#yet fail to take my own advice

[pestercide]

Sudden urge to drop off the face of the Earth (have zero online presence) and just focus on my art and myself then suddenly come back like nothin happened but now my art looks super different and I'm prolly mentally better too

[salemlunaa]

☀︎ YOU’RE NOT BEING PRODUCTIVE, YOU’RE LAZY AND AFRAID ☀︎

And this will cost you a lot of time that could be spent with your desires…

You have all the information, why aren’t you applying. You tell me you have been in this community for 6 months, a year, 2 years+, but how many of those days you’ve spent in this community have you actually applied, how many of those nights did you actually apply and don’t just fall asleep after 5 seconds.

And i know why you’re lazy, it’s because you’re scared, you’re scared of inducing process, whether it be success or failure. You make yourself busy with scripts and subliminals, “i’ll script this really cool thing first”, “i’ll scroll a little on tumblr first” “lemme just look at the success story hashtag before i do it, it really motivates me” You try and distract your self, you delude yourself into thinking you’re being productive but really you don’t want to, if you wanted to you wouldn’t be here and I will ALWAYS stand by that. You put it off until the last minute and then when it “doesn’t work” you run back to tumblr acting like you actually did anything.

a really good analogy from @archsariel333 - “you buy the pens, the notebook, you plan for the book you’re going to write but, you never write it”

“let me just add this one thing to the plan”, “let me look at inspo for book covers and art styles for illustration”, “let me go to my book writers group on tumblr and see if they have anymore advice for me even tho i know how to write a fucking book”

I know it’s comforting and validating to be in the “waiting period”, the period of anticipation. You want to go shopping for a vacation, pack your suitcase, look at reviews on social media, plan the pics you’re going to take, but getting on the actual plane can be scary, you ask yourself “what if they deny my boarding pass”, “what if i fail to make it on time”, “what if im not eligible to fly for whatever reason”, you don’t want to leave your comforting circumstances and even the trip itself scares you just a little, so you cope by buying all the vacation outfits in the world, saving inspo pics into a pinterest board, looking at vlogs of other people going to that place. You can’t bring yourself to get on the fucking plane.

You need to apply, and properly, 2024 is almost over, the amount of weeks we have left isn’t even in the double digits anymore, I don’t want you to make it to the end of this DECADE still keeping the tumblr “foryou” page company, watching people coming and going feeling paralysed as people who came here later than you pass you by. I know the feeling sucks but whose fault is that?

I want you to scrap the amount you’ve been here. Since you’re the operant power right? I don’t care how many weeks, months, years you’ve been here, scrap it, you’re going to start afresh and you’re going to actually apply, when you have the time, you’re not going to go back to your notes app, notion or pinterest to script some more, you’re going to apply.

A lot of you have the knowledge that majority of the world doesn’t and time on your hands, do you know how powerful and extremely fortunate you are, to have time AND knowledge? i don’t think alot of you understand how much of a privilege that is you are unstoppable yet you stop yourself out of fear that you will “fail” to tap into the void and let yourself down. You are so privileged to know what you know and to have the time to apply it, so do it, your not gonna scroll on tiktok for a few more minutes or shove a million subliminals down your throat to “prep yourself” you’re just going to take a breath and do it. Induce pure consciousness, and if you fall asleep scrap that assumption and do it again.

Look at your life right now, do you honestly like it, do you like envying others for having what you can have at the snap of your fingers. Do you like the life you are living?

I want you to tell yourself that you will not be the reason for your own demise. you will NOT be the reason that it’s 2026,27,28 and so on and you don’t have what you want.

please just go and apply, i don’t even know you guys and it hurts watching you kill time when you could’ve had everything a day ago, an hour ago heck even 5 minutes ago.

apply apply apply, don’t let this feeling be the reason you “fail” 💋🍑

[queeranarchism]

Adulting advice: if you think you can’t do a thing because you tried it as a child or teenager and you sucked really badly: try it again.

You may not notice it, but as an adult you continue gaining motor skills, insight, problem solving skills and above all patience and resilience in the face of failure. Also puberty can be a nightmare. For some of us it’s just harder to do things when we’re full of insecurities, low impulse control and focus, heightened emotions, etc. A thing that was hard for 15 year old you might not be hard for 25 or 35 or 45 years old you.

I thought I was the absolute worst at sowing because I tried to learn it in my teenage years and failed spectacularly at the most basic tasks. Turns out I just didn’t have the patience and focus for it yet. I tried it again recently and it didn’t take long at all to learn how to make my own clothes. (And oh my, being able to make any outfit I want in any fabric is a queer superpower.)

It really sucks that we’re told quite early in life what our talents are and we end up assuming that there are some things we’re just not good at, when the truth is that learning as an adult is just completely different from learning as a child.

[peachysunrize]

Owned ⥃ Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After nearly following Silverwing to Dragonstone mindlessly, Aemond comes back to the keep to posses you, his Queen once more.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! A tad bit dark!Aemond! There is noooooo plot, brainless smut, absolute filth and dirt and fucking, rough Aemond, possessive Aemond, READER IS AEGON’S WIFE!! public sex! Balcony sex inspired by Aemond’s scene s2e7, breeding, no prep, Aemond is mad and angry, very very rough sex, please tell me if I’ve missed something! English isn’t my first language<33

Word count: 1.5k

My other works

A/n: no words. No plot full of porn. Enjoy my freaky folks! Thank you @thekinslayed for feeding my delusions🤭 Reblogs & comments are appreciated🩷 also not a word is beta-ed.

You watch the buzzing city silently from the council room’s balcony, sighing when the large shadow of Vhagar looms over the sight, her screech cutting through the air with force. You can feel the restlessness in her, it must be Aemond who is raging from inside as he guides her outside the city towards the hill where she rests most of the time. 

You look down at the castle’s grounds; the chill in the air has become a nuisance for the gardeners, bringing the flowers to their deaths faster than expected, just like how the infection spreads through your husband’s body.

With another sigh, you look at the hill Vhagar lands on, the ground shaking beneath her heavy weight. You know it will be some time until Aemond arrives at the castle, but the idea of him being enraged with how a dragon was claimed and the Blacks now have the upper hand makes you worried; you do not know how to calm the wild dragon within him.

You wait until you crane your neck and see him returning on the horse, barging through the castle gates before he jumps down from the saddle, taking long strides towards the entrance with fury bursting through his veins.

Fiddling with your hand, you hear his rushed footsteps approaching the council room, each step has your heart racing — with what? You do not know, or you do not wish to acknowledge it. After all, this silly little affair that the council has bestowed on you to produce an heir has turned into something more, or at least the numbers you have warmed each other’s beds cannot be counted with fingers anymore.

Your head snaps towards the direction of the door, watching as Aemond walks past the guards, ordering them to go out with bark in his tone, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to keep his anger at bay, but ultimately fails, and the next thing you know is the heavy chair of the council is being thrown and Aemond slams his fists on the table, groaning in anger and frustration.

“They have more dragons,” he whispers, but you hear the sound of his rough breathing, “they can end this war if I do nothing!”

“My prince, you should—“

“I should what?” He looks up from the marble table, glaring at you with his good eye, “Listen to your advice? Letting my council run the realm while I do fucking nothing?”

“Maybe you ought to put your arrogance aside for once—“

Aemond walks towards you on the balcony, his face hardening as he grabs your jaw tightly, smirking as he sees your lips quivering not in fear, but more in determination to show you are more than what the council wants you to be. And with your pretty thighs rubbing together, he knows how every minor actor of his has you putty in his hands.

“My arrogance, My Queen, is the only reason the walls of this castle haven’t fallen yet,” he leans down, his nose brushing against yours roughly as he whispers against your lips, “Not everyone can sit prettily in a gown and wait for her prince regent to come and fuck an heir inside her.”

“Your arrogance and bruised ego are why they have more dragons than us. You could have kept your ambitions from blinding you at Rook’s Rest, maybe then, our King would be able to fight with you at the battlefield—“ you are cut off by a gasp as he turns you around and bends you over the balcony stones harshly.

Your chest comes in contact with the cold stone and you slap your hand on your mouth as a loud moan erupts from your lips when Aemond presses his entire body to your backside, feeling the hard bulge in his pants rubbing against your covered thigh.

“My ambitions are why your filthy inappropriate fantasies have come to life,” he leans over you, his teeth finding their way to the sensitive skin of your neck, sinking into the flesh without a single thought, “did you not tell me you wish it was me taking you every night instead of my brother? Yes, yes, it was you. Just as it is you who will take my cock until my seed has taken root, and my babe — our future King —  licks at your womb.”

You bite down on your fingers hard, grinding your hips back into his crotch as soon as he pushes the layers of your gown up to your waist, chuckling when he sees you shivering the moment your bare heated sex is exposed to the open air.

“We should not be doing this here! What if someone hears?” You ask Aemond, throwing your head back when he swipes his fingers through your wetness, humming before he reaches for the loops of his belt, pulling his pants and breeches down before he grabs his cock, stroking it a few times to full hardness.

“Let them hear, let them hear their queen doing her duty. There is no better way to show them how the heir to the throne was conceived,” he replies, one hand bracing himself on your shoulder blades to keep you completely bent over and unable to move while the other lines up his thick leaking head with your entrance before he enters you swiftly with one smooth stroke.

“Aemond!” You cry out, your fingers falling from your lips as he sets his pace, fucking you recklessly and with abandon, not caring if anyone hears you, or better, sees you. 

“Yes, My Queen? Already screaming my name? I almost pity my brother, almost. Gods know if you have not screamed “Aemond”  in his ears,” he smirks to himself when you grab the edge of the stone, your body moving with each thrust.

“Fuck, fuck—“

“Yes, that’s right—“ he groans, his hand gripping your hip tightly, “you were always mine, fucking mine. Even when you shared his bed, you were thinking of me, wishing and praying that one day you will be owned by me.”

“Yes, My Prince, yes!” You moan, not thinking if anyone would hear you, it did not matter anyway since the words of your affair and marital activities have reached the whores of the Flea Bottom.

“Oh, sweet Queen of mine, I have possessed you; first with words, now with my cock. We only need a babe to seal our bond,” he reaches around your body, finding your pearl in seconds as he starts rubbing quick circles on the nerves, making you arch your back and meet his thrusts as best as possible.

You can only nod at his words, truly succumbing to his and your desires once and for all, the pleasure only adding to his determination to fuck you, and you to show your devotion to him.

“They have more dragons, I have a cunt worth dying for. I guess I shall win this war.”

Suddenly, the doors to the council room open, and the cupbearer drops the jar of wine on the floor when he sees the two of you on the balcony, you moaning and Aemond fucking you. 

The sound catches Aemond’s attention immediately, pulling out of you slowly before he waltzes towards the balcony doors, looking the man dead in the eyes and cock out before he demands; “Out, now,” and slams the doors shut.

He comes back, his fingers wrapping around his dick before he sees you straightening your back a little. He has no time for silly little games, his balls are aching and the image of your swollen cunt is too much for him to let you go and find a better place to resume your activities.

“Aemond—“

“Hush you,” he pushes you back down, bending you over once more before he thrusts his cock back into your welcoming cunt, groaning in sync with your shriek as your warmth envelops his length, “just take it, yes, take it. No one can stop me from taking what’s mine. I will fuck you day and night for fortnights to come, I will have you, mark you as mine until everyone smells me on you.”

Even the idea of it has you shaking and trembling as your peak hits you hard and fast, the pleasure rushing through your veins as you gush around his cock. Hands bracing your body on the stones, you cry out his name, drawing Aemond closer to his high.

He follows not long after, grabbing your waist with both hands before he hammers himself into you roughly, stilling his hips harshly against yours, caging your body between his and the balcony stones as he empties his balls inside you, ropes of his cum painting your inside while he throws his head back, chest rising and falling rapidly.

There is no doubt in your head anymore, that Aemond has possessed you in more than one way, more than one place. After all, he will go to war barehanded if he can come back home to you and your heavenly cunt.

[jyoongim]

Alastors lover who is such small happy thing, always smiling but not like alastor creepy way, and who always dot on alastor and babies him. She never really got scared of him and always looks at him in awe in his demon form.

Think it would be amusing, hell even he would find it amusing such a small thing fussing and being overprotective on him.

You were quite a pleasant addition to the hotel. 

Unlike your partner, you were sweet and helpful.

Alastor thought your presence would ease the frazzled nerves of the residents if you were by his side.

You always wore a smile on your face, it wasn’t like Alastor’s ever present and malicious smile. 

It was genuine.

It was interesting to see how you and Alastor interacted.

The Overlord didnt mind your touches and fretting. He let you do what you please.

The two of you were polar opposites.

But opposite attract…and in those case it was just fascinating.

You were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Humming a soft tune as you cooked.

Most of the residents weren’t picky eaters and they loved your cooking, so you prepared something that everyone would like.

Once you finished everyone’s dinner, you started on making Alastor’s.

Alastor had rather peculiar tastes.

The kitchen filled with the residents as the smell of food wafted through the hotel.

You already had their plates prepared and dressed. Multiple voices chirped with appreciative remarks as they dug in.

Your smile widened when soft static filled the air, a feathery touch wrapped around you before Alastor’s voice greeted your ears.

”Morning doll! Dont you look hellish today” 

Your big doe eyes turned to greet his sharp ones.

“Good morning Al. Take a seat, Im almost done cookinng”

The tall red demon hummed as he took a seat at the table.

His ears flicked as you approach with a steaming plate.

”I hope you like it. Im not sure of the taste. I’ve never cooked flesh before but it looked a bit like sausage so I think it’ll be ok”

You heard several gags.

Alastor waved you off, picking up a fork “Oh I’m sure its fine. Your cooking ain’t ever failed me yet”

You finally took a seat to enjoy your own plate.

You chatted with the gang. Laughing at Angel’s jokes and agreeing with Charlie’s plans and offering advice for the day and talking with Vaggie.

Once dinner was over, everyone went about their night.

It was only you and Alastor left.

He sighed as he finished his food. “You have quite a way in the kitchen my dear. Dinner was delicious”

You giggled, taking his plate to wash.

The two of you chatted as you washed the dishes. He slithered behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as his head settled on your shoulder.

The two of you stood there in bliss until you finished and turned around.

“Why don’t you listen in on a broadcast tonight? Im sure you’ll find it entertaining” he chuckled.

You smiled as he escorted you to his radio tower.

———————————————————————-

“Alastor you need to see the tailor. Look at this!” You scowled as you held up his tail coat. The ends were raggedy, it was missing a button or two, and needed a few adjustments.

Alastor chuckled “I will make time to visit when Im out today”

You shook your head “No ill do it. You have a meeting today so don’t worry” Alastor’s brows raised “Then what am I to wear dear?”

You rummaged through the closet and pulled out another jacket. 

Alastor’s shadow wrapped around you, purring happily as you helped Alastor get ready.

Once he was properly dressed he bided you a goodbye before you stopped him.

You held his tie ”You’re not dressed properly. You want to be fully dress to terrorize the masses”

You smiled as you began to tie his bow tie around his neck. Alastor tilted his head as he watched you. You were much smaller compared to the demon. He watched as you focused on your task and mumble to yourself. You were so cute. Such a sweet soul you were. Fretting over a powerful Overlord.

Once in place, you fluffed it out and soothed out any wrinkles in his attire.

You beamed once you took a step back and admired your work. “There all ready and fashionable”

Alastor looked in the mirror and smiled at your work.

While he usually dressed in red, you had put him in black. You tucked a red handkerchief in his breast pocket and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Static popped and buzzed affectionately and before he could pull you into him, you pushed him to the door. “Now off with you. You have a busy day”

—————————————————————————-

Your small fame stood in front of Alastor as a sinner pulled his knife. You were growling and your hair swirled around you as your demonic form appeared.

The sinner laughed “Tsk! What man need a woman to defend him? Haha! Why don’t you settle down sweetheart hmm? After I kill this loser I can show you what a real man is like” he said suggestively, making your eyes narrow.

A large hand touched your shoulder “I can handle this dear” the sinner’s eyes widened as Alastor transformed and went to scream, but inky, black tentacles shot out from behind you to grab the demon.

Alastor stalked past you and tore into the demon, ripping him apart.

While most found Alastor’s demon form terrifying, you found it beautiful.

You watched as blood and limbs flew about, but you focused on Alastor.

He had grew twice his size, black antlers flared out and tall, deep growls and manic laughter erupted from his chest.

He sighed and patted himself down as he turned his nose up at the mess. Your hand skimmed his arm, to alert him of your presence. When he turned to you, blood covered his face. You lifted the hem of your dress and dapped it at his face, tutting “This face is too handsome to be covered in blood. You sure made a mess…Look at you! Its gonna take me forever to get these stains out” you huffed as you wiped his face clean. You smiled once he was clean. “Next time let m take care of it. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself or you if need be”

Alastor let out a chuckle, placing a claw under your chin. He leaned in to place a soft kiss to your lips

”You are very amusing my dear. Most cower in fear at my presence”

You rolled your eyes, lips curling wide “You don’t scare me Mr. Radio Demon” you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around you and went about the day.

What a interesting little soul you were indeed.

[unboundprompts]

how about a request for prompts where character A and character B are NOT dating (yet) but are both very obviously madly in love with each other. so while hanging out they begin to make some ambiguously romantic (physical) gestures towards each other. yknow, like stuff that isn’t overtly romantic but definitely could read as such?

Subtle Romantic Gestures

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

She never failed to notice that he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk. If they were ever walking down the street together, he would position himself between her and the road, gently moving her to his other side with a careful hand on the small of her back.

When they laughed, it made his heart swell. They would throw their head back nearly every time, as if it was the funniest joke in the world. He loved to watch the joy take over their features. It was like their laugh melted away all the bad things. His favorite part of their laughter, however, was how their hand would always land on his arm. It would linger on his skin as they giggled, sending fireworks through him.

When they were hanging out with a group, she noticed that her eyes were always meeting theirs. How long it took her to notice that she would look for them in a crowd, she didn't know. Nor did she know when they started looking for her.

As they walked side by side, he would playfully elbow her in her side with a bright smile. A teasing gesture, but it never failed to make her heart flutter.

"Can I walk you home?"

Their hands would brush, knuckle against knuckle. A brief warm touch on an otherwise cold day. She would savor that touch, make it last as long as she could. She wanted nothing more than to grab their hand with her own and rub soothing circles on the base of their thumb with hers.

Other Subtle Gestures

laughing too hard at their jokes

lingering eye contact

blushing

unnecessary touching (hand on arm, shoulder, knee, leg, etc)

random acts of kindness

making excuses to hang out

offering/asking favors

sharing secrets

putting more effort into your appearance before seeing them

holding doors, opening car doors

compliments, so many compliments

learning their interests, encouraging them to talk about things they enjoy

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[meazalykov]

cry for help

jana fernandez x emotionalsupport!reader

summary: sometimes the strong one needs help too

warnings: angst, mentions of injury

it’s almost a daily routine now, early mornings and late nights. 

whenever your phone rings, it’s hardly ever a surprise—you already know it’s going to be someone from the team. you’re a solid foundation, the person everyone knows will pick up no matter what time it is.

your teammates joke about it, calling you the “rock of our team,” and they’re not wrong. 

you’re the one they lean on, whether it’s for a ride to training, advice, or just an ear to listen.

like today, you’ve been up since six am, your phone vibrating beside you as you lace up your sneakers. vicky is texting, asking for a ride to training because her car’s in the shop. 

without hesitation, you reply, “on my way,” grabbing your keys and heading out the door. you pull up in front of vicky’s place a little while later, watching her jog out of her building, bag slung over her shoulder and water bottle in hand. 

she slides into the passenger seat, already mid-sentence about some random topic that has her laughing, and you can’t help but laugh along too. these car rides have become tradition, a time to catch up on everything, from gossip to game plans, and while they’re usually light-hearted, 

you know she appreciates it more than she lets on. she’s been through some tough moments recently for a teenager, and if a ride can make her day easier, then you’re all in.

you’ve always been this way. giving, helping, always ready to step up. the team is like family, and you’d do anything for them. so when lucia calls later that week, her voice shaky over the phone, you drop everything and go. 

she’s curled up on her couch when you arrive, looking small and fragile in a way that’s so unlike her usual confident self. it doesn’t take long for her to break down, admitting that her relationship has fallen apart. it’s raw and real, and she’s hurting. 

she says something about feeling lost, like she’s somehow failed, and you’re there, holding her hand, listening without judgment. 

hours go by, the sky darkening outside, but you don’t move until she finally nods off, exhausted but calmer. you leave a note, reminding her that she’s strong, that this pain will pass, and that she’s not alone.

that’s always been your role—to be the steady one, the one people call when things get tough. and yet, you realize, it’s been a while since anyone’s asked you how you’re doing. they wouldn’t know that lately, it feels like the weight of everything is pressing down on you. 

maybe it’s because you’ve always handled things on your own, always managed to keep it together even when the pressure builds up. you don’t even go to your girlfriend of two years, jana, whenever you need help. maybe it’s because they’re so used to you being the strong one that they forget you might need a little support, too.

christmas rolls around, and you’re spending it with esmee and her girlfriend, danielle, who flew in from the netherlands. you can feel the holiday spirit in the air, the warmth and laughter filling esmee’s place as the three of you decorate, wrapping garlands around door frames and untangling strings of lights. danielle is vibrant, animated, bringing a bit of her dutch charm into the mix, and for a few hours, you find yourself relaxing. 

there’s no expectation here, no one needing anything from you but your company. as the night goes on, you end up chatting on the couch, talking about everything from football to travel plans, and esmee’s laughter is contagious, filling the room with a joy that feels so comforting. 

it’s one of those rare moments where you feel lighter, like maybe you don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders all the time.

as the season kicks back in, the demands on you only grow. it’s almost amusing how quickly your phone fills up with requests—from organizing things for alexia and olga’s event to helping ingrid after she got injured on the pitch. 

you’re coordinating outfits, setting up rides, and giving pep talks before games. nobody else seems to notice how exhausted you are, and maybe that’s partly your own fault. you don’t let on. you smile, you reassure, you show up—every time, every day.

during el claisco– you take a hard tackle before halftime. it’s bad, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to get back up, brushing it off as if it’s nothing. the last thing you want is anyone worrying about you; it’s easier that way, to be the one who doesn’t need anything. 

even as your leg throbs, a hot wave of pain radiating from your hamstrings, you push forward. you tell yourself you’re fine, that you can handle it. you’ve been through worse. and there’s a part of you that’s desperate to keep playing, to prove something, maybe to yourself, maybe to everyone else. 

you’d scored last game, but in your mind, it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

in the locker room at halftime, you pull on a fresh shirt, forcing yourself to act like the throbbing in your knee is nothing but a minor ache. the team talks tactics, voices buzzing around you, but it’s hard to focus as you keep adjusting your weight off your right leg, gritting your teeth every time you have to stand. 

you feel jana’s eyes on you from across the room, catching every wince, every small shift.

she doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. as you make your way toward the door to head back out, she steps in front of you, blocking your path. 

“you’re not fine,” she says quietly, her eyes sharp. 

“i can see it every time you put pressure on your leg.”

“i’m fine,” you say, voice firm but maybe too quick. she knows you too well, sees through every front you’ve ever put up, and today is no different.

jana shakes her head, not buying it for a second. 

“no. you’re hurt, and if you’re not going to tell the coach, then i will.”

a jolt of panic runs through you. 

“jana, please,” you say, your voice dropping. there’s a sadness there, a desperation. you don’t want to leave the game. you don’t want everyone thinking you’re weak.

her expression softens, but her tone stays resolute. 

“then tell the coach yourself that you can’t keep going. go to the medic. please, for once, let yourself be honest.”

the look in her eyes is all it takes. you nod slowly, and with a heavy heart, you walk to the coach, explaining that you can’t play the rest of the match. you can’t even look at your teammates on the way out, avoiding every concerned glance as you head toward the medic room. 

each step feels like an admission of defeat, and the sting of it burns even more than the pain in your knee.

sitting alone in the small room, it’s quiet, unbearably so. for the first time in a long time, you feel the weight of it all pressing down on you, every bit of responsibility and expectation you’ve been carrying. you’ve always been strong for everyone else, but now, when it’s your turn to be looked after, all you feel is a raw, aching sense of failure. 

the tears come before you can stop them, silent and steady, until you’re caught in a wave of emotions you’ve been holding back for far too long.

the sound of the door opening breaks through your thoughts, and you look up, surprised to see both alexia and jana standing there. they’ve been taken off the pitch, and somehow got permission to come see you. 

alexia steps forward first, her hand gentle on your shoulder. 

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

jana, ever perceptive, doesn’t leave it as a question. she moves closer, searching your face, her expression filled with understanding and a quiet determination. she knows you don’t open up easily, knows you’d rather hide behind that strength everyone admires. 

“tell us what’s really going on,” she says gently but firmly.

you take a shaky breath, looking between them. 

“it’s el clasico… i wanted to score so badly. i needed to.” your voice cracks, the weight of the words catching you off guard. 

“i don’t know why i’m pushing myself like this. i just… i feel like i have to prove that i belong here.”

alexia squeezes your shoulder, and you can tell she understands. she’s had her own battles, her own struggles with injuries and expectations. 

“you don’t need to prove anything. you just signed a renewal. the team believes in you.”

jana’s hand finds yours, her fingers threading through, grounding you. 

alexia gives your shoulder a final reassuring squeeze before stepping back. 

“i’ll go back to the bench, but… take your time. we’re here when you need us.” she leaves quietly.

you let out a shaky breath, the last of your tears finally slowing. jana’s hand is steady on your back, her presence warm and grounding, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a sliver of relief breaking through the weight.

she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze soft but unwavering. 

“you don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she whispers. her hand reaches up, brushing a tear from your cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes you all over again. 

“let me be strong for you, too.”

the words sink in, deeper than you could have ever expected. this strength you’ve always tried to carry for everyone else—it’s okay to let go of it sometimes. 

maybe you don’t have to be the rock every day. not when your girlfriend is here, right beside you, who’s ready to share the weight.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. it’s a start. you let yourself lean into her embrace once more, feeling the warmth and security of her arms, and for once, you let yourself just be held.

she doesn’t let go, and neither do you.

masterlist

[catastrophicalcat]

Reasons Valmont Sucks (Catwoman 2018)

Valmont was a terrible character. And I really want to dissect why and how he is terrible - not just to get it off my chest and onto the collective Internet, but also because I think that Howard made some questionable writing choices that doomed him.

A quick intro - Valmont is Selina's love interest from the 1st two arcs of Tini Howard's Catwoman (2018) run. Inspired by some version of the Dangerous Liaisons character, he is a quasi French assassin who appears in Selina's life when she is trying to take on the Five Gotham Crime families, stalks her a bit, gifts her a stolen cat, fucks her, and eventually get murdered by her while he's trying to kill Batman. BatCat are on a poorly defined break during these events (with Bruce clearly thinking that they're somewhat committed to each other). Valmont is a dork. He looks like this:

More stuff under the break since I don't know how to write succinctly...

Valmont is a possessive stalker. It's obvious that Howard wanted to create a character who is different from Batman. Just look at him - Batman wears black, Valmont wears white. Batman strives to be a good person, while Valmont is an unrepentant murder. Bruce tries to be a gentlemen, while Valmont.... Almost immediately, Howard is in a pickle - how can she recreate a 17th century romance about assholes when, at the moment her run begin, Selina has no reason to be into this guy? And, this phony goth poser, by definition, cannot be upfront and just ask Selina out. Bruce would have done that. He's not Bruce. Solution? She gets rescued by him. A lot. Some examples:

While getting rescued frequently may be a way to fall in love, it makes Selina just so incompetent. Like I think that almost every single issue where Valmont appears, she needs to gets saved by him in some fashion. I don't think that Bruce rescued her that often, at least not in her own run! I went from reading about a savvy cat-burglar to an eternal damsel-in-distress.

Maybe I missed it, but I literally just read through all of his issues to find these screencaps, and I can't find any reason for him to be there other than to stalk her....

2. Making sexy French man is hard, OK! Prior to this run, I did not realize just how hard it is to write a sexy man instead of a creepy man. But seriously, this guy is GROSS, and Selina being into him makes her come off as dumb floozy. Who in the world would get turned on by lines like:

Maybe I'm fascinating, Catwoman. (Spoiler - he isn't)

I consider myself a citizen of the world. (Is he "my parents live in Ohio, I live in the moment" Ted Mosby?)

I wanted to help. But I did not want to chase you, or do what those boys had done. So I simply waited, where I knew you could find me. ("Those boys" - Tim & Dick, who tried to offer reasonable assistance and advice).

Fascinating? Interesting? Dangerous? (Describing himself.)

But I won't assume that just because a cat has sat in my lap once, it will do so whenever I call. (He then proceeds to bang her on the roof).

Have you ever had anyone encourage you to chase your desires? Just for your own pleasure? (Yeah, this is like a famous trait of hers...)

The sharp pleasure of waiting until I see you again is enough. (See, normal Selina - or a normal woman - would just never see him again).

Related to the above - their sexy times? Not sexy. First, they try and fail to hijack a cannibal's plane and parachute jump. Maybe adrenaline got their heart rate up, but still - poor planning! Second, and more egregiously: multiple characters comment on how Selina is deliriously tired. Valmont is one of those characters! He then bangs her on the roof. I don't want to kink-shame, but sleeping with someone when they're falling off their feet from exhaustion is like, not great?

3. He's a freaking murderer! This guy kills people and drops their bodies in the harbor. He's friends with Flamingo, a cannibal who tried to eat Robin (Damian, but still!). And yet, this is how Selina feels about him:

What happened? Really, what happened? Selina used to be smart and not boy crazy. Sure, she has a wide variety of unfortunate love interests despite these traits (post forthcoming!). But never has she fallen so fast, so quick, so off the deep end for someone who deserves it so very little.

I have other substantive issues with this run, but wanted to start by dissecting Valmont. A non-Bruce love interest is already an uphill battle in a Catwoman comic. Burdening him with all of these negative traits did not lead to a good story. Instead, Selina came off as stupid and immature for ever liking this guy in the first place.

I know that this post was super negative - these are just my thoughts, and I'm open to critique. If folks feel positive about Valmont, or other things I touched on here, I would be really interested to hear it.

[mattslolita]

dealer!chris who fucked up and talked one of ur “friends” to get advice on how to ask you out

“ugh you wouldn’t even want to date her. You know that she’s cried 3 times last week. She’s such a crybaby you need a woman like me who can handle her emotions” ur “friend” said

but it was to late. You forgot to tell Chris that u and her weren’t friends anymore and Bambi thought Chris tried to cheat on Bambi with her

get it together - c. sturniolo

in which . . . when chris finally decides to make things official, a ghost from the past wrecks everything.

( dealer!chris x black!bambi!fem!reader )

warnings ; angsty, cheating ( ? ), crying, arguments, not a happy ending i fear

"𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓?"

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰

everyone who were associated with you and chris could tell how you both cared for each other — there was no label on what you had going on, but it was getting almost painful to some people to watch you guys be all over each other without officially having decided to go out finally.

chris definitely knew it was getting unbearable for him. there was no doubt in his mind that he cared about you, and he wanted to be the only one who got to kiss you, hold you, touch you — he wanted to finally be your boyfriend. he wasn't scared anymore that he would fuck up, and he wanted to fully commit to you and him once and for all.

the problem? he had no idea how he should ask you out.

of course he knew you like the back of side — everything you liked, and all the things you didn't like. yet, he found himself conflicted as he tried to think of the way he was finally going to ask you to be his.

which is how he found himself somewhere he didn't expect to be — chris reached out to a friend of yours, madilyn; he hadn't seen her around lately though, and he assumed maybe the both of you have been busy so you haven't hung out together lately because of it.

madilyn seemed really sweet, and chris first texted the girl, she seemed like she was really excited to help him with you — after all, you'd been knowing her since high school so she knew pretty much everything about you.

yet what madilyn failed to mention to chris was your falling out due to the toxic nature of your friendship with each other. in fact, she purposely left those details out as to not alarm chris so that she can move in with her own plan, one that both you and chris were unaware of.

hours prior, you had the spent the afternoon getting ready for a frat party that you both would be attending — chris was sure to make a good amount of money tonight too, and you had even helped him bake some brownies to make edibles since they were a high demand where you guys were going. it was finally evening when chris pulled up to the curb, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as you hummed and looked out the window at the commotion happening at the house already.

"are your girls here yet, kid?" chris asks you, causing your head to turn to him. you nod to him with a hum, and he nods back to you, "good, cause i gotta handle somethin', then i'll come and find you in there."

"what is it, baby?" you asked him, your doe eyes wide with curiosity, "need my help with it?"

"s'alright ma, i got it," chris reassures you, lifting your chin up with his thumb as his eyes hover over your lips, "you jus' have fun tonight, 'kay?"

"i will!" you giggle excitedly, as chris leans in to plant a kiss to your lips, some of your lip gloss smudging slightly.

chris hurriedly exits the car on his side before quickly coming over to the passenger side to open up the door for you — you step out, your dress waving in the wind almost immediately as chris takes your hand to help you up onto the sidewalk. you beam up at him as he shuts the door behind you, and he wraps a hand around your waist as he locks the car door and leads the both of you towards the house.

chris's hands stay glued to your hips when you guys walk inside, and you find yourself buzzing with excitement as you quickly spot your friends. they see you both arrive, and immediately wave at you, urging you towards them.

"promise me you'll text me if you need help?" you whisper up at chris, your lips slightly pouted, "are you absolutely you don't need me?"

"hey," chris says sternly, pulling you in by wrapping both hands around your waist and pressing you up against him, "m'always gonna need you, kid. right now though, m'doin' this for us. that cool with you?"

there's a sincerity in his eyes that reassured any nervous feeling you had — you nodded up at him, eyes flitting along his lips as you stared up at him. "i'm cool with it."

chris hums, before he leans down to kiss your lips — it's a short kiss, but it's filled with a need that would definitely be fulfilled later on tonight especially with the way you looked so dolled up right now. you pull away first, blowing him one last kiss before hurrying towards your awaiting friends.

chris watches after you, a soft smile overtaking his features as you hug all four of them, beginning to chat them up excitedly about probably whatever was on your mind at the moment.

"hey there, chris."

his attention is pulled away from you when he turns to see madilyn — she's done up in a black bodysuit, eyes littered with glitter and her rose tattoo on her neck looking nice. chris couldn't help but notice similarity in the way both you and madilyn wore your eye makeup, and he chalked it up to it being a mutual thing you both had agreed to.

"you gonna stop checking me out now?" she giggles, batting her eyelashes at chris, causing his eyebrows to furrow at her.

"i'm not checkin' you out," he tells her seriously, and she immediately laughs and waves him off.

"i'm kidding!" she says in a sing-song tone, "now c'mon, let's help you get the girl."

"wait," chris says reluctantly, glancing over at you quickly, "where are we goin'? why can't we jus' talk here?"

"you really want y/n questioning why we're talking?" madilyn asks, underlining venom laced in her words, yet chris doesn't catch it.

instead he cocks an eyebrow at her in question. "you guys are friends, though. i don' see why it's a problem."

"listen if you want to surprise her with this, it's better she doesn't know we talked," madilyn explains sweetly, her eyes raking all over chris's face, "so you comin' with me, or not?"

sending one last look towards where you last where, chris shrugs and rubs a down across his face as he follows madilyn to wherever she leads them. she weaves through the blossoming crowd of people, occasionally looking behind herself to make sure that chris was still following her. chris can't help but wonder why they were going upstairs, but he suspected it was probably for a secluded area so that there was a guarantee that you wouldn't find them at all. a part of him felt guilty because it felt like he was hiding something from you, but he knew he wasn't necessarily doing anything wrong. he was just getting help from your friend to ask you to be his girlfriend, right?

madilyn stops and knocks on an empty door, but no sound comes from the other end. chris's jaw ticks slightly as she opens the door, and she quickly ushers him inside of the room.

he steps inside of the room, the music blasting downstairs beginning to fade slightly as madilyn closed the door behind the both of them. she turns to face chris with a grin, as she takes a step closer to him. "so...whatcha wanna talk about first?"

"is y/n cool with surprises?" chris asks first as he sits on the bed, causing madilyn to poke the inside of her cheek, "sometimes she'll start cryin' if she gets too surprised at somethin' i buy her, an' so i don't wanna scare her."

"tuh, course she did," madilyn mumbles under breath venomously, rolling her eyes slightly. chris gives her a strange look.

"um surprises, let's see..." madilyn says, tapping her chin in pretend thought.

since they were in high school, madilyn knew very well that you were iffy on suprises — it gave you anxiety because you never knew what was coming. she also knew that you probably avoided telling chris because you didn't want to seem ungrateful at the things he bought you, and you had a feeling he would yell at you for it.

but instead of explaining that, a grin overtakes madilyn's features as she steps closer to chris. "oh, she adores getting surprised! one time in sophomore year this junior named christi asked y/n to hoco at a football game. she was on the cheer team too, it was the cutest thing ever. i've never seen y/n so happier."

a complete lie — the story didn't go that way at all. when christi rose asked you to homecoming in your sophomore year, you were excited, but you broke down crying in front of everyone because of overwhelmed you got. you'd had a crush on christi and you wanted to go with her, but the loud band playing as well as the multiple cheers around you felt too overwhelming and you felt like you were going to explode. you cried and cried in front of everyone — some people painted you to be dramatic, others were pitiful, but your friends had helped you through it. unbeknownst to you, madilyn had always held secret animosity for the way you seemed to get a "pass" whenever you cried at any little thing. even christi rose felt bad for the surprise and she still took you to homecoming and you guys had a little fling from it, too. madilyn had been jealous of the special treatment you seemed to get, and she wanted to sabotage it for herself now — and she was going to start with chris.

"really?" chris asks her in shock, shaking his head some as a small smile played on his lips, "she never told me that story, but i could just imagine her."

the way chris's eyes lit up at the fond thought of you made madilyn's blood boil with rage — beside chris, she lets out a loud sigh as she moves to sit next to chris on the bed, entirely too close to his liking.

"listen, i'm a little confused on why you like y/n," madilyn says, causing chris to scrunch his nose in confusion, "like, what do you see in her?"

"as her friend i thought you'd have an idea of what's to like about her?" chris asks, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. a weird feeling starts to settle in his gut now. "hol' up madilyn, you're supposed to be helpin' me with y/n."

"i am..." madilyn drawls in a sing song voice, scooting even closer to chris. his eyes momentarily glance down at her slightly exposed cleavage, causing a smirk to grace her features as her eyes trace over his lips, "you could do so much better than y/n, y'know? she's a bratty cry baby, she thinks once she sheds a few tears she'll get whatever she pleases. but you chris, you need a strong woman who can handle herself. you need me."

madilyn bites her lip as she draws in closer to chris, pulling on the collar of his shirt as she inches even closer to him. "c'mon chris. you know you want me. i saw the way you were lookin'."

"sorry to burst your fuckin' bubble, but i don't fucking want-"

"oh my goodness, i'm so sorry!" your sweet voice suddenly sounds as you open the door, "i didn't know any-"

your words were cut short as your eyes widened at the compromising position chris had found himself in with your ex best friend — madilyn's hand was still rested on chris's chest as their faces were mere inches away from each other. you felt the color drain from your face as tears filled your waterline quicker than you could say cheat.

a small sob escapes your lips, and you find your voice restricted as you can't even form words at what you say in front of you. a shaky hand raises as you cover your mouth, beginning to walk away slowly.

chris's heart breaks at the sight of you crumbling before his eyes, his own widening in realization — how the fuck could he have been so stupid? he should've known.

"y/n, wait!" chris says, breaking from madilyn's grasp as he attempts to run after you.

you've made it at the end of the stairs, tears clouding your vision as you try and focus on the steps in front of you — at this point, you could care less about people seeing you begin to sob uncontrollably, but you couldn't help it.

"chris, come back here!" madilyn hisses, quickly following after him as he rushes out the bedroom door towards you. she yanks him back around, and his face is flushed a bright red and his jaw ticks as he stares down at her. "why're you wasting your time? it's literally always gonna be her, isn't it?"

"fuck yes it's gonna be y/n," chris spits, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger as he stares down at madilyn with pure digust painted on his features. "you're a shallow fuckin' bitch, whose never gonna be able to fill that selfish fuckin' void inside yourself."

madilyn stands stunned at his words, her face screwed in surprise as chris continues to run after you.

he dodges past the crowds of people, desperately looking for any sign of your braids with the cute pink bows in them — he finally sees you in aiden's arms, all your weight on her as you cry into her shoulder. he feels disgusted with himself for thinking he could tust madilyn. now it made sense why she was never around anymore — how could chris have been so blind to the fact that she had a negative impact on your life?

you lift your head up to wipe the tears and turn back, and you make eye contact with chris — he wants to sink into a hole as he registers the hurt and pain that covers your face. aiden, niyah, riri, and zay all turn to where to you're looking, and scowls immediately paint their features upon seeing chris. niyah quite literally has to hold back riri back from making her way over to chris and giving him a piece of her mind, and riri only stops trying to go when you gently place a hand on her arm to get her to stop.

with one last look towards chris, you allow your friend to begin leading you out of the house — chris is quick to follow you guys out, but you're walking and moving alot faster than he expected.

"please, wait," chris begs, as he's caught up with zay and niyah whilst aiden and riri quickly have you already at aiden's car, "i need- fuck, i need to talk to her, please."

but you're already getting into aiden's car, not even turning back — niyah whirls around to face chris, anger flashing on her features as she pokes a finger in his chest. "you piece of shit! i can't even fuckin' believe i thought you were different, but you ended up like the rest of the people who made it their mission to ruin her fuckin' life!"

the harsh words niyah hurled at him made chris's throat feel dry as his eyes stung — he could blame it on the effects of the joint he smoked earlier, but he knew exactly what that stinging feeling was.

"i'm pretty sure you already know you disappointed us," zay says as calmly as possible, shaking her head at chris, "but most importantly, you hurt and disappointed y/n. just stay away from her, at this point."

a gulp rides down chris's throat, as his jaw ticks from anger and shame — zay shakes her head again as niyah flips him off, both girls hurrying towards aiden's car.

tears still escaped your eyes as you somberly lifted your head up, to see that chris stood there, watching as aiden began to pull off.

( lilly's version 💌 )

the long awaited chris & bambi angst 😬😔 not to get too sad guys, more fluffy & smutty blurbs coming soon ! 🫶 i hope y'all enjoyed this

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @guccifrog @fawnchives

[cvntydazai]

cat and mouse

ever since your first day at the agency you’ve made an effort to avoid dazai and his silly little games, even when he so desperately craves your attention.

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader

word count; 3.3k

content warning; nsfw (minors do not interact), unedited, cursing, dazai fingers reader, reader is gifted but their gift is not described/specified, the usual dazai shenanigans, mentions of blood/injury, mentions of murder, probably a lot more

authors note; sigh not only is this a day late but i’m not proud of it so sorry guys :( been so busy lately this was not what i had in mind for this fic, i still hope it’s enjoyable!

when you first joined the agency it was a desperate attempt to find a job that could utilize your gift, after many failed “normal” jobs you just had to accept that your situation wasn’t normal and you needed a job that could handle that. you caught wind of a detective agency full of gifted individuals and knew it was the perfect opportunity.

that’s how you got to where you were now, 6 months into your career as a gifted detective. it has been going perfect, being the longest job you’ve ever had.

there was just one issue, a big one that took its place in the form of a tall, bandaged man who could never leave you alone. dazai osamu, the issue called itself, would be the death of you.

it all started on your very first day at the agency, he wasted little time introducing himself and instead put all of his energy towards wooing you with those doe eyes. you also recall him telling you could rely on him anytime, followed by a wink and a knowing smirk. you were warned by yosano to keep your distance from him, advice that you still regret not taking to this day.

he tried to get your attention for weeks, throwing paper balls on your desk and mouthing at you to open them. inside was always a love note, multiple tiny hearts littering the crumpled paper. he never seemed to take it personally when you would throw those papers in your trash can, forgetting about them to continue on with work.

just when you begin to think he’s finally let go of his obsession with you, one fateful morning you end up alone with him in the office.

“ah, beautiful morning isn’t?” he attempted small talk, you only offered a nod and continued filing out your paperwork.

so engrossed in your work you didn’t realize how close he had gotten until you felt his warm breath fanning your shoulder, you naturally flinched. you cocked your head to glance at him, those tired eyes focused on your computer screen.

“what has you working your sweet little head off?” his curiosity would seem genuine to anyone who wasn’t familiar with dazai and his antics.

you cleared your throat, “just recalling the specifics of my previous mission.” he hummed, his slim hand brushing over yours so he could use the scroll wheel on your mouse. you watched as his eyes scanned the document, analyzing your every word.

being so physically close you were forced to take in all the features of him you chose to ignore, for your own good. you knew dazai was an attractive man, and he knew it too. you didn’t dare to look in his eyes anymore so you focused on his hair, unkempt yet still framed his face perfectly and looked fluffy, you wondered if it felt fluffy too.

“it’s hard to focus with you staring me down like a piece of meat, bella.” he whispered, you gasped at such an accusation.

“whatever, in your dreams.” you bit back, feeling flustered.

he turned to look at you, his eyes danced around your entire face, drinking in every detail of you like a book. many silent moments later, his eyes stopped when they landed on your lips, causing even more turmoil in your chest. it was all too much, being under the heavy gaze of someone like him.

“anyways..” you start, trying to find any excuse to break this close proximity. “the others should be here soon, we should start getting stuff done around here.”

he hummed in agreement, backing away at last. now that you felt like you could breathe again you tried your hardest to continue on with whatever paperwork you had. you ignored the tremble in your fingertips, typing away on the keyboard.

once the others started filing into the office the tension eased substantially, you were thankful for that. kunikida was the first to arrive, surprised to see you both already there. you ignored his curious stare, greeting him properly and then returning to your computer. dazai pestered the poor man for a bit before quieting down himself.

you thought that was it, the weird encounter in the office would be the last of his teasing. couldn’t he see you weren’t in the mood for his games, or was this all too amusing for him to care?

fate would put you in a battle against dazai once again just a mere week later. you both sat in front of your boss, a kind man by the name of fukuzawa. in your months here at the agency your respect for him has only grown, his admiration for his employees and the work they do warmed your heart. you truly felt grateful to be under the command of someone as strong-willed and humble as he was.

“there’s a murder scene i’d like the two of you to look into, please go gather evidence.” he says, hands folded in his lap while he speaks to you.

you’re both silent as he goes over the details of the case. a body found in the museum with suspicion of a gifted individual being involved, it felt as normal as these missions usually are. once you’re dismissed you and dazai make your way outside to the cab waiting for you.

he rushes to open the car door for you, motioning you inside with an eager smile. you sigh, complying with whatever he was up to.

you shuffle around a bit until you’re comfortable, dazai takes his seat beside you and the car begins moving. while dazai stared out of the window on his side, you occupy yourself with responding to all the messages people have sent you that you pushed aside to finish work. some may call you a workaholic (dazai), others (kunikida) call you a devoted employee, you much preferred the title of a devoted employee. your desire to be of use was finally fulfilled now that you were at the agency, for that you were eternally thankful.

“my dear y/n, i just realized something!” the loud voice of dazai makes you cringe, clutching your poor phone into a death grip.

he doesn’t let you respond, “this is our first time handling a case together alone, just the two of us!” the excitement in his tone makes you irritated.

“and what about it?” your monotonous response makes the brunette clutch his chest, a look of hurt in his eyes.

“we finally get the alone time we’ve been dying to have since our little moment in the office.” if the phone that was still being strangled in your palm wasn’t already broken, it sure was now.

“you totally misread the situation in the office, i wasn’t even looking at you like that!” the anger in your tone came across as an embarrassed yelp, it made his grin grow wider.

there was no point in arguing with a man who has made up his mind, he totally thought you were checking him out and now he’ll never back down. an exasperated sigh left your lips, deeply regretting not taking yosano’s warning seriously.

thankfully, all you had to endure for the rest of the car ride was dazai’s humming to a tune you were unfortunately accustomed to by now. it was hard to forget said song when it was always filling the office air, either by dazai’s singing or the sound blaring from his headphones that were definitely not noise-canceling.

hell, you even caught yourself humming the tune from time to time, not that you’d ever let someone else find out.

“we’re here.” you thanked the driver, hastily leaving the vehicle before dazai could open the door for you.

the museum in front of you was old, ready to crumble at any given moment, many of the stone bricks were cracked beyond repair and the shrubs that surrounded the entrance were all dead or dying. you never got the details on whether or not the place was even running anymore.

“this museum shut down years ago and no one has bought it since, perfect place to commit murder.” dazai appeared beside you, seemingly answering the question to your thoughts.

you nodded in agreement, stepping inside without a second thought.

inside all you could see was chaos, shattered glass from broken display cases and graffiti littering the walls. it almost pained you, seeing how this once beautiful sanctuary of history was now torn to shreds for no good reason.

you found what you were looking for quick, the bright yellow caution tape gave it away. you’re sure the police had already come to take the body, so it didn’t surprise you when you didn’t see anything there.

fukuzawa strictly said you were only here to gather evidence, so that’s what you’ll do. while you got to work, dazai lazed around the building, kicking random trash around to entertain himself. he would giggle when you scolded him for tampering with possible clues.

you knew you were only here to gather evidence but something about the whole situation felt so strange to you, leaving you no choice but to investigate further. normally, you pride yourself in how well you are at gathering information needed for an investigation, but this time around you were completely stumped.

it had your brain so wracked you even contemplated calling ranpo, however you fought against it since you knew he was already working on a case today and you didn’t want to bother him just because you couldn’t find clues that may not exist.

after a few more minutes of coming back empty handed the realization hit you like a truck, a soft breath leaving your lips at your newfound discovery.

“dazai..” you mumble, still a bit unsure of your conclusion, he only hummed in response.

“i don’t think a murder ever occurred here.” nothing but silence on his part, until you hear the shuffling of his footsteps and his breath hot against your ear.

“well done, flower! to be honest, i didn’t think you would figure it out this quickly.” his hushed voice felt loud with him being so close to you.

you were left confused once again, if dazai knew from the start why didn’t he just say so? or was he the one who orchestrated this whole thing? so many questions reeling through your brain, and dazai was thoroughly enjoying watching you piece together the mystery he created for you.

but alas, he had to cut it short, you two had limited time here after all. fukuzawa would eventually figure out dazai’s antics and there would be hell to pay, that was a problem for later though.

“i made the whole thing up!” he admitted, lips still dangerously close to your ear. “you were always so busy, i needed to get you alone for once.”

you pushed him off you in an instant, anger bubbling inside you. never once did you expect dazai to do something like this, no matter how crazy he was at times. hell, this was beyond crazy.

“you couldn’t have gone about it like a normal fucking person? jesus christ, dazai!” you were now pacing, thinking of all the time you lost entertaining this game of his when it could have been spent at the office or on a real case.

“oh bella please, let me finish.” he begged, stepping close to you again.

you protested for a second time, taking a step back so he couldn’t reach you. it would prove to be the wrong move, your ankle catching on a stray piece of rubble from all the broken displays in this damned building. you’re sent tumbling backwards, a cry leaving your lips as you reached out to grasp dazai’s open arms.

your landing is hard, your ankle throbbing with pain from whatever it was caught on. dazai is at your side in an instant, a look of concern adorning his features as he practically cradled you.

“are you okay?” his voice was serious this time around, so much so that it caught you off guard.

“no, my ankle is bleeding.” you state, clear annoyance in your voice whilst you examine your injury.

you’re caught off guard once again by him effortlessly picking you up from the floor and setting you down on a flat, clean surface. now perched on a white table, you let your other leg dangle off the edge while you tend to your hurt ankle.

dazai claims he’ll be back, that he’s going to search for a medkit around here. you nod, happy to be away from his suffocating presence. you’re not anywhere near free from your thoughts though, the lanky man is still clean in your mind.

you didn’t even know he possessed the strength to lift you like that, he always looked so frail and ready to break at any given. you shake your head from any further thoughts of dazai, that stupid man.

“found one.” he was back again, a small medkit in his rather large hands.

despite your many protests he still insisted on caring for you, acknowledging that this was his fault and the responsibility should fall on his shoulders. you kept your mouth shut while he wrapped your foot in the bandages the first aid kit provided. his soft touches to your swollen skin were light, almost soothing.

you hated this, hated how perfect he was. how were you supposed to ignore such a man when his presence was everywhere. most of all though, you were still thoroughly pissed! he not only wasted your time, but the agency’s time, and that was unforgivable in your eyes.

“why?” you question him, “and don’t give me that bullshit ass excuse from before, or so help me.”

he chuckled at your threatening words, eyes remained trained on your foot. there was a momentary pause before his eyes met yours, his held mischievous undertones.

“i was getting tired of this back and forth, you know.” there he goes again like a broken record, you huffed.

“i don’t know what you’re-“ he cuts you off with a finger to your lips, hushing you in the sweetest way he could muster.

“the other day, when you threw away one of my well thought out love letters i went to retrieve it after you left to the bathroom, can you imagine my surprise to find it wasn’t there anymore?” your eyes widen, like a deer caught in the bright headlights of a hunters truck.

“and then i go to check your locker and i see every single one of them in a nice neat stack.” his finger was taken off your lips, his eyebrow raised as if expecting an answer to his discovery.

“why were you in my locker?” you deflect, feeling embarrassed that he knew about your little secret.

instead of answering he finished wrapping your foot, giving the gauze one final tug before leaving it be. he smiled at you, a smile you couldn’t read. with your legs spread out like they were, it gave him the perfect opportunity to weave in between them and trap your body close to his. he did just that, growing dangerously close to you.

“dazai..” you start, unsure.

he doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on treading his fingers against your waist, eyes never once leaving yours.

“we shouldn’t..” you speak again, your breathing growing more sporadic when he hooks one of his fingers underneath your belt buckle, the way he plays with it is teasing.

“why shouldn’t we, bella? i arranged all of this for us anyways.” his way of showing interest in you, doing something so unsound with little care for the consequences.

but oh god, was it attractive. his touch grew more and more needy by the second and you couldn’t find the desire to push him away, because deep down you wanted this too. you knew you wanted the bandaged detective the second you walked through those doors and saw him sitting there, fiddling with little trinkets he had on his desk looking pretty as ever.

“i think we should put an end to this cat and mouse game, hm?” his voice fills your ears again and this time around you listen, nodding whilst wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him even tighter against you.

he’s first to put his lips on yours in a desperate, longing kiss. he tastes sweet, probably from whatever chapstick he uses. the kiss is deeply rooted in lust yet affection as well, he squeezes your waist in the lightest way possible.

“dazai!” you moan out, surprised when he bites your bottom lip teasingly.

“osamu.” he says through the kiss. “call me osamu.” and then he’s back to attacking you, hips rutting into yours.

you think you’ll pass out with how long he’s been kissing you but he eventually pulls away, leaving you gasping for air. he wastes little time, discarding his pants and helping you with yours, the desperation evident in his eyes as he stands before you in just his boxers and dress shirt. he looks like a crazed man who had been holding back for far too long.

once you’re free from the confines of clothing it allows him to truly feel you, his palm cupping your heat. he runs two fingers across your slit before prodding them at your entrance.

“so beautiful, everything about you is so beautiful.” he whispers, stopping his hand entirely.

“dazai.” you say again, sounding more desperate than before, it was even possible.

“osamu.” he corrects, his voice still soft but held hints of firmness.

you repeat his first name back to him and he finally slips two fingers into your cunt. his long fingers are able to reach parts inside of you that your own fingers can’t, the new length has you bucking your hips into his hand.

he lets out a muffled giggle but says nothing, his eyes watching the way you suck his fingers in with every thrust. he looks entranced by the sight, it leaves you feeling shy. you have no time to dwell on your embarrassment as he picks up his pace, along with adding a third digit to your already full pussy.

the stretch of the third finger and the change in pace has you throwing your head back, nails clawing at the table you were perched up against just to give yourself some sort of stability.

you feel your climax approaching quicker than you anticipated, shaking your head from the overstimulation. just before you were about to reach your high, it was ruined by a muffled ringing in dazai’s discarded pants. he pulls his fingers out of you in a swift motion, ignoring your whines of protest as he reaches to grab the phone from his pants pocket.

“hey boss.” he starts, his voice as quirky as ever.

you could hear fukuzawa’s irritated tone through the phone even if you couldn’t pick up his exact words. dazai simply hummed and nodded in agreement, even letting out an apology for the time wasted on a fake case. within just a few minutes the call was over, and dazai’s smile had grown even larger.

he ended the call with a sigh, a pout on his lips that told you he was definitely in trouble when you two got back to the agency. you wondered what excuse he’d give the boss, and what punishment he would receive for lying.

“i’m truly saddened to have to cut this short.” you knew he meant it, you gave him a smile.

“it’s okay, we’ll continue it tonight after we see what kind of hell fukuzawa is gonna put you through for this.” the promise of this continuing excited him, and for once he couldn’t wait to get back to the office to finish up his job.

he helped you put your pants back on before putting on his own, making sure your injury was still well taken care of. this time you don’t fight him even once, allowing him to assist you to the car that was waiting outside for the two of you.

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

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

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He starts speaking once he knows he has it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A validation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, she’s safe with me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s simply no way this is real. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your words seep into his fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A brand new reality. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You have a bathtub?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might have just found his ultimate weakness. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I remind you of it again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You love him. 

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

You love him. And it’s real. 

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

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

“Put it in.” 

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

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

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

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

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

This is happiness. 

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

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

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

“Please, Jungkook, take me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s starving. Terribly starving. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Looks like you need another form of punishment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He overflows with a thrumming life. 

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

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?” 

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

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

You merely laugh through your nose. 

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

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

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

“Good night,” you say. 

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[weecherylita]

Thoughts on the Neil Gaiman Allegations

I followed Neil Gaiman on tumblr not because I'm a massive fan of his work (I've read two of his books, and one of those he co-wrote with someone else) but because it was interesting to get behind-the-scenes info about Good Omens.

Because he seemed, for the most part, to be a pretty affable and interesting person.

Because it was nice to see someone so prominent be willing to assert the rights and dignity of lgbt people, and most especially trans people in this era where they are being consistently vilified and used as a political punching bag in my own country and elsewhere.

Because his writing advice was decent, and he seemed to value and support artistic endeavour in all its forms.

Because the stories from readers talking about what his work had meant to them were a consistent reminder of the power of art to connect us all and transform our lives.

Because he consistently advocated kindness.

(I know some people have been saying he couldn't handle criticism and he bad-mouthed other public figures, but I think I must have missed those incidents - my impression was that he was very often complimenting and defending people).

It was a horrible shock to learn that (yet again) a creator I respected fell so far short of embodying the values he spoke up for. When things like that happen it can make you question human decency itself, especially when it just seems to keep happening again and again; public figures who seem so progressive turn out to be abusers. Is human goodness just a story we tell ourselves? Is genuine progress even possible, when those who speak up for it prove themselves to be so incapable of living by those ideals?

I don't know how much of Gaiman's public persona was genuine and how much was just a front for some consciously manipulative and predatory behaviour. To be honest, I'm not sure I care if we ever find out how much of what we saw was real. He's lost our respect - most likely forever, and he shouldn't be put in a position where he can abuse people's trust again.

I'm sorry for the people he hurt, and I hope they get time to heal.

And I think those values that I saw in him are all still true, even if he is false.

Kindness and decency is still something to live by, even and especially in times of darkness.

Art still has the power to move, connect and transform us, whether you want to keep reading Gaiman's works or not (and if you're finding it tough because you've lost that enjoyment and connection to stories that meant a lot to you, know that there WILL be other works out there that can make you feel it again).

Creative endeavour IS still inherently valuable.

Transgender lives and identities still matter. Transgender people are still deserving of dignity and respect. There may be plenty of transphobic people out there who feel emboldened by this, and I'm not gonna pretend to understand exactly how scary and horrible that must feel. All I can say is that there are other people out there who still believe in you, and still want to support you.

Human decency is not a lie. I guess we need to be wary of public figures who come across as too good to be true and remember that everyone has capacity for both good and bad, but not everyone fails as badly as him. Not everyone succumbs to their worst instincts. Not everyone is an abuser. Human goodness is still alive, and something to strive toward and take comfort in.

[lasagnaisoverrated]

I have this itch in my brain and only tf one starscream and Megatron can scratch it.

You know what that means…MINIFIC TIME!!

Starscream was in the high guard for his whole life, he grew up as a soilder. It was his destiny so when he became leader of the high guard, he also became well known with the primes, especially Megatronus, he and Megatronus had a close relationship, to others it seemed like starscream was just acting like a very loyal body guard but in reality their relationship was more intimate. They truly wished they could’ve been something together but him being a simple guard and the other a Prime, it just couldn’t be. Starscream was there when the Primes fell and saw the death of the one he called conjux (in private) he saw sentinel take his tcog he saw the betrayal and the slaving of his planet. After seeing D take out sentinel and naming himself after Megatronus he lost all his grudges against him and accepted him as leader. Yet soon after they fully accepted the label of decepticons he found himself growing attached to the young leader.

He never took his sights off him, never allowing him to go on solo missions, he was turning into soundwave by how much he was surveilling him. Not once did he allow Megatron to be on his own, he was second so of course he always had to be with the leader. But he knew that wasn’t the reason he was getting attached to young mech. Training him turned into one of his jobs, teaching him how to control the troops as well. While also being a support system, he was there whenever Megatron had a mental breakdown or simply needed a shoulder to lean on. He turned into a father of sorts for the mech, he would chastise him when he was reckless and gave him advice when needed. This didn’t mean that they wouldn’t argue but starscream enjoyed their time together. Even if sometimes he would accidentally call him Megatronus from time to time. From time to time he would see pieces of Megatronus in Megatron, he also enjoyed the shine that brightened his optics whenever he would accidentally be called Megatronus, the young bot admired the Prime so much. He would often tell stories about the great Prime to him and would see his optics light up at the stories of great battles and great defeats, and of course the occasional funny story to lighten up both their moods.

He couldn’t save Megatronus, but he won’t fails with Megatron.

(I feel like they had a pearl x rose from SU relationship and Megatron and Star would have a Steven and Pearl relationship but this was mostly just a silly little thing I came up with don’t take it too seriously)

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

quick 100 word pick a pile reading

Pick one and let me give you a short piece of advice from my tarots.

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

pile 4 pile 5 pile 6

MASTERPOST & PAID SERVICES

xoxo gigi <3

btw im doing a tarot ask game this week, vote here for the date <3

pile number one

Your emotions are not your enemy. Sensitivity is only a disadvantage when you can’t allow yourself to process and express what goes beyond logic. Your growth can be stunted if you can’t embrace the messages that your feelings carry. Being able to ignore the inner workings of your subconscious mind is not a great ability, and it will become something that clouds your judgment. Take time to learn about this side of you, take time to name each emotional experience and work on it. 

pile number two

Inspiration is a great source of power and energy to achieve many things, but keep in mind that you must be able to continue working towards your goals even when it seems like there’s no real reason or no energy to do so. Creativity is a muscle, don’t let it shrink while waiting for something outside of your control to give you reasons to move forward. There’s times and places for impulsive playfulness, but discipline is always valuable even when it becomes tedious.

pile number three

Sometimes the conflictive situations and people around you are not themselves the problem to be solved, but more so a manifestation of something deeper in your life that it’s most likely not being taken into consideration. Before starting an argument, think if it's worth fighting against the problem or reflecting on what about that problem actually strikes a nerve that moves something deeper in your unconscious mind. It’s let about the things themselves but more so about what they represent to your personal experience.

pile number four

Don’t let yourself become the victim of your own negative thought patterns whenever you feel defeated. Nobody enjoys failing, but you are smart enough to know that getting stuck on self destructive cycles of stagnation is possible to avoid. Don’t fall for toxic positivity either. Take the time and the patience needed to look deeply into what’s making you unsatisfied, and be honest with yourself on what actually will help you move on from this. Challenge your typical approaches without engaging in negative self talk.

pile number five

Being confronted by new perspectives and forced to relearn things might seem traumatic at first, but this is a great opportunity to test what should stay and what should go when it comes to your beliefs. As constraining as situations like this can be, you can always rely on your own intellectual independence to make out of them whatever you want. Take this as an opportunity to test your mental strength and the resilience of your values and ideals, not many people can handle being questioned.

pile number six

Your desire for control and your impulsiveness might not seem compatible at first, yet this sort of opposing energies are present to keep you moving forward. Both come from a lack of understanding about unconscious needs, but when working together and being balanced by each other, they can take you to some really necessary conclusions. You should remain careful tho, as you might hurt yourself when acting impulsively after being bored of the control, or when trying to go back into control after being impulsive.

[malakaie]

had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Also, I would like to add that Malleus’s blatant disregard for the autonomy of others and fits of rage is DELIBERATE on his end. Being one of the top five mages in the entire world, I am sure that he KNOWS there is a large disparity between his power/social and the rest of the peers/subordinates etc. His sheer and utter confidence in his abilities to get what he wants and general disregard for others isn’t only an indicator of his awareness about this disparity, but is also a reflection of the abuses of his power AND social status as a whole.

In light of his age, imagine the amount of times he has repeated these mistakes despite others advice and criticisms against his choices. Only Ace has been able to overcome others general reverence and fear towards Malleus when it came to calling him out. He is not an innocent person who is ignorant about the ways of humanity verses faes, and is certainly not the innocent character the fandom (especially those who are infatuated by him) think he is.

[Referencing this post!]

***Standard disclaimer: In sharing my thoughts, I do not mean to disparage Malleus fans. Furthermore, me disliking him should not detract from your own enjoyment of the character. If you do not feel comfortable reading about this topic (ie critique of Malleus’s character), then I encourage you to scroll on and to not engage with this post.***

My thoughts below the cut!

I do feel that, to some degree, the disregard for others and inappropriate fits of rage come from blatant ignorance (since Malleus did have a very isolated and sheltered upbringing). However, it's also hard for me to believe that in his 178 years of living that he was NOT told countless times by those around him (mostly Lilia and his grandmother, Maleficia) to wield his power and social status more tactfully than how he has. Did he take none of those lessons to heart??? What about the 2-3 years he spent living among the non-fae at NRC? Nothing from then too?? Regarding self-awareness of his strength and social status, Malleus has made it clear on more than one occasion that he stands above others. Right from his first appearance in the main story (in book 2), it's implied he's well aware of his position--so much so that he deliberately hides his identity from Yuu. He also cannot propose to Eliza in Ghost Marriage because he is the crown prince of a nation. Time and time again, Malleus's status is mentioned and it plays into his importance as the sole heir to Briar Valley. He must also know he is powerful, given that he is one of the top 5 strongest mages in the world and can perform incredible feats (like reassembling a stage and walking through Vil's poisonous miasma in book 5) like they're nothing. His grandmother and Lilia tell him the Draconias are powerful and shouldn’t use their magic to harm, but to help those they rule over. Yet he seems to have surprisingly few qualms when turning these powers against people who are only at a fraction of his power (Rook, his dorm mates, everyone in the Scalding Sands trip group, Ortho, etc.) or have no magic at all (remember when he attacked those civilians in Terror is Trending and the other Diasomnia students had to restrain him?). Malleus may be emotional in these moments, but the fact remains that he's making the deliberate, intentional choice to wield his magic in this way. He has the ability to hold himself back (as we see him refrain from fighting Rook in Malleus's PE Uniform vignette, only because he knows Rook is baiting him), but the vast majority of the time he fails to do this. For someone who is acutely aware of his power, you'd think he would... I don't know, keep a better leash on it? And what about his identity? So Malleus is concerned about Sebek insulting Leona (the prince of another country) but he ISN'T concerned about how his own fits of anger poorly reflect on himself, who is the CROWN PRINCE of a country??? Please make that make sense... Why is Malleus so selective 💀

I'm actually quite shocked at how little Malleus's pride and arrogance is pointed out; it's usually Leona who gets those labels even though Malleus is also just as arrogant, prideful, and confident in his own powers. Most of the time, I feel like I see Malleus being called "innocent". Maybe his negative traits on display get overlooked because TWST tries so hard to present Malleus to us as someone we are supposed to like (especially with how often they use his overpoweredness or loneliness is used as a punchline for jokes). Our interactions with Malleus are also so few and so short, particularly early in the main story, that fans project their own ideas about what he's like onto him and that forms a certain “image” of him that may not be the same as how he actually is. Him being lonely makes it easy for fans to perceive him as desperate for company and even easier for fans insert themselves as his “special” friend or S/O to fill the void.

It's... quite ironic, really? Malleus says in Riddle's Suitor Suit vignettes that he is familiar with the concept of "noblesse oblige", which is the implied duty of the privileged and nobility to act gracefully towards those less privileged. Yet... he is sometimes overstepping "fae playfulness" or "teenage childishness/immaturity" and continuously creating situations which put people around him in danger (all of Endless Halloween Night, not holding back his attacks against the Magicam Monsters, all the times he let his temper get out of control, book 7 OB, etc.) When defending the extremes he took in book 7 by citing his status and his UM, Malleus has this to say, which is very telling of his lucidity: "Monitoring? Meddling? Heh, how silly. It's a king's duty to govern, is it not? I'm watching over you. To ensure no nightmares befall you in the fairy tales you now reside in... To ensure you have happy dreams that last forever!" It's implied that Malleus's grandma has told him since childhood that their line has powerful magic to protect their people's smiles--and here he is, overextending those words to people that aren't even his subjects, and twisting the meaning to justify his own brutal rule.

What I noticed is... Malleus is often so oriented on seeing the situation from his POV that he fails to consider those from any entity aside from himself. In Endless Halloween Night, he feels sorry for the ghosts who showed up late and were left out of the festivities because he can relate to them, so therefore he wants to make sure they are included. In book 7, Malleus fears his loved ones leaving and projects this fear onto everyone else so he feels right in being the one coming in to be their "hero" and grant them happy endings they never asked for. In his own Dorm Uniform vignettes, Malleus frames the circumstances as, "I wouldn't be mad if you did the same thing to me" instead of listening to his peers' complaints. He centers problems around himself (which admittedly is very frustrating to me), and this is how Malleus tries to understand and navigate the world. This gives me the impression that he has a very particular way of thinking and it's perhaps difficult for him to understand others, even with extensive pointers.

I truly believe Malleus is ignorant about humans and fae. That much matches up with what we know of his history. What I do NOT get is why he continues to remain ignorant when 1) he has spent a few years exposed to non-fae and their ways; even if this pales in comparison to the 175ish other years of his life, he should have some new basis for appropriate social interactions with other races, and 2) major adult figures in his life are telling him he should consider others' perspectives and try to learn more about that which he is unfamiliar with. Malleus has so many opportunities to expand his horizons and get to know new people, but he seems to sit around and keep waiting for others take the initiative for him. But he could initiate too, so why doesn't he???? (He has shown he is capable of it, as he approaches Deuce to fix his virtual pet and chatting with Idia about the same pet in the main story; if not by himself, then Lilia can easily assist or invite him into activities such as the Silk City trip.) Even if Malleus fails to socialize in a way that's considered appropriate, at least that's something he can learn from and correct for next time... But why doesn’t he????????? If he did, it would sure help out with his inability to empathize with his peers and could even curb his temper (which would be seen as socially inappropriate). So why exactly does he seem to know so little and make so little effort to try and rectify this???? Why does he keep postulating that his word is above everyone else’s and then get upset when people don’t like him for this very alienating attitude? Aaaaah, it's a sad cycle to witness him devolve into again and again... 😭

P. S. Bless Ace for being the one character who still held it against Malleus for the fucked up “prank” he pulled in Endless Halloween Night (and then convincing everyone the misunderstanding was their faults for “attacking the ghosts first”).