain people,” and his eyes flicker between them. “Absolutely.”

It’s not a very long talk, not as detailed as it should be. But he promises himself that he will sit down with them tomorrow to talk everything out, but they’ve got the basics down. They all are interested in the sexual and in private, like Jenson’s home, are happy to be submissive but don’t want it to bleed into their work/student life as much as they can. He makes sure they know to tell him no. He doesn’t foresee himself pressing too hard about taking breaks and such that it would make their work and student life suffer, but it’s always a possibility and he is far from perfect.

And now not even two hours after waking up he’s got them both in his bed and he can’t help the slight amusement he feels seeing them both wearing Logan’s boxer briefs, he’ll have to see about getting them in his next time. His amusement doesn’t last long however as he takes them in, both laying flat on their backs, upper halves completely bare, both stunning.

“Gorgeous.” He murmurs, sitting at the end of the bed and pressing a kiss to Logan’s calf and then hers. “Both of you look gorgeous for me.”

Her breath audibly stutters, while Logan lets out a keen, fingers twisting in the sheets.

He tuts at the tight grip, running his fingers over the younger man’s until he loosens it. “That’s better. Let’s get you both all relaxed for me, yeah?”

“Yes, Jenson.” They say together and his cock twitches. Fuck is he lucky.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I hope this is ok

Could I request hcs of Jason Todd with a s/o who enjoys giving him compliments, even when they're asleep?

Jason is soft, undoubtedly soft.

He couldn’t help the smile that grew across his face whenever you told him that he was the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your life.

It makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside that it becomes an addicting feeling that he never wants to go away.

He wasn’t use to someone showering him in adoration and unconditional love as you have done since your first date with him, sure it was something that he had to get use to as it wasn’t something he was willing to accept immediately, but after awhile Jason was practically hanging off of your every word that left your mouth like a fool in love.

You: your so perfect Jason you don’t even know it and it saddens me that you can’t see yourself how I see you because if you did then maybe you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

Jason: 🥰🥺🫶

Day in, day out you would tell Jason exactly how you felt about him no matter what but when one night Jason heard you muttering under your breath, he becomes intrigued as to what you were saying and leant closer to you, only to hear you say;

‘You may think your broken but you are anything but my sweet Jaybirdie.’

And

‘you’re an art piece who’s true message has been misconstrued many times but that never took away from how beautiful you were.’

Needles to say Jason was this close to squeezing you tight in his arms because you were too good for him, way too good for him that made him want to keep you close to him all the more.

Jason didn’t like seeing his own refection in mirrors, it reminded him of how much of him had been taken away and never given back, but you gave him the courage to look himself in the reflective surface after your sweet words a about how you loved the way his face was structured, his jawline, his eyes, his lips, everything you admired about him you had made well known.

You give him the confidence he had been trying to cover up the lack of with sarcastic and witty comebacks and an uncaring attitude. You helped rebuilt him brick by brick to the point where Jason wasn’t ashamed of walking the apartment shitless, his scars boldly on display but he knew you’d give them nothing but love and affection; much Kim you did the rest of him.

You: your scars are just as much apart of you as your arms and legs were, they are just as deserving of love as the rest of you and there’s a lot of you left to love if you let me.

Jason: I’d let you love me for the rest of forever if you wanted sweetheart.

Jason would soon find himself staying up incredibly late just to hear you sleepily praise him with a dopey look upon his face as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek gingerly, knowing that this was the kind of love he had been looking for since he was a goin boy, a love so unconditional that you find yourself again through it; a real and pure love that would stand the rest of time.

And now he finally had it and he had you to thank for loving him for the mess that he was.

[hannamoon143]

You drew stars around my scars ✮⋆˙

Life is hard. Some people don't know how to cope with that. Some people just try to feel mentally better by causing physical pain instead. How ironical, isn't it? Oh but bless you, that lee felix is in your life. Because this man never misses a thing.⋆｡°✩

Genre:Angst,Hurt/comfort

Warnings:Sh,a bit childhood trauma, Depression, Crying, mentions of food,mentions of bad eating habits

Lee felix x fem.Reader

Words: 3,9k

a/n: hey everyone<33 To write this fic brought me some comfort too, and it's healing me a bit more everytime i can use my own experiences,emotions and thoughts to write something that comforts others too, and relate to y/n a lot. And i know i'm not the only one, so i hope this can bring everyone that reads it a bit comfort. And pls always remember what of a beautiful person you are. Hurting yourself is never ever the only solution. If you need someone to talk, reach out to someone, anyone, also me if you don't have anyone. I'd rather have literally any person cry for hours in my arms, or vent to me in my dm's than have them hurt their own bodies, that always supports them. Everything felix says in that fic is true, and they r my own thoughts about this. I love you all, take care of yourselves.<3

Depression takes a lot from you. It takes your motivation, productivity, the will to socialize, and your happiness. It’s unfair isn’t it? Little, happy children become tired, broken adults.

People always think depression is something where you sit in your bed the whole day and cry. Well that is half true. Yes, there are days like that, but that’s far not everything. The worst are those dull days, when you feel entirely numb, but your life has to go on anyways. No joy in your heart, and no tears in your eyes. Just a big nothing in your mind.

After a while you figure it out though. It’s always those numb episodes, until every emotion you thought didn’t exist the days before, crashes down on you. And it’s overwhelming. Every.single.time.

But what if you’d find something that could ‚help‘ you? Something that brought you pain and relief at the same time? That made you feel alive, in the numb episodes and distracted you from the pain in the days where you broke down? The price was just your beautiful skin, and blood...

A problem was though, once you’d start, it would be very hard to stop again. But why should you anyways? Why should you stop when it was the only thing seemingly bringing you comfort for some short time?

It started off by you, picking at your skin absimendtly whenever you felt anxious, or when you just didn’t pay attention. It felt relieving. It was the burning pain when you scatched on your skin so hard it was slightly bloody, making you feel like your feelings actually mattered. And then that one night. That night everything crashed down on you. Your friends wanted nothing to do with you anymore, the few you had before, cut contact. You couldn’t even be mad at them. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by someone who constantly cancelled plans, and gave off a „depressing, annoying attitude“? Well these were their words. Oh but you saw it coming. All the overthinking in the middle of the night, those worst case scenarios, they had come true.

And your family? You never had a healthy relationship with them. So now, that you were grown up, the contact was almost entirely dead. And yeah, there was your boyfriend felix, but you’d never burden him with your problems. He already had enough on his mind with the world tour and all the new released albums, of the band he was in.

And that was it. No one there that you could reach out to, no one to comfort you, when your heart and mind were breaking into millions of glass splitters. Every person reaches their breaking point someday. And that day was yours. You remembered the night clearly. You were sitting on the bathroom floor, crying out all the emotion you had been holding in for too long. You had no friends anymore. No family. And pretty sure soon no boyfriend too. Nothing to hold onto.

Then you reached out to a drawer. You didn’t really register what you were doing as you took it out. A simple, silver blade. A little cut on your wrist. A line of crimson red blood on your skin.

At first you were terrified. What had you done? Why weren’t you affected by the stinging pain on your wrist, and the blood building in the small cut? Why did it in fact feel good? And then you decided to try it again, just to answer those questions right?

That’s where it started.

You knew you had depression. But going to a therapist? You were scared, probably too lazy, and you could never tell all your problems to a complete stranger. And most of all you didn’t want felix to worry either. He was the only one left, and soon he would surely leave too. He was the sweetest, sunny person on this earth, he deserved someone that matched his energy, and wasn’t so… hard to love.

Every single task felt like a hard, impossible chore. Getting out of your bed felt like doing the unbelievable. Doing the most simple things like showering, or brushing your teeth seemed so far away, that you could only master them on your best days. Some days, you went to work, did everything you had to, with a straight, stoic face. That was until you came home, laid into your bed, and silent tears would build wet spots on your pillow.

But somedays, even crying seemed too overwhelming. All you could do was lay in your dark room, staring at the wall. It was just the darkness and you, and somewhere in your mind, a voice whispering that it would help to cut...

And then there were these rare days, on which you felt almost too overwhelmed. It were those days you came home, and added another scar to the gallery of them on your arms. You questioned your life on these days. Because truly, you didn’t see a reason why you should be here right now. No, you weren’t proud of it. But who was there to stop you? Why should you quit if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now? When it was only the stinging pain who could make you slip out of the monotone haze in your mind, for at least a little bit time.

But it would be stupid to assume felix didn’t notice something was off. Lee felix was a pure person. Someone who could make even the rainiest days shine bright. And he cared about the people he loved more than anything else.

When you started cancelling plans it was already alarming for him. You were someone who never cancelled plans with him. You were usually a happy person, someone who made jokes that were actually funny. Someone who made him laugh with your little quirks, that he noticed over time. Someone who comforted him when he felt bad. And most of all you were the most excited person when you two would meet up. You never missed to tell him how much you loved him, that he was your happy person, and your comfort person.

That was before

Before suddenly everything stopped. He rarely got to see your beautiful face now anymore. You took a long time to respond to his texts, and when you did, they were short, and dry. This didn’t feel like you. Felix knew you. And that wasn’t you. This wasn’t the happy girl he met. And he surely wasn’t planning on letting things go like this forever. Something wasn’t right. And no matter what you said or did, to try and get away from him, and shut everything out, he would stay by your side. He would find out what was wrong and do everything possible in this world to make you feel like yourself again.

It was another day today. Another number on the calendar. You stopped looking at it. It didn’t matter anyways. Those were just numbers on paper, and they would never change anything. So you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling even heavier than usual. Like a zombie you just quickly got dressed, not even registering what you were wearing, and drank a mug of coffee. It would make you feel a bit more awake for at least a few hours. Eating breakfast had become impossible in the last few weeks. You were barely eating anything the whole day, to be honest. Sometimes, you just couldn’t stand up and make yourself something. But most times, you just didn’t feel hungry.

You went your usual way to work. At the bus, you took a short glance at your phone. You used to be on your phone a lot for the silliest things, but now you hated it. You hated the brightness, and that everytime you looked at it you had to interact with others. And the worst was, it remdinded you of what you had lost. The spark you had in your eyes on photos from a long time ago.

Something popped up on the screen

A message from felix. Of course. He messaged you every single day. You couldn’t ignore him, no matter how shitty felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him. So you opened it.

Hey sunshine<3How are you today? I thought of maybe grabbing some takeout and watching a movie together tonight, since i have off early! I’ll even let you pick one of those cheesy romcoms you love so much. Love u^^

You sighed. He was still so sweet, so caring, when he should be really annoyed, right? His girlfriend was a walking zombie, why didn’t he already break up with you?

Hey lix, sorry no time today.

Then you quickly put your phone away. You couldn’t stand thinking of his lips turning into that sad pout, when he’d read your answer. But you couldn’t meet him. You didn’t care how stubborn that was, but you wouldn’t let him see you like this. He would see right through you, and get you to tell him what was wrong.

You stopped making excuses someday. Who even cared? Sooner or later he’d leave, just like your friends. No lame excuses would matter then. Someone like you was unlovable. And that would never change.

As felix read your response he sighed.

That was enough. He wouldn’t let your relationship carry on like that. He wouldn’t let you carry on like that. Something was clearly wrong and he wouldn’t stand so far away and watch you slowly shut down from the entire world. Not anymore. Tonight he would come to your apartment, if you wanted to or not.

You didn’t remember what you did throughout the day. When you tried to recall it, there were only hazy memories, covered in a grey, thick fog. You didn’t even remember how you came home. Everything just happened. Now, you were walking through your apartment door, kicking off your shoes and coat. With a deep sigh, you dragged yourself to the bathroom. You shut the door, immediately sinking down on the floor. You were exhausted. More than that. The past days, or maybe even weeks you had held everything in more than usual. You felt like passing out right then and there, on the cold bathroom tiles. But there was something else. You knew that feeling. When you would have spent too many days in numbness, then at one point, every emotion, everything you thought wasn’t there before, creeps up in your throat from the depths of your soul. You feel the grieve, the sadness, the anger, the guilt, every single emotion crashing down on you at once. And then you can’t stop it anymore.

Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you pulled your knees up for a bit comfort.

These were the moment you hated the most, besides the numbness. Being numb is uneblievably tiring, but when all the feelings, everything comes up at once, that is even worse. You never knew how to deal with your emotions well. When you were a kid you never got the chance to express emotions. Crying was not allowed. If you did, you’d hear „ Stop it, or i’ll give you a reason to cry.“ If you screamed or hit out of anger you’d get punished in some way. Only a polite smile was, what was allowed to show on the outside, what to show to other people. That was probably part of the reason why you’d grown into a person who had these unhealthy, shitty habits, instead of expressing and coping with their emotions well.

You knew you should just let it pass. Endure these feelings. Maybe text someone to try and distract yourself. But somehow, you always went back to drowning out emotions with physical pain. You took the sharp blade from the bathroom drawer, your hands going unbelievable shaky like they always did when you took it out. You only started to cry more. You hated that you did it. You hated that you were a person that couldn’t handle their own feelings like a responsible adult, and had to shut them out with self harming instead. And still you did it again and again. You hated the way your arm looked when you put your sleeve up now. White lines from old cvts. Slightly reddish ones from some that happened some time ago. And those brightred ones. Reminders of not too long ago. They made you so angry. Reminding you of who you were. Of what you were.

So you decided to look away. You just put the blade to your wrist, looking at the blank bathroom wall. It was already so familiar, you knew where it would hurt the most without even looking.

Felix was searching around his apartment for that gray hoodie you wanted to have everytime you saw him wearing it. Maybe it would cheer you a bit up. As he finally found it, he grabbed the brownies he had made for you earlier, and his keys, heading out his apartment, to head to yours instead.

He started his car. It was a short drive so there was not much time for thinking. But there were some thoughts in the back of his head. Wasn’t he overstepping? You clearly didn’t want to see him, maybe you were also just annoyed?

But felix shook those voices off. He knew you. He had known you for years, and this wasn’t you. He had to do this.

And then he was already at your apartment. Slowly he got out of the car, taking the things, and started to walk up the stairs.

Soon he was in front of your door. Should he knock? He knew where your spare key was but he didn’t want to be respectless. So he softly knocked on the door.

„Y/n? It’s me, felix. I know you didn’t want to meet, but… i was worried. Can we talk please, my love?“

He waited for a minute. But there was no answer. Maybe you really weren’t at home? He decided to just try it. To his surprises the door was unlocked. That meant you were home, but also why would you let your door stay unlocked? He sighed, and locked it from the inside. He quietly took off his shoes, and put them on the side. Yours were scattered messily on the floor, and your coat too. Usually you hated when something in your apartment wasn’t organized. Maybe you were in a hurry before. He went into the kitchen, wich was dark, putting the brownies on the counter. „Y/n?“ he softly called out again. Still no answer.

But there, suddenly he heard something. A quiet, mumbling or...crying? His brows furrowed and he tried to follow the sound. There. In the bathroom. It seemed like you didn’t hear him calling you. At first he considered just going back to your kitchen and waiting there for you to come out, but when he heard another deep sob from you, he knew what to do. Whatever was going on right now, he wanted to be by your side. So he took a deep breath and opened the door.

„Y/N, what is g-“ His eyes widened in shock, and your head perked up immediately at the door clicking open, your gaze changing from surprise, to confusion, to somewhat realization and guilt. The sight in front of him horrified him. His beautiful, lovely girlfriend sat on the bathroom floor, her face red and puffy from crying, and a sharp blade in her hand. And your arm… How couldn’t he notice? He just stood there, in the door, staring at you.

You couldn’t read his face. Was he mad…? Of course he’d be mad. You quickly reacted as you got to your senses again. You jumped up, letting the blade fall, and a drop of blood dropping down on your white bathroom tiles.

„Felix…. I can explain, i h-haven’t, it’s not what it looks like o-okay? I’m okay, p-please i know you’re mad but-“

You got cut off. You couldnt’t even say anything more, because suddenly you were wrapped up tightly in your boyfriend’s comforting, warm embrace. You forgot how good a hug from him felt… And when you got a little glance at his face that was it. No anger, no twisted kind of any emotion against you. There was pure sympathy and love. When you also saw a tear rolling down his face, you couldn’t take it anymore. You buried your face in his neck, and let go. You sobbed uncontrollably, your arms and legs trembling so much, to the point your knees gave in, and felix slowly sank to the ground with you. Why did the cvts on your arms suddenly really hurt for the first time? He had you pulled on his lap, rocking you back and forth, stroking your hair gently. „Shhh, it’ll be alright. I’m here now, you are not alone.“

Good thirty minutes later, your sobbing had stopped, and only warm paths of tears remained on your cheeks. Felix lifted your head from his neck a bit, so he could look into your eyes. Though you had just cried your heart out, it was still the most mesmerizing pair of eyes he had seen in his life. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

„Let me treat those, okay?“ He simply said, glancing at your cuts.

He was gentle. He desinfected every single cut, apologizing every time you hissed at the sharp pain. Then he put some healing ointment on your fresh ones, and some at your older ones too. Then, with gentle, calm hands he bandaged your arms. He ended his treament with featherlight kisses on them. Then he got up, helping you up too. He had his hands on your side, his eyes on your face.

„Love…I won’t ever judge you, or get mad at you for anything, i hope you know that okay? I know that this is probably your way to cope with things, and i know that you know it’s not healthy. But it’s okay. Please just promise me, you will come to me instead of doing that, from now on hm? Everytime you want to do it you call me, text me, whatever. I’d rather have you crying in my arms for hours, venting to me for hours, you screaming at me, or do whatever you need to, than have you hurt and bleeding entirely alone on the floor. I’ll come over, and do whatever i need to, to cheer you up alright? And don’t shut me out from your life. I want to be a part again. I miss the way you’d text me when you see something that makes you smile. Or when you send me pics of the cute cats you saw on the sidewalk. Or when you just simply tell me about your day. And most important of all, i’ll stay by your side okay? No matter what. I will do everything to help you recover, and build up your life in a way that makes you happy okay? Let me help you sunshine. You don’t need to do it all alone.No matter how hard it in the past was, I’m here now, and I don’t plan on leaving soon.“

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time you smiled at him. „Okay lixie. Okay. I’ll try.“

Then he softly smiled at you, and guided you to your livingroom, where he made you sit on the couch. He rushed off to the kitchen, and was soon back again with a plate of brownies and his gray hoodie. „It seems like you didn’t eat much lately, you’ve been getting a bit too skinny, love. But don’t worry, now i’m here to feed you with everything you want to eat. You don’t need to move a single finger.“ He mumbled, as he first handed you the hoodie, wich you put on immediately and snuggled into it. It had always been your comfort hoodie, since it was big, fluffy, and always smelled like him a lot. Then he put down the plate in front of you. Felix’ brownies had always been one of your favorite things. They were delicious like no one else’s.Everytime you asked him what he was throwing in there, he always told you that it was his love and care wich he made them with. You believed him, this man made everything better with his sunny personality.

You simply smiled at him, and took one of the brownies, taking a big bite

„That’s my girl.“ He chuckled, ruffling your hair. As you were munching, and he was watching you with a fond smile, he suddenly asked „Do you have a marker somewhere here?“ You looked up, raising a brow. „Yeah, in the drawer over there i guess, why?“ He just stood up, and opened said drawer, taking the marker. He was back by your side in an instant. „Please give me one arm love“ He said, politely like always. You were still pretty confused but how could you say no to that? So you slowly laid your bandaged arm in his hands. He kissed it once and then softly started to draw on it. „What are you doing?“ you asked, mouth full of brownie.

„Those my love, are battle scars. It isn’t beautiful how you got them, but they are a part of you now, and they make you the person you are. They deserve to be called beautiful now too, like every single body part of yours. I love every part of you. And when they are healed, I’ll kiss each and everyone of them, but for now, they deserve to be treated with care. They will only heal properly, if you let them. If you’d always be angry when you’d look at them, they would never really heal. You would never really heal. You need to forgive yourself, and someday you will be able to move on. They show how far you’ve come, that it was very hard, but you never gave up. Battle scars, my love.“

You looked into his eyes. He said all that so sincere, you believed every word. And then as he was done you saw what he did. A lot of little stars, and a pretty moon in the middle were drawn on the bandages. And next to the moon he wrote a little note

„Because i want you to never forget who you are. You are Y/n L/n, a fighter, and the most beautiful woman i know.“

„How did i deserve you lee felix?“ You murmured in awe.

„You deserve the world, and more my love.“

And that really was a turning point. Thanks to felix, your days weren’t dull anymore. He was always there with you, laughing and talking a lot, but he also respected when you wanted some alone time. And when you came to him somedays, crying and telling him that you wanted to do it again, he took you in his arms, wrapped you both into a blanket and rocked you back and forth, until no tears were left anymore, and the world seemed a bit brighter again. Then he mumbled soothing reassurances into your hair, kissing you on the forehead.

And like this, you were willing to try. You were willing to try and recover, and create a life that you loved living, with him in it.

a/n: now a note to: @athenawindwolf because I didn't have the courage to say it that night ( we ignore that i'm writing this while you are texting me,still in that night), i'll be your chan friend, and in the context of this fanfic your felix friend, whenever you need me. I hope yk, I never judge anyone, and i've been through a lot too so rlly i would never ever judge or tell anyone if you tell me smth. We said we r the big sisters of our friends now, so that means we r sisters right? Come to me whenever you need to talk. Now this was for u, and I also have to say i'm thankful someone is sharing one of my interests now<3 Ily di angelo.@athenawindwolf (and i hope i didn't make you cry with this fic)

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[rafecswhore]

n o b o d y g e t s m e - rafe cameron x reader

a/n : this is so angsty and sappy it has my heart wrenching ngl

the evening sky was painted in deep oranges and purples as you sat on the hood of rafe’s truck, staring out at the empty beach. the world around you felt like it had gone quiet, save for the distant crash of waves and the occasional crackle of the bonfire behind you. rafe sat beside you, one hand gripping a half-empty beer bottle, the other resting casually on his knee. the tension between you was palpable, a silence that felt heavier than it should.

“so,” he finally said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “you’re really leaving?”

you glanced over at him, your chest tightening at the way his jaw clenched, the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. “yeah,” you said softly. “i leave next week.”

his head snapped toward you then, his blue eyes sharp and full of something you couldn’t quite name. frustration? sadness? anger? maybe all of it. “you’re just gonna walk away?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “like none of this mattered?”

“it’s not like that, rafe,” you said, turning to face him fully. “you know it’s not.”

“then what is it?” he shot back, standing abruptly and pacing a few steps away. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re running. again.”

his words stung, but they weren’t entirely wrong. the opportunity to move to the city was everything you’d been working toward for years, but the thought of leaving rafe—leaving what you had—made your chest ache in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“it’s not running,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “it’s… trying to figure out who i am. where i belong.”

“you belong here,” he said firmly, turning back to you. “with me.”

the rawness in his voice made your breath catch, and you looked away, blinking back tears. “rafe, you know it’s not that simple.”

“it is to me,” he said, stepping closer. “it’s always been simple.”

you and rafe had been everything and nothing all at once. late-night drives with the windows down, music blaring as he sped down the back roads. stolen kisses under the cover of darkness, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. whispered confessions in the early hours of the morning, the kind of vulnerability rafe rarely showed to anyone else.

but there was always something pulling you back, something telling you this wasn’t sustainable. rafe cameron was chaos, a storm you couldn’t control, and as much as you loved him, you weren’t sure if love was enough.

“nobody gets me like you,” you admitted one night, your head resting on his shoulder as the two of you sat on the roof of tanneyhill. “but maybe that’s the problem.”

he frowned, his arm tightening around you. “what the hell does that mean?”

“it means…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “it means you scare me, rafe. not because of who you are, but because of how much I feel when I’m with you.”

“good,” he said, turning to look at you. “you should feel something. that’s what this is all about, right? feeling something real.”

you didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because how could you explain that the intensity of it all was the very thing that made you feel like you were drowning?

the night before you were supposed to leave, rafe showed up at your door, his hair a mess, his chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way there. “don’t do this,” he said, his voice rough and broken. “don’t leave me.”

you stared at him, your heart shattering at the sight of him like this. “rafe—”

“just listen,” he said, stepping closer, his hands gripping your shoulders. “you can’t leave and pretend like we don’t mean anything. like i don’t mean anything.”

"that’s not what i’m doing,” you said, your voice trembling. “but i can’t stay. i can’t keep putting my life on hold for—”

“for what?” he interrupted, his eyes searching yours desperately. “for me?”

you nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. “for us.”

he let out a bitter laugh, dropping his hands and stepping back. “that’s bullshit, y/n. you’re not putting anything on hold. you’re just scared.”

“maybe i am,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “but rafe, this isn’t just about us. it’s about me trying to figure out who i am outside of this—outside of you.”

he stared at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening as he fought back whatever he was feeling. “fine,” he said finally, his voice cold. “go. but don’t expect me to be here when you get back.”

you left. and for a while, you thought it was the right decision. you threw yourself into your new life, trying to forget the way rafe’s voice cracked when he told you to go, the way his hands lingered on your shoulders like he was memorizing the feel of you.

but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake him. every song, every late-night thought, every ache in your chest—it all came back to him. because rafe wasn’t just someone you loved. he was someone who knew every broken, messy piece of you and loved you anyway.

when you came back to the outer banks months later, you weren’t sure what to expect. part of you hoped rafe had moved on, that he was happy without you. but another part of you—the selfish part—wanted him to still be yours.

you found him on the same beach where it all started, sitting in the sand with a cigarette between his fingers. he didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew he’d heard you.

“so, you’re back,” he said, his voice flat.

“yeah,” you said, sitting down beside him. “i guess i am.”

he finally looked at you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. “why?”

“because nobody gets me like you,” you said softly. “and maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

for a moment, neither of you said anything. then, rafe let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

you smiled, your heart aching in the best way. “yeah. i know.”

he looked at you again, and this time, there was something softer in his gaze. “don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

[etheraltides]

Fractured Devotion

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe’s addiction and mounting debts push him to the edge after a threatening encounter with Barry. As the boy you love clings to you for comfort, you must decide how far you’re willing to go to save him.

Warning(s): drug use and addiction, volatile behavior (I mean it’s season one rafe), violence.

You sat on the edge of Rafe’s bed, flipping absently through a magazine you found on his nightstand. It was some glossy publication, all luxury homes and island life aesthetics. You weren’t paying attention to the words. Instead, you listened to the faint echoes of muffled voices downstairs.

Rafe was arguing with his dad again.

It had been a year since you’d started dating him, but it felt like you’d spent half of that time comforting him after some blow-up with Ward. Lately, though, it was getting worse. The fights were louder, angrier, and left Rafe spiraling into moods you struggled to pull him out of.

You adjusted the strap of your sundress, feeling a prickle of unease. You’d noticed how his behavior had changed over the past few weeks – more erratic, more aggressive. He was drinking more, using more. And when you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it off with a smirk and a dismissive wave of his hand.

“He’s just so…ungrateful, you know?” Rafe’s voice carried through the door as he stormed into the room, slamming it behind him. His chest rose and fell with barely-contained rage, his blue eyes sharp and angry.

You looked up, setting the magazine aside. “Rafe, what happened?”

He raked a hand through his messy blonde hair, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Sarah,” he spat, as if her name tasted bitter. “That little traitor.”

Your brows knitted in concern. “What did she do?”

“She’s siding with them. With John B and those Pogue losers. She’s supposed to be my sister, our family, but she’s out there, screwing around with him instead of standing by us.” He stopped pacing and turned to you, his expression hardening. “Do you even know what that’s like? To have your own blood turn on you?”

You didn’t know how to answer, so you stood and reached for his hand. “Rafe, calm down. She’s just a kid. Maybe she doesn’t—”

“Don’t defend her!” he snapped, pulling away from your touch. “She’s tearing this family apart, and Dad just lets her do it. Like she’s perfect and I’m…”

His voice trailed off, but the look in his eyes – the self-loathing barely hidden under the anger – made your chest ache.

“You’re not a failure, Rafe.” you said softly, stepping closer. “You’re just—”

“What?” He laughed, sharp and bitter. “Go ahead, say it. I’m just what, (Y/N)? A mess? A junkie? A disappointment?”

“No.” you insisted, but he was already spiraling.

Rafe’s hand shot out, knocking a lamp off the bedside table. It crashed to the floor, the bulb shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. You flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I do everything for him,” Rafe said, his voice rising. “I do everything he asks – everything he needs – and it’s never enough. Sarah can screw off to Pogueland but all Dad sees is me. The screw-up. The kid who can’t get it right.”

“Rafe…” Your voice trembled as you watched him punch the wall, his knuckles splitting against the drywall. You’d never seen him this unhinged before.

“I’m the one holding everything together!” he shouted, ignoring the blood dripping from his hand. “I’m the one doing the dirty work, making sure this family doesn’t fall apart. And for what? So I can listen to his voice in my head, telling me I’m worthless?”

He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “Sometimes I think he’s right. Maybe I am just…broken.”

Your heart broke at the sight of him. You wanted to reach out, to pull him into your arms and tell him everything would be okay. But you weren’t sure if he’d let you, or if he’d push you away like he always did when he felt too vulnerable.

“You’re not broken, Rafe.” you said, sitting beside him. “You’re just hurting. And I want to help you, but you have to let me in.”

For a moment, he looked at you like he wanted to believe you. But then the mask of cocky indifference slid back into place. He stood, grabbing his jacket.

“Where are you going?” you asked, panic rising in your chest.

“Out.” he said curtly. “Don’t wait up.”

The door slammed open with a loud crash, startling you out of your thoughts. Rafe stumbled in, his silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light. He was a mess. His shirt clung to his damp skin, his hair was disheveled, and his pupils were blown wide, a wild, unhinged energy radiating off him.

“Rafe?” you called hesitantly, standing from the bed. The moment your voice broke the silence, his gaze snapped to you, sharp and glassy.

“What are you still doing here?” he muttered, slurring his words slightly. “I thought you’d leave. Everyone leaves.”

“I wasn’t going to leave” you said softly, keeping your tone steady despite the unease creeping up your spine. “What happened? Where were you?”

He ignored your question, pacing the room erratically, his hands tugging at his hair. “Barry.”he spat, the name dripping with venom. “That piece of shit thinks he can threaten me. Me!”

The name sent a chill down your spine. You’d heard the rumors about Barry, but Rafe had always brushed off your questions, assuring you it wasn’t serious. Now, though, the weight of his words pressed heavily on your chest.

“Rafe, what do you mean he threatened you?” you asked, stepping closer. “What’s going on?”

He stopped pacing and turned to you, his expression wild. “What’s going on?” he repeated mockingly. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. I owe Barry money – a lot of money – and now he’s acting like I’m his bitch or something. Like I’m just some loser who can’t handle my business.”

Your stomach dropped. “How much money, Rafe?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“How much?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

“Does it matter?” he snapped, his anger flaring. “I’ll take care of it. I don’t need you or anyone else to swoop in and save me, alright?”

You took a step back, shocked by the venom in his tone. But then you saw it – the fear buried beneath his anger, the shame flickering in his eyes. He wasn’t just angry. He was scared.

“Rafe.” you said carefully, “how much do you owe him?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Ten grand, alright?” he finally muttered, his voice barely audible.

You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you. Ten thousand dollars. That wasn’t just a debt – it was a noose tightening around his neck.

“Rafe…” you began, but he cut you off, his voice rising again.

“I’ll figure it out, okay? I always do. Barry doesn’t scare me. He’s just a lowlife who thinks he’s bigger than he is.”

“Raphael, stop.” You stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. He tensed under your touch, but you didn’t let go. “Let me help you.”

“What?” he barked, his laugh bitter and sharp. “You want to help me? With what, Y/N? You gonna go have a chat with Barry? Maybe flash your pretty tits and make him forget I owe him ten grand?”

“Don’t!” you said firmly, refusing to back down. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m trying to help you, Rafe.”

“Help me?” he repeated, pulling away from you. “You don’t get it. This isn’t something you can just fix with your stupid optimism and your little good-girl act.”

“I can pay it.” you said suddenly, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Rafe froze, his wild eyes locking onto yours. “What did you just say?”

“I’ll pay him.” you said again, your voice steadier this time. “I have savings. I’ll pay Barry, and you can pay me back when you’re ready.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of Rafe’s ragged breathing. Then he exploded.

“Are you insane?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “You think I’m going to let you do that? Let you clean up my mess like I’m some kind of charity case?”

“I’m not doing it to embarrass you, Rafe,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “I’m doing it because I care about you. Because I don’t want Barry coming after you – or worse.”

“Worse?” he repeated, his voice dropping dangerously low. “What do you think he’s gonna do, huh? You think he’s gonna kill me? Barry’s all talk. He’s nothing.”

“Then why are you so scared?” you shot back, your frustration bubbling over. “Why are you pacing and yelling and breaking things if it’s not a big deal?”

He stared at you, his chest heaving, his face twisted with anger and something else –something raw and vulnerable. “Because I can’t lose you.” he finally said, his voice breaking. “Because if you get involved in this, Barry’s not just coming after me. He’s coming after you, too.”

You took a shaky breath, your heart aching at the pain in his voice. “He won’t come after me because I’ll pay him, silly”

For a long moment, he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, his hands trembling. Then, slowly, he sank to the floor, his back against the wall. His head fell into his hands, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m gonna fix this, okay?” he ran a hand through his hair, his words muffled.

You knelt beside him, your hand gently brushing his. “Then let me help you.” you said softly. “Not just with the money – with all of it. But you have to let me in, Rafe. You have to trust me. I’m not your enemy here.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears, his lips trembling as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Instead, he reached out and pulled you toward him, his hands gripping your waist tightly, almost desperately.

His lips crashed against yours in a bruising, frantic kiss. It wasn’t soft or sweet – it was raw, messy, and full of need. His fingers dug into your sides as his mouth moved against yours, the kiss a mix of desperation and hunger. He kissed you like you were the only thing anchoring him, like he was drowning and you were his lifeline.

You gasped against his lips, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair. His body pressed against yours, his movements erratic and uncoordinated, but his need for you was undeniable.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged. “Shit. I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“No, you don’t.” you whispered, your hands gently cupping his face. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

For the first time that night, he let out a shaky laugh – a sound filled with both relief and sadness. He kissed you again, softer this time but no less intense, as if trying to convince himself that you were real.