#maybe I should start going to the psychologist again...

[arttsuka]

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[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: if you were to look back, you would realize you had loved him forever. from the first glance, well, the first conversation in the garage of your family home during the christmas. but although time passed and you did everything you could to get his attention, you eventually realized he would never love you the way he loved your sister. the way you loved him.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x jareau!female!reader, angst, looots of angst prepare some tissues, unrequited love, reader is a theater/drama student, comparing herself to her sister, feeling of not being enough, unsupportive family, extremely overdramatic, the reader is delusional af and obsessively in love, reader smokes, inspired by lana's song "tomorrow never came"

𝐚/𝐧: it'a a request from lovely @lillaberry you asked me about my fav lana's song and i had huge problem with choosing just one, probably sth from "norman f*cking rockwell" like happiness is a butterfly or mariners apartment complex :> i have no idea what happened, but at some point, this story just started living its own life, i don't like it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.4k

Your friends always joked about how quickly you fell in love.

All it took was one interaction with someone—a small gesture, words that impressed you, a lingering glance, or holding a door open. And you were utterly smitten.

A psychologist would later tell you it probably stemmed from a lack of male attention during your upbringing. You shared one father with two sisters, and he couldn’t give you all the care and attention you needed. Then, he completely dropped off the radar. He left, and you were left with just your mom and JJ. Just the two of them.

Coming back, you weren’t a heartbreaker, a woman jumping from flower to flower. Maybe you fell in love quickly, but faithfully. A bit obsessively, as others said, but you preferred to call it “with all of yourself.” It sounded more poetic, subtle, and didn’t create an image in your mind of yourself dressed in a straitjacket, banging against the walls of a room without doors. Coming back again, this particular stage of your love life began exactly on Christmas Day, your first after starting college.

Since Dad left and your sister—well, you spent them very intimately. Mom prepared two, maybe three dishes, Aunt Martha brought a Pecan Pie (from the store, but pretended she baked it herself), and you and JJ baked gingerbread cookies early in the morning, decorating them for half the day. You were just shoving two gingerbread cookies into your mouth at once, leaning with your elbows on the kitchen counter, while your sister was busy setting the table.

"So, when is your friend arriving?" you asked, a few crumbs falling from your mouth. You brushed them off the counter and onto the floor.

 "He should be here in about fifteen minutes. If he arrives earlier, he'll probably wait by the door until the exact hour strikes. That's Spencer," JJ snorted, smoothing her hands over the red tablecloth. "And stop saying friend like that. There's really nothing between us."

"Uh-huh. And that's why you invited him here for Christmas?"

She leaned against her hip, looking at you more seriously.

"Not everyone has the chance to spend the day with their loved ones. I didn't want him to be alone, okay?"

You raised your hands in mock surrender, still holding a gingerbread in one as a defensive gesture. Your sister sounded almost stern, just like your mom. Speaking of mom, someone slapped your hand.

"For god's sake, you're going to eat all the gingerbread. Do something, help JJ. Aunt Martha will be here soon..."

"She'll be fifteen minutes late, like always. She read somewhere that the Queen of England does that.”

"And when will your friend arrive?" Mom ignored your critical remark and turned to your older sister.

She had already opened her mouth to answer, probably saying the same thing she told you, when the doorbell rang.

 "It must be him," she said and went to let him in.

 Mom subtly adjusted her hairstyle.

 "I saw that," you muttered.

"Oh, be quiet," she shot back.

Two people walked into the living room, where, in addition to a huge Christmas tree, there was also a fireplace decorated with spruce ornaments and stockings. The first was, of course, your sister, and the second was a tall man with an almost boyish face. Slim, you might even say, skinny. He was dressed elegantly, in a light shirt with a tie peeking out from under a black vest, the tie neatly tied at his neck. You immediately had the impression that he dressed like this every day, simply by the fact that everything fit him so well. Years ago, your second sister decided to introduce her boyfriend to your parents. He wanted to impress them with his elegant appearance, but even though you were very young at the time, you clearly remembered how uncomfortable he seemed in that kind of clothing, constantly adjusting something.

"You must be Spencer," greeted your mom with a wide smile, stepping forward. He shook her hand, and you noted in your mind that his grip was very weak, almost filled with hesitation. Well, he probably felt a bit awkward spending Christmas with strangers.

"That's right, ma'am," he replied, his hand falling back along his side. "I really...really appreciate the invitation."

"Oh, don't be silly, it's nothing. Do you work with JJ?"

"Yes, ma'am. We're on the same team."

His gaze slowly started to sweep the room, finally landing on you. Without moving from your spot, you waved at him. Behind Spencer, JJ crossed her arms and looked at you, turning her head in annoyance. You almost rolled your eyes, but instead, you simply got up with a martyr's expression and offered him your hand. Just as you suspected, his grip was gentle, unsure.

"I'm glad you're here," you said after introducing yourself. His face showed surprise, and you chuckled. "It's you Aunt Martha will bombard with questions. And her unapologetic criticism. Not me.Yay!"

His eyes widened in horror. They were dark and honest, one of those they call windows to the soul. JJ quickly grabbed him by the elbow and led him further inside.

"She was just joking," you managed to hear.

You were not. Aunt Martha and your mom shared one personality trait: meddling in other people's affairs and offering unsolicited opinions. The difference was that mom did it behind people's backs, secretly, so that the person being discussed never heard it, and their perfect image remained intact. Her sister didn’t care about that. And her favorite target for attack was you.

Spencer helped set the table despite the objections. He answered your mom's personal questions with precision and logic, which you found rather amusing. You wondered if he was always like that, or if stress just made him act this way. The only thing you knew about him from JJ was that he was a genius and had a doctorate at such a young age. Or maybe she had said a lot more, but that was the only detail that stuck with you, as a student, terrified at the very thought of a master's thesis.

Queen Elizabeth, or rather Aunt Martha, arrived fashionably late as usual, a good fifteen minutes behind schedule, immediately throwing out comments about the unshoveled driveway and how she almost died because of it. Oh, and also about how her neighbor's son is probably gay because he got an earring. Actually, that last issue seemed to bother her the most.

"I'm telling you, he was such a normal guy," she complained, setting down her bought, or rather freshly baked, pie on the kitchen island. "Used to be, anyway. Now, who knows what's going on in his head. Anyway, it's nice to see you, my darlings. JJ!" She embraced the girl tightly, planting kisses on her cheeks with a loud smacking sound.

You winced at the very sound of it, catching Spencer's eye. Your earlier comment must have scared him, because he was staring at your aunt as if she were holding an axe. She stopped, giving him a penetrating look from head to toe.

"And who’s this handsome young man? Darling sister, did you have a son I forgot about?" She laughed as if she’d told a brilliant joke. She pulled the tense Spencer towards her, kissing him on the cheek. "Of course, I’m just kidding, sweetheart. I heard JJ was bringing someone..."

When it was your turn, you reluctantly submitted to her kisses. At least this time, she didn’t have that awful purple lipstick, so there was no trace of it left on your cheeks.

“Oh my God, you really wore that for Christmas?” she almost wailed, placing her hands on your shoulders. It wasn’t that you were dressed inappropriately, just comfortably, instead of elegantly. Aunt Martha pinched you in the side. “Or maybe you’ve put on a little weight, huh? Trying to hide it? I bet college doesn’t stress you out enough to lose your appetite.”

“Actually, I have a lot of stress,” you admitted, sticking out your lower lip. It probably would’ve been better if you’d just kept quiet, but you couldn’t help yourself. “We’re putting on our first play in a real theater in January. We have rehearsals non-stop…”

“Oh, nonsense,” Aunt Martha dismissed it. “Shall we sit down at the table already? I’m starving…”

You did as she asked. The topic of your studies always came back like a boomerang, in the form of mockery. Your mom, and really no one in your immediate family, supported your choice, but at least they didn’t criticize it openly. They tried to talk you out of it, saying that after a theater degree, you wouldn’t find any work. But… you simply didn’t know what else you could do with your life. You didn’t have a logical mind or a talent for math like your oldest sister, nor the ambition or desire to help others like JJ. You were born a humanist, you liked to read, and even more so, perform all those scenes in front of an audience.

Aunt Martha just couldn’t get over it. And of course, even then, after just fifteen minutes, her eyes landed right on you.

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d drop it after the first semester. But obviously, no one has talked any sense into you yet. I’m telling you, give her a year, and she’ll come to her senses.”

You knew, you had learned that arguing with her was pointless. Soon, she would give up and latch onto someone else...

"Just look at JJ," she continued stubbornly. "She chose a respectable field, has a respectable job. Sure, her work might be a bit macabre for a woman, but at least she helps others. She’s doing something useful for others, for the world. And you?"

"Auntie," JJ gently scolded her, casting an apologetic glance your way.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencer setting down his fork, clasping his hands on his lap in a visibly uncertain, lost gesture. You could have gotten up, pushed your chair back with force. You could have done that, you could have even spilled your wine on your aunt's dress—your dramatic flair was enough to pull it off. And though your hands clenched into fists under the table, your knuckles turning white, you said nothing. It wasn’t worth causing a scene.

Instead, you were waiting for the end of dinner like salvation. And when it finally came, you disappeared into the garage, rubbing your chest, trying to loosen the strange tightness. The place had been empty ever since your father moved out and took his car with him. Without hesitation, you reached into your pants pocket and pulled out a pack with the remaining four cigarettes and a lighter. You felt a bit embarrassed by the fact that you were an adult, yet still hiding your smoking. Neither your mom nor JJ would approve of it. Neither would Aunt Martha.

But you needed it to calm your trembling hands after dinner.

You had barely lit the cigarette and taken a drag when someone entered through the door from the house. You quickly hid the cigarette behind your back. Jesus, you were really acting pathetic.

"Hey, it's me," Spencer said, quietly closing the door behind him.

The garage was dimly lit, and you couldn’t fully see his face. But he must have noticed the puff of smoke escaping from behind your back. You shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, uncertain of how to act. Did it concern him enough that he would tell JJ?

“You scared me,” you admitted, deciding to finally relax. You held out the pack toward him. “Did you come here to smoke too? Want one?”

“No…” he denied, clearing his throat. “I don’t smoke. I came… I came to check on you.”

“Check on me?” Surprised, you nearly choked on the smoke.

Even in the dim light, you noticed his shoulders tense up.

"I... Well... You know... those comments from your aunt were really awful," he finally said. "It was clear they hurt you."

For a moment, you were silent, your ears filled again with everything you heard that day.

"Maybe she had a point," you muttered under your breath, pausing to bring the cigarette to your lips. You tapped off the ash. "I have no idea what I’ll do after these studies. But whatever it is, it won't be as useful as what JJ does. Or you."

"You study theater, right? More important than whether what you're doing is useful is whether it makes you happy. Does it?"

You hesitated before answering, crushing the ash with your shoe.

"I think so."

Spencer was silent for a moment too, and the silence was so thick you could hear his breath.

"Okay, I have no idea how good of an actress you are. But judging by how you kept your cool during that dinner, probably brilliant. You've always wanted to be one?"

His questions took the words from you, filling you with a strange feeling. You realized that no one, none of your closest people, had ever asked you those things. They were too busy criticizing and warning you. Even JJ, though she supported you and you deeply appreciated that, mostly expressed concern rather than genuine interest.

"I can't really answer that," you said, the end of your cigarette now the only thing left in your hand. "I guess no one really knows who they are meant to be. And if someone does, I envy them. What about you?" you asked, "Did you always want to be a serial killer hunter?"

"A profiler, you mean?" he replied.

"Call it what you want."

He shook his head with a small chuckle.

"That's a tough question, I have to admit."

“See, that's too existential. Don’t you have any other questions?”

 “Hmm, I think I can come up with some,” he mused for a moment. “You mentioned you’re putting on a play in January. What’s it about?”

You told him about the preparations for Antigone, your role as Ismene. It turned out that he knew the play very well. No, he really knew it—not just fragments of information from high school lessons. Engrossed in your discussion, neither of you noticed how much time had passed or how long you’d been gone. It’s possible others were wondering where you’d disappeared to, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less. For the first time, you were talking to someone outside your university who actually knew so much about theatre. You couldn’t stop talking, your words tumbling out so fast that your cheeks turned red from lack of air.

When JJ announced that she’d invited the doctor for Christmas, it never crossed your mind that you'd find such a great conversationalist in him. You had imagined a stiff, grim man in a lab coat. Not a funny, versatile guy like him. He could be a bit awkward at times, but in his case, it was endearing.

Eventually, you returned home, to the living room. Aunt Martha had left early in the evening, and it was just the three of you left, the atmosphere relaxed.

 "Are you okay?" JJ whispered to you at one point, her lips pressed together in concern.

You nodded, genuinely. You'd already managed to push the dinner out of your mind. You were mostly thinking about... Spencer. He stayed late, and you all played cards. Everyone, including your mom. A few times, he caught you cheating, and you noticed a sharp gleam in his dark eyes, but he didn’t say a word. You tried again to draw him into a conversation as long and passionate as the one you’d had in the garage, but the presence of the rest of your family made it difficult.

They joked a lot with JJ, sometimes talking only between themselves about people and things you had no clue about. You’d interrupt then, desperately trying to steer the conversation toward something you could follow. But whenever their gazes met again, their smiles aligning at the same moment, you felt like the annoying younger sister, just a nuisance to them.

 JJ made him show off some card tricks. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do, anything he wasn’t knowledgeable about. In your eyes, as the hours passed, he started to become... everything.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Dressed in your pajamas and robe, you smoked another cigarette in the garage. Though you’d only spent a few hours together, most of them not even alone, in your mind, a certain thought began to form more vividly—one both unsettling and exhilarating.

You had fallen in love.

*

Desperately, you hoped JJ might invite Spencer over for dinner again, giving you another chance to see him. But it didn’t happen. Still, Spencer filled your thoughts every single day, to the point where you couldn’t focus on your classes or the rehearsals.

Rehearsals! Everyone was incredibly stressed about how you’d perform. On a real stage, not just the small one at your university, in front of a real audience. The nerves consumed you so much that you burned through pack after pack of cigarettes, probably smelling like an uncleaned chimney. You were on the verge of asking JJ for his number and inviting him out, openly and without any pretense. Just to stop thinking about him, even for a moment...

You were given two tickets to hand out to your loved ones. One, of course, went to JJ. The other…

“Sorry, sweetheart,” your mom said over the phone, just a day before the performance. “I’m heading to Aunt Martha’s today and staying the whole weekend. She’s feeling awful, you know her heart issues.”

You didn’t know who else you could invite. Dad always grimaced at the mere mention of the word theater. And then JJ suggested she could ask Spencer if he’d like to come. You stared at her, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss her. Out of gratitude, of course. No, that wasn’t enough. You wanted to fall at her feet and kiss them with tears of joy, thanking her endlessly. In your eyes, she now had angelic wings and a glowing halo around her head. 

Sweet JJ. Best sister in the whole world. 

Of course, you agreed.

But the thought of him watching your performance only intensified your stress. JJ had said she wanted to see you before the show to wish you luck. You suggested meeting both of them by the fountain near the theater—the one where you often smoked before rehearsals, either with your classmates or alone. Already dressed in your costume, you walked to the meeting spot on shaky legs. It was all about to begin. Too soon.

You lit a cigarette without giving a second thought to the fact that your sister was about to show up. Even when you heard footsteps behind you as you sat on the bench facing the fountain, you didn’t put it out. But to your surprise, when you turned around, it wasn’t JJ—it was Spencer.

“Nerves getting to you?” he asked as a greeting.

Your stomach leapt into your throat, and something inside you fluttered. You hadn’t seen him in three weeks, not long enough for him to have changed in any way. Yet, it felt like you were seeing him for the first time in years, and your joy at the sight of him was nearly overwhelming.

You swallowed, trying your best to seem casual.

“Doesn’t it show?” You raised the hand holding the cigarette, your fingers trembling visibly.

"Isn't it cold?" he asked, stepping closer and stopping by the bench. You moved over, making space for him. You were, indeed, freezing. You'd come outside in your stage costume, without any jacket or coat. Spencer looked you over carefully. "You know, I have some doubts about whether you could actually get Martens and silk dresses in ancient Thebes."

"Of course, you could. Martens, the Greek god of footwear. Haven't you heard of him?"

With amusement, he raised an eyebrow.

"This is a modern interpretation of Antigone," you explained finally, pointing again at your outfit. "Here, she's a feminist, a force of resistance against Creon's patriarchal power. These shoes paired with the delicate dress are a subtle expression of Ismene's rebellion. What do you think? Don't you like the idea? You seem surprised. Did you think it was going to be a traditional version of the play?"

"Oh, well, that's exactly what I thought," he admitted, blinking twice, lost in thought. "But I'm not disappointed or anything," he added hastily. "Actually, I'm... even more curious to see this play. Your interpretation."

After these words, he shifted uncertainly in his place, still staring at you. Finally, he sighed and began to remove his brown coat.

"Take it, okay? You're shaking, and... it's just unpleasant to watch," he said.

"No, stop," you tried to stop him, though deep down you couldn't wait for his coat to fall over your bare shoulders. "It's just for a moment, I'll go back inside soon..."

"...And you'd better not go on stage all gray and stiff from the cold. Really, you can... you can take it."

You pretended to give in. You handed him your cigarette to hold while you slipped your arms into both sleeves. At the same time, you tried not to show too much impatience. A pleasant warmth spread across your back, the protective layer, as well as the scent of his cologne.

"Thank you," you said quietly, unable to stop a small smile from forming. A similar one appeared on his face as well. You both sat in silence for a moment, not sure what else to say, as so much time had passed since your last conversation. You didn’t want to bring up your sister, but... her delay started to worry you.

"Where... where is JJ, actually? We were supposed to meet here," you asked.

"Oh," Spencer sighed, as if he had just remembered something. "Right... sorry, she asked me to let you know that she won’t be able to make it on time. She’ll get to the performance, but she'll be a little late. She had to stay at work a bit longer."

You nodded with disappointment, though deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with how things had turned out. You could meet your sister anytime, but with Spencer? You needed a good excuse.

"You know... I'm really glad you came.”

He shrugged dismissively, avoiding your gaze when you tried to look him in the eyes.

"Don’t mention it... really. I’m the one who’s glad you agreed when JJ decided to invite me," he said.

You fell silent after his words, something dawning on you. While you would be performing on stage, the two of them would be sitting right next to each other, together. Before the show started, they’d probably talk again about all those things and people you didn’t know, from outside your world. And you wouldn’t be around to analyze every little smile, to discover what might lie behind them. Friendship, or something more? Though before, during the holidays, when you hadn’t met him yet, you had often joked that something might be between him and JJ, it was only then that it really hit you.

You pressed the cigarette to your lips, not realizing it had already gone out.

If it came down to it, who were you to compete with JJ? You loved her, but you were also painfully aware that she was everything you could never be. The perfect daughter, the pride of the family.

"I have to go," you said, your voice sounding strange, as if it came from somewhere outside of your body.

You tried to take off his coat, but he stopped you with a gesture of his hand.

"You can give it to me after the show. Honestly, I deeply hate that saying, because of how utterly meaningless it is... though maybe I just understand it too literally... anyway, break a leg."

Despite your earlier gloomy thoughts and conclusions, you let out a laugh.

JJ arrived as promised, during the performance. You were too focused on your role to notice her entrance, and of course, it was dark in the theater. The way she hugged you afterward made you feel guilty for all the things you'd thought about her that day. All the hidden jealousy, not just about Spencer, but about everything.

She suggested a dinner afterward, and the three of you spent a pleasant evening together. Not once that night did you suspect it would become a tradition. That this pair would start attending all your performances, becoming faces you could look for in the crowd. Your friends had their parents there to cheer them on, you had them. 

Around that time, your relationship started to get really strange.

As time passed, the awareness that you were in love with Spencer became a fact coded into your soul. Undeniable and constant. Always present. At the same time, you didn’t see each other alone too often. Your mom liked him enough to invite him to the family home frequently, which he accepted. A few times you went to the movies with him and JJ, once you dragged them both to an art exhibition because you were afraid that if you invited him alone, he might refuse.

He quickly became a family friend, including of course, yours. But you and he, alone, saw each other... incredibly rarely. The only moments were those before the performances. You’d wait for them by the bench near the fountain, and he would always arrive before JJ. You’d spend about fifteen minutes talking, just the two of you. In your eyes, those fifteen minutes held an indescribable, sacred weight. If you could, you would’ve built an altar for each of those minutes and laid before it every morning, on your knees, for an hour. It was starting to sound a bit obsessive, wasn’t it?

But over time, it became insufficient. Not knowing how else to fill the emptiness that his absence left in you, you started sending him messages—simple good mornings and good nights. Sometimes you'd ask how his day had gone. Once, by accident, you called him. He picked up, and you ended up chatting. You started doing it regularly. Beautiful moments, where two separate spaces were filled only by your voices, without JJ's presence.

These conversations were like therapy for you after every meeting with the two of them. Because during them...

It dawned on you how close they were. The two of them. They were connected by their work, their passion, their interests. And you had no fucking clue why that damn Ted Bundy killed people, or what the hell the reason behind it was, other than the fact that he was a psychopath. What was the actual difference between a psychopath and a sociopath? Murder and manslaughter—what was the difference there?

Of course, it wasn't that they only talked about that. In fact, they rarely touched on their work in front of you, but still, it bothered you to such an extent that over time, your apartment started to fill with criminology books, which you shoved under the bed when your sister came over. You didn’t know what you were trying to achieve—drawing his attention?

But there was one thing that drove you into true psychological devastation. The smiles Spencer gave JJ. Sometimes she’d say something, joke, tell a story, and he’d listen to her with that exact expression on his face. A discreet tenderness and... and... you couldn't keep describing it any longer. You felt like jumping out of the window just at the thought of it. Because you were sure he never looked at you that way. No matter how hard you tried to impress him, how many card tricks you learned, how many books on psychopaths you read.

He still saw you only as his little sister.

But you... you still tried. Because even though sometimes you felt like it was all pointless, most of the time you were filled with that hopeless hope. He became close to you, not just in a romantic sense. You saw in him a support you couldn’t find in your family. He was the one you could turn to with problems you faced at college; he didn’t roll his eyes or dismiss your issues, but listened with genuine concern. He made you feel like your career path might actually have some meaning.

That's why you called him that day.

There was this one particular day of the year. Especially painful. The anniversary of the day your sister took her own life. At some point, you didn't even know when, you and JJ had made an unspoken decision to spend that day apart. She took it particularly hard, claiming she needed isolation. You, on the other hand... wandered around your apartment like a ghost, unable to focus on anything, searching for some kind of embrace that could ease the pain.

“Hey,” he answered on the other end of the line, always sounding a little surprised when greeting you, as if he hadn't expected you to call. “What’s... what’s going on?”

“Spencer,” you only whispered his name, glued to the couch in your apartment, unable to move for the past hour. Saying his name alone helped a little. Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. “Sorry for calling... but…”

“But?” he asked, his tone concerned. “Is something... something wrong?”

You nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see it. It was funny, though, because it felt like you could see him. At least a vivid image of him in his apartment, a place you’d never been, but somehow, you knew how it looked. In his post-work clothes, with the longer strands of hair tucked behind one ear on one side. Those brown eyes.

“Could you come? To… to mine?”

You heard him swallow nervously.

"Sure. But... never mind, I'll be there soon. Just... wait."

He arrived, just as promised.

 You hugged him for the first time since you had known each other. You initiated it, sinking into his arms, burying your face in his chest and breathing deeply. You had imagined this moment countless times... and it didn’t meet your expectations. You probably hoped he would embrace you with some hidden strength, almost crushing you and kissing the top of your head. Instead, his hug was surprised and withdrawn.

You stepped back a step, and for a moment, you both stared at each other in silence. You weren’t really sure what to say.

"Today... today is the anniversary of her death," you finally blurted out.

Actually... you weren't even sure if he knew about it. Spencer straightened up with understanding. So JJ must have told him.

 "Oh... now I get it," he said slowly. He rubbed his forehead, still caught in some confusion, disorientation. Well, you had to admit, you had put him in a somewhat awkward position.

"That explains... that explains why JJ was acting like this today," he murmured under his breath. You gave him a questioning look. "She was very quiet. Closed off."

 "That's how she handles grief," you explained, tightening your cardigan around yourself. "She isolates herself and doesn’t want to see anyone. Not even me or Mom."

Spencer fell silent for a moment, his expression distant and blank. It hurt, and you wished he would be present, right there, next to you. That’s why you called him. Not for him to drift back to thoughts of her. It pained you, your own selfishness. Your own cruelty.

"Don’t you think we should... at least check on her?" he suggested uncertainly.

You quickly shook your head in disagreement.

 "As I said, she doesn’t want to see anyone. I think we should... we should let her have her solitude."

"Alright. You're her sister, you... I believe you know what's best for her," his tone sounded as if he was trying to convince himself that his words were true. He sighed again. "But I'm glad you decided to call me. How... how can I help you?"

You weren’t saying this out of jealousy, you honestly believed it was the best thing for your sister. For a moment, silence fell between you again. He didn’t seem convinced, but he finally sighed.

You moved your lips, wanting to say I don't know but no words came out.

 "Just," you began, swallowing. "Be with me."

He hugged you... and that hug was closer to how you had imagined it once. Much closer. Most of all, it didn't just sink into your body like a toy; he actively tried to make it clear that he was there, that he was with you, and you could rely on him. And you had no reason not to believe it.

You spent the whole evening together. Watching TV wasn’t the most ambitious pastime, but it was just a less depressing excuse to sit in silence on the couch. Lying, actually. You rested your pillow on his lap, placed your heads together. The faces on the screen blurred, you didn’t hear any sounds, you only felt his hand gently, occasionally brushing your back. He did it at irregular intervals, as if afraid you would catch him in the act. It was a short, fleeting motion, and you wondered afterward if you had imagined it.

You walked him to the door when it was time for him to leave. You said goodbye, but didn’t close the door to the apartment, standing still in it.

“Spencer,” you said, when he started walking down the stairs. Before he turned, he flinched. The air in your lungs had been gathering into one big, terribly heavy ball for some time, and you could barely release it. “You’re going to check on her, right?”

He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Finally, he lowered his head, and when he looked back at you, there was so much determination, so much sense of duty in his gaze.

"I..." he began, taking a breath. "I have to do this. Even if she doesn't want to see anyone. I wouldn't forgive myself if I found out later that I wasn’t there when she needed someone."

You understood it. You loved him for it. You were grateful. At the same time, you hated him, though it wasn't hate aimed at him. Nor at JJ.

It was hate aimed solely at yourself.

You allowed your desire to have him all to yourself to overshadow your sister.

*

The last play you performed during your first year of college was The Sorrows of Young Werther.

It was a huge event, a lot of work, rehearsals, and stress. Your contact with both Spencer and JJ suffered because you simply didn’t have the time. All of it… took a toll on your mental state. You were someone who threw herself deeply into the roles you played. You imagined the words spoken on stage as if they came from your own mouth, reflecting your true thoughts and desires. And even though you didn’t play the lead role, the suffering Werther, you began to live the play.

If woken up in the middle of the night with a slap to the face, you would’ve been able to recite the entire script, having read it so many times. You wrote on it with a pencil, highlighted passages, as if it were your personal Bible. At the same time, it filled you with a sense of patheticness. Was there anything you could do to avoid the fate of Werther?

It was evening, and you hadn’t left your apartment that day. You couldn’t even remember if you had gotten out of bed at all. Eventually, unable to look at the crossed-out script anymore, you shoved it under the bed. You had accumulated a lot of things there. You picked up a deck of cards.

You remembered that Christmas, the one where everything began. The Christmas tree and the three of you sitting on the carpet. Spencer, showing some odd trick, and you and JJ, trying to guess how he did it. You reveled in the memory of the early stage of your infatuation.

The phone rang.

"Can you come over?" JJ's voice came through without any greeting. Normally, you would have joked, asked how about a hello? “But she sounded too serious, frighteningly serious. You swallowed. "Please."

You started getting dressed before you even agreed. Because of course, you did. You knew it wasn’t about something trivial, something insignificant. That didn’t fit with JJ. Something real must have happened…

In moments like these, your complicated relationship with your sister was simplified. It was broken down into its basic elements, leaving only what was fundamental. The bond. A simple, pure sisterly bond that could be stretched but never broken.

You stepped inside, the door was open. That alone unnerved you. Your heart leaped into your throat as you heard her call you into the bathroom. JJ was sitting on the closed toilet seat, clutching something tightly in her hand.

"God, what happened? You have no idea how scared that phone call made me..."

"Can you look at this?" she interrupted, her usually tanned face was pale, just white, like snow or a blank sheet of paper.

You blinked in confusion and looked at the object she handed you. When you realized what it was, a sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

"Are you... are you... is this...?"

"I have no fucking idea, just check!"

You took the pregnancy test from her, and it slipped from your hands.

You stared at the positive result.

JJ wasn’t trembling, her body unnaturally stiff, her face unreadable. You didn’t know what to say, you had no idea what her stance was. It didn’t seem like it was a planned pregnancy; she hadn’t even been seeing anyone… Suddenly, a wave of terror gripped your back. What if...?

She could no longer wait for you to deliver the news. You were speechless, unable to say anything. Almost ripping the test from your hand, her mouth opened in shock.

You slowly approached to touch her shoulder. That gentle touch quickly turned into an embrace.

"JJ," you whispered into her neck, still terrified of what you might hear. But you pushed all the theories aside for once, focusing only on her. "What... what are you going to do now?"

Your sister held onto the hug, but when she pulled away, her eyes were filled with tears. Happy tears.

"I’m going to be a mom."

There it was—the happy news. God, you felt like you were about to start crying too. The only thing stopping you was...

"But what about... what about... who..." The question was shockingly hard to phrase. Each version of it sounded brutal in its own way. "Who’s the father?"

“His name is Will. We’ve been together for a while… I haven’t told anyone, we haven’t seen each other much lately and…”

You sank back into her arms, happy, truly happy. For a moment, a thought crossed your mind—that it could have been someone else’s child. You didn’t know what you would’ve done if that had turned out to be true. You stayed with her for several hours, both of you behaving as though you’d lost your minds. You took turns crying—when one of you stopped, the other started.

"But... you're the first person I've told," she said when you were about to leave. "And I want you to keep this just between us for now, okay? Don’t tell Mom, and not even Spencer."

"Of course, JJ, I wouldn't..."

You were a terrible sister. As soon as you left the apartment, you quickened your pace, determined to break the promise you had made. And you had nothing to defend yourself with, except for that surreal vision that had formed in your mind. You thought… that if Spencer found out…everything he felt for JJ would have to fade away. That was the way things went: your love interest moves on with someone else, you suffer for a while, and then you move on. Or not, but in fewer cases.

In any case, you fooled yourself into thinking that once he knew, he would turn in another direction. Toward you. The one who had loved him from the first sight. Well, more precisely, from the first conversation in the garage. You dialed his number, walking through the dark city, which suddenly seemed so small. So insignificant. All those people around, who were they? You felt like a madwoman, almost running without knowing where. Or maybe you did know. Or rather, your legs knew.

The fountain and the bench right next to it, where you spent time before every one of your plays. Just the two of you. All those conversations swirled in your ears so vividly that you didn’t even hear Spencer speak on the other end.

"We need to meet," you announced, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "Please, it’s important. I need to tell you something. At our bench, okay?"

He was silent, clearly taken aback.

"You mean... like, now?" he asked, followed by a confused sigh. "I’m not in town right now… I’m visiting my mom," he explained, swallowing hard. You’d never met her, but you knew it was a sensitive subject for him.

You came to a stop, your chest heaving as you caught sight of the fountain in the distance—the destination of your hurried march. "I really can’t today," he added.

"Tomorrow then," you decided, undeterred.

"Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you sound really off. I think… I think I’m starting to worry…"

"Don’t worry. It’s nothing urgent. It can wait. I just need to tell you something, and it has to be face-to-face."

On the other end, he cleared his throat, still clearly off-balance, but eventually agreed. Just before you hung up, you drew in a deep breath and blurted out more words, almost without thinking.

"It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I want to…" you paused, a strange laugh escaping your lips. "Confess. It’s about… my feelings."

Spencer remained silent. He didn’t hang up, just stayed quiet. You couldn’t even hear his breathing, as if he’d moved the phone away from his ear, away from his mouth. You hesitated, suddenly hit by a thought. What if you… scared him? You pulled the phone away from your own ear for a moment as well, trying to calm your breathing, which had turned uneven, almost like a sob.

“So, tomorrow?” you asked to confirm.

The silence stretched on, and you nervously started biting your nail.

“Tomorrow’s gonna rain,” he said suddenly, his voice so soft you almost missed it. You frowned in confusion, letting out a questioning hum. “Tomorrow’s gonna rain. Let’s just meet at my place instead.”

It seemed logical, but somehow you were stuck on the vision of the two of you in that specific place. That bench, where he gave you his coat when you were freezing in your Ismene costume.

“No, please. I want it to be there. The rain… the rain doesn’t bother me,” you insisted.

“Okay,” he said with a hint of resignation, sounding a bit like he was giving in. “Okay, okay. Tomorrow. Fine.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Even though you had nothing to do in this part of town, you could’ve just headed back home. Yet, you paused for a moment in front of the fountain. That’s when you realized you’d left your cigarettes at JJ’s apartment. Oddly, you didn’t care. Only one thing, one thought felt important right now.

Tomorrow. Sweet, long-awaited tomorrow.

The fountain. The water flowing through it. The water that never stopped. Just like your love—constant, despite never being returned.

You sat down on the bench, a single tear slipping from your eye. Somehow... deep down, you already knew that tomorrow wouldn’t come. Not the tomorrow you’d imagined. Not the one that would stay true to your hopes, your dreams, and your visions.

In that moment, you felt connected to another version of yourself—one sitting on this very bench, despite the pouring rain and the relentless passing of hours.

Tomorrow. The tomorrow that never came.

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[pucksandpower]

Hypnotized

Lando Norris x hypnotherapist!Reader

Summary: in which Lando becomes intimately familiar with the professional (and not so professional) benefits of hypnosis

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (though Lando is very much a willing participant), and temporary mindbreak

You lean back in your plush leather chair, taking a sip of tea as you look over the notes for your next client. Lando Norris — a rising star of Formula 1, seeking help to improve his performance on the track. You’ve worked with elite athletes before, but there’s something about this case that intrigues you.

The door opens and he strides in, radiating youthful confidence. “Ms. Y/L/N, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Please, have a seat Lando. And call me Y/N,” you reply with a warm smile. “I have to admit, when your team reached out, I was surprised. Most drivers come to me later in their careers when the mental side gets tougher.”

He settles onto the couch across from you. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit of an overachiever,” he grins cheekily. “I figure I should get every advantage I can while I’m young.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his boyish cockiness. “Fair enough. So, walk me through what’s bringing you here. What are you hoping hypnotherapy can do for you?”

Lando scratches his head, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure? The team psychologists have helped with some stuff like visualization and confidence building. But I feel like there’s still … I don’t know, another level I can’t quite tap into?”

He pauses, cheeks reddening slightly. “I may have also heard some … rumors about hypnosis helping drivers get, uh, in the zone in a different way.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I see. And what sort of zone were you hoping to reach exactly?”

“Just, you know, being totally focused. Primed to perform at my absolute peak,” he answers quickly, not meeting your eyes. “Eliminate any lingering doubts or hesitation.”

“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, watching his fidgeting increase. It’s clear there’s more to this, perhaps some adolescent fantasy driven by locker room talk. You decide to have a bit of fun drawing it out.

“Well, maximum focus and confidence under extreme stress is certainly one of the primary benefits of hypnotherapy for athletes. Though of course, there can be … other effects depending on the suggestions given.”

Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilating with obvious intrigue. “Other effects? Like what?”

You shrug lightly. “Oh, lowered inhibition, increased susceptibility to instructions, compulsions to obey ...” You trail off, letting the implications hang in the air. “But I’m sure whatever rumors you’ve heard are just overblown exaggerations.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “R-right, of course. So, uh, how would we go about getting me in that totally focused zone?”

You can scarcely suppress a grin — he’s hooked now, curiosity and hormones getting the better of him. “Well, first we’d need to get you in a deeply relaxed state, open and receptive to suggestions. I’d start with some deep breathing exercises, maybe have you focus on the sound of my voice ...”

Unconsciously, Lando’s eyelids grow heavier as you speak in a low, soothing tone. “Breath slowly deepening, muscles going deliciously loose and limp ...”

He blinks hard, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “A little taste of just how quickly you might respond. Hypnotic states can sneak up quite easily when you’re not prepared for them.”

Lando swallows again, but there’s no hiding the interest smoldering in his eyes now. “That’s … good to know. So, uh, once I was in this state, what sort of suggestions would you give?”

You lean forward, holding his gaze. “Anything you need, darling. Perhaps prompts to fill your mind with dizzying focus — a white hot, all-consuming need to push every limit and achieve perfection. Or maybe something to strip away distractions and doubts, leaving you deliciously pliant and desperate to follow instructions without hesitation ...”

His breath catches as ripples of arousal play across his features. You’ve dangled the bait thoroughly now, time to reel him in.

“Of course, that’s all just theoretical for an athlete like you,” you continue lightly. “I’m sure you’d only want suggestions tailored for pure professional benefit.”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly wrestling with indecision. Finally, he sits up straight, jaw setting in boyish determination.

“Actually … I think maybe exploring some of those other effects could be useful too. You know, for full preparation.”

You bite back a smile — he’s all bravado again, feigning nonchalance. How delicious.

“Well, if you’re certain. We should probably start with a simple induction and suggestion, see how you respond.”

Rising from your chair, you cross the room to where he sits, movements slow and deliberate. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sway of your hips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal.

“Just relax and look into my eyes ...” you murmur, voice dropping an octave as you hold up a pendant and begin tracing figure eights before his face. “Let your mind follow the path of the pendulum, breathing slowly … in and out ...”

His pupils blown wide, Lando is soon leaning back bonelessly, mouth slightly ajar. A few dazed blinks is all the resistance he offers as you trail featherlight touches down his arm.

“There’s a good boy … nice and open, isn’t it? Let everything else fall away except the need to please me.”

A shudder wracks his frame and you can see the tendons in his neck straining, fighting the compulsion already worming into his psyche. But his eyes remain locked on yours, drowning in your control.

“I … I want to ...” he stammers helplessly.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, bending closer so that your lips nearly brush his ear. “You don’t need to worry about what you want anymore. That’s my choice now, understood?”

He gives a tiny nod and you feel a surge of heady power.

“Such a good boy. And to reward your obedience, you’re going to take off your shirt. Slowly ...”

There’s a moment of tension, then Lando raises trembling hands to grasp the hem of his shirt. You can see the mottled flush spreading across his torso as inch by inch it’s revealed to you. His breath is coming in ragged pants by the time the shirt drops to the floor, chest heaving with mingled want and shame.

“Very nice,” you practically purr. “I can see you’re already feeling the compulsions seeping in. Should we make them … deeper?”

His head bobs dumbly and you laugh, low and throaty.

“That’s what I thought. Now, lay back for me ...”

Lando immediately obeys, body going pliant and helpless. You pull over an ottoman, sitting so you can gently straddle his hips, relishing the hitch in his breath as your heat settles against him.

“You’re going to do absolutely everything I say without hesitation or doubt,” you whisper harshly, watching him shudder. “Any instructions, no matter what they may be, you’ll follow with desperate enthusiasm.”

He whimpers, hips twitching upwards in mute plea. Grasping his jaw firmly, you force his eyes to yours.

“This is for your own good, darling. We need to burn away every last shred of selfishness and pride so you can ascend to true, shattering focus. You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes … yes,” he slurs, already sinking deeper into degrading bliss.

You reward him with a slow, filthy grind of your hips and he cries out unabashedly. Everywhere your hands and mouth worship his skin, you can feel the tremors of arousal and surrender.

“That’s perfect,” you murmur against the hollow of his throat. “Now, I want you to strip the rest of the way ...”

Before the words have fully left your lips, Lando is frantically shucking his pants and boxers, whining as his flushed length bobs free. The brazen lust and need in his hooded eyes would be shocking from the bashful newbie you met earlier.

You give an approving hum, thrilling at how quickly your control has already remade him. One fingernail traces along rigid flesh and he bucks shamelessly into your touch.

“You’re being such a good boy. I think it’s time we really sealed this new role into your head. Imagine the most dizzying, overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had, multiplied a hundredfold ...”

His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent wail at just the suggestion. You grip him firmly, relishing the desperate whine that bursts from his lips.

“You’re going to come like that, harder than you ever dreamed. And as the lightning arcs of bliss engulf your entire being, all that pleasure will become inextricably entwined with an overwhelming need to obey my every whim ...”

Lando is panting and keening, hips pumping up into your tight fist. You can feel his body straining closer to that precipice, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief. With a final brutal stroke, you growl the trigger words,

“Come for me, love!”

His back bows in a silent scream, mouth frozen in rapturous torment. You gentle him through each shuddering pulse, ensuring every layer of consciousness is saturated with soul-shattering ecstasy and the new compulsions you’ve locked within.

At last, he sags back to the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused. You bend close, lips caressing the damp hair at his temple.

“Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be remade into perfection?”

He blinks slowly, lips curving in a blissful smile. “I … I need to obey ...” he slurs dozily. “Please … use me however you desire ...”

You chuckle darkly, letting nails rake over his sensitized flesh and making him buck weakly. “Oh I will, lover. I’m going to take you to shattering new heights of surrender. You won’t be able to so much as enter the cockpit without shuddering need to please me foremost in your mind ...”

His only response is a quiet whimper, eyes already slipping shut in sated exhaustion, completely yours to reshape however you wish.

You settle back, excitement thrilling through you at all the delicious possibilities stretching ahead.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you make your way through the paddock area towards the McLaren motorhome at the British Grand Prix. Fans press eagerly against the barriers lining the path, craning for a glimpse of their racing idols as they’re escorted by burly security guards.

You keep your head held high, unruffled by the frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted requests for autographs as you stride confidently alongside Lando.

He casts you a sidelong glance, the excited energy thrumming off him in waves. “Thanks for being here, Y/N,” he murmurs with a small, bashful smile. “Having you in my corner calms my nerves a bit.”

You reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your voice takes on a slightly teasing lilt as you add, “Besides, this way I can provide my … specialized services should you require them before the race.”

A dusky flush steals across Lando’s cheeks at your words, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a curl of heat unfurling low in your belly. Before he can respond, one of the crew members is ushering you both towards a nondescript door.

With a nod of thanks, Lando pushes through the door, allowing you to enter the modestly appointed room first before following and securing it behind you.

The space is small yet functional — equipped with a well-worn sofa situated before a large television displaying timing data, along with an armchair tucked into the corner. Your gaze lands on the single bed shoved against the far wall and you suddenly find it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lando says almost sheepishly, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “I haven’t exactly had much time to tidy up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmur distractedly, already hyper-aware of the thick tension charging the air between your bodies, crackling like a livewire in the small distance separating you.

Lando opens his mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, shuffling his feet almost bashfully. You can practically see the thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour behind his furrowed brow, weighing him down as nerves and doubts threaten to shatter his hard-won focus.

Without a word, you close the distance between you, cradling his face in your hands to force him to meet your gaze.

“Let me help you,” you breathe, your voice low and gentle yet laced with that commanding tone he can never seem to resist.

He immediately melts into your touch, the taut lines of stress slowly easing from his features. “Please,” he whispers back, every inch of nervous energy and kinetic vibration seeming to melt from his body as your thumbs trace soothing patterns across the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “Need you to clear my mind.”

A soft, fond smile curves your lips at the naked entreaty in his tone. This man — so cocky and confident in most aspects of life, yet so unguarded and sweetly vulnerable when it’s just the two of you.

You continue your tender ministrations, watching in rapt fascination as his eyes drift shut and his breathing grows steady and even. When you finally speak, your words are low and hypnotic, the timbre of your voice wrapping around Lando like a warm blanket ushering him down, down into delicious oblivion.

“That’s it, darling … let yourself sink deeper with each breath. Shut out all the noise and distractions — everything except my voice guiding you. Focus on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle thump of your heartbeat … allow your body to grow heavy and pliant as you let me take the lead ...”

He shivers slightly, yielding fully to your hypnotic trance with a soft, contented exhalation. In this blissed-out state, his features are lax and utterly at peace, the hard lines of tension and worry melting away until he looks almost cherubic.

“There you are,” you can’t help but murmur in approval, trailing your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw. “So perfect and calm for me.” Your gaze rakes over the long fans of his lashes fanning across his cheekbones, the full pout of his lips parted ever so slightly on deep, even breaths. He looks utterly debauched, despite the fact that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

Unable to resist such temptation any longer, you bend to capture Lando’s lips in a slow kiss — gentle at first, then deepening into something more heated, more ravenous as your tongue sweeps into the heat of his mouth to tangle with his own.

He remains completely pliant beneath your wandering hands and questing mouth, body thrumming with blissful surrender as you map every lush inch of him.

Finally, breathless and flushed, you tear your mouth from his with a soft groan of regret. “God, darling … what you do to me ...” you murmur, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the stubbled line of his jaw, down the taut cords of his neck. “Just seeing you like this, so gorgeous and willing … falling so deep for me … I could take you right here like this and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You scrape your teeth over that sensitive patch of skin just below his ear and he trembles almost violently, a low whine spilling past his lips even as his head lolls back to allow you better access. When you press an openmouthed kiss to his wildly fluttering pulse point, his voice comes out low and syrupy sweet.

“Please, Y/N … please ...” he slurs in a breathy exhale, body arching reflexively into yours as his hands come up to clutch at your hips in a silent entreaty.

A frisson of lust races down your spine at his wanton plea, stoking the simmering ember of arousal into a roaring blaze. How quickly his mind has slipped into a glorious, aching haze of want and need for your touch.

You could so easily press your advantage right now — undress him with exquisite slowness, bend him over and take him in delirious new ways that would leave him utterly incoherent. The mental images alone are nearly enough to make you growl in feral possessiveness.

Somehow, you manage to retain a herculean thread of control, nuzzling against the heated skin of Lando’s neck as you press him gently yet insistently towards the bed until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress and he sinks onto the soft cotton sheets with a dazed exhale. His eyes are molten embers burning with naked want and trust as he gazes up at you, outright trembling with the effort of holding himself back from hauling you down on top of him.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, you settle yourself to straddle his lap, reveling in the delicious points of heated skin against skin where your bodies make contact through the thin barrier of your clothing. For an aching span of heartbeats, you drink in the sight of him — kiss-swollen lips parted on shallow pants, the tempting vee of his open shirt collar exposing just a tantalizing sliver of his smooth chest, hard planes of muscle rippling beneath tanned skin as he quivers with ill-restrained desire.

“Beautiful,” you husk in a low rasp, summoning every ounce of your rapidly waning willpower to force the words past the molten heat in your throat. “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”

Lando swallows thickly at the unadulterated lust and reverence saturating your tone, his throat bobbing convulsively. “You … you should see yourself,” he finally manages in a strained murmur. “You’re a goddess ...” His hands come up of their own volition to splay across the supple curves of your waist, tracing searing paths across your skin as if to memorize every lush dip and swell.

A throaty chuckle escapes you as you lean into his touch in shameless encouragement. “I could devour you in this moment and I’d still crave more.” Dipping your head to drag openmouthed kisses along the salty-sweet skin of his collarbone, you muse heatedly, “In fact, I’m tempted to lock that door and have you right here like the decadent treat you are.”

“God, yes ...” Lando outright groans at your words, hips arching up in a desperate, instinctual grind against yours that leaves you both shuddering at the sudden, intoxicating friction. His fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, pupil-blown eyes full of unrestrained need as he gazes up at you like you’re the answer to his every secret desire. “Please, Y/N … anything, just … need you.”

The reverent, naked pleading in his voice steals the breath from your lungs and you’re abruptly reminded of the singular responsibility you have — not just as his lover, but as the person he’s entrusted to guide and ground him when he’s spiraling.

Your mouth curves into an indulgent smile as you tenderly cradle his face in your palms, tapping into that core of composure and peace that helps tether you both in moments like this.

“In due time, my love,” you murmur, leaning in to pepper slow, lingering kisses across his brow, along the delicate skin beneath his eyes. You feel Lando physically sink back against the mattress with a soft exhalation as your tender ministrations lull him once more into a state of relaxation and receptivity — his mind clearing of everything but blissful focus on you and your touch.

“Remember why you’re here, and all the hard work that brought you to this moment,” you continue in a low, soothing murmur against his flushed skin. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this dream, and now it’s time to reap the sweet fruit of your efforts. Leave behind all the doubts, all the fear and anxious energy that’s been holding you back.” Arching up on your knees, you gently resettle your weight so you’re seated flush against his core, waves of heat radiating between your joined bodies in delicious waves with every motion and shallow breath.

“Let go of everything but my voice, my touch grounding you in this moment. This is your destiny, Lando — all you have to do is embrace it.” With your final murmured words, you seal the sentiment by slanting your mouth over his in a filthy, openmouthed kiss that quickly descends into pure, unbridled passion as he releases an unrestrained keen of surrender.

His arms come up to band around your waist, clutching you impossibly closer as if to merge your very beings into one searing point of euphoric light. You lose yourselves in the wet slide of tongue and teeth and racing heartbeats until the buzzing of Lando’s phone against the nearby nightstand finally jolts you from your haze of lust and need. For a suspended beat, you simply drink in the sight of him — debauched and beautifully wrecked in the best way possible, with slick lips parted around panting breaths and hair tousled in a riotous mess.

“Time?” Lando finally rasps, sounding as utterly gutted as you feel.

You force yourself to glance at the glowing numbers on his phone screen, steeling yourself against the surge of regret at having to end this delicious interlude. “Twenty minutes until you need to be in the garage,” you confirm with a heavy exhale.

With a low groan that goes straight to your core, Lando surges up to slant his mouth hungrily over yours once more in one last kiss goodbye before allowing you to carefully extract yourself from his lap. You both take a few moments to catch your breath and restore some semblance of outward composure, though your insides continue to feel like a lit match in a patch of dry tinder.

“Ready for this?” You arch a pointed brow at Lando as he pushes off the bed to put on his fireproofs and race suit with admirably steady hands, given how thoroughly unwound he had been mere moments ago.

He flashes you his trademark grin — though this time it holds an air of supreme confidence and purpose that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “Like you said … this is my destiny.” Pulling you close with one hand at the small of your back, he dips his head to murmur gratefully against your lips, “And you helped me find it today.”

With one final kiss that leaves you lightheaded, Lando turns to grab his water bottle and heads towards the door, every bit the consummate professional buckling down to handle the job at hand. You watch him go with a tender smile playing across your lips, filled with an irrational surge of pride at how far he’s come.

A few hours later, you’re holding your breath in the garage as Lando’s MCL38 comes screaming around the final turn and over the finish line — the checkered flag signaling his maiden victory at long last. From on top the podium, his elated gaze immediately finds yours through the throngs of people and hoisted champagne bottles.

The smile he bestows is so private and full of promise that warmth blossoms in your chest and your skin tingles deliciously in anticipation.

After the celebrations and press obligations have wound down, Lando nearly sprints off the track and back into the paddock area, lifting you clean off your feet in a tight embrace when he reaches you. His lips move feverishly against your own, words tumbling out in a reverent exhale barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“Thank you, thank you … I couldn’t have done it without you. God, I love you so much ...”

And in that perfect moment — drunk on the roar of the crowd, the giddy thrill of victory, and the smoldering promise in the depths of Lando’s eyes — you’re already mentally preparing to give him the most mind-blowing reward imaginable.

***

The champagne is still buzzing through your veins, lending an extra fizz of exhilaration to the crackling charge in the air as you hastily key into your hotel suite hand-in-hand with Lando.

No sooner has the door clicked shut behind you than he’s on you in a searing tangle of heat and desire — mouth hot and insistent, fingers skating across every bare inch of exposed skin as if he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last oasis for miles.

“Fuck, Y/N ...” he rasps reverently against the fevered skin of your neck, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to your wildly fluttering pulse. “You’re incredible, so bloody perfect.” His hands roam hungrily, deftly stripping you of layer upon layer of clothing until you’re left deliciously bare before his molten gaze. “Let me worship you properly, yeah? God knows you deserve it after today.”

A tremor of need races through you at his naked desire, amplified tenfold by the molten timbre of Lando’s rough, lust-thickened voice. Without breaking eye contact, you hook your fingers through his belt loops and begin walking him back towards the lavish bedroom, relishing the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth at your commanding confidence.

There’s a practiced, sensual arch to your spine as you work the tails of his crisp button-down free from the waistband of his trousers, taking your sweet time to pop each individual button until the smooth, tanned expanse of his torso is laid bare.

Warm fingertips trail an achingly slow path up the defined ridges of his abdomen as you drink in the sight of him — pupils blown wide with barely restrained want and that delicious lower lip caught between his teeth as his chest rises and falls with shallow stuttering pants.

“Is this what you want, darling?” You murmur silkily, palming him through the rapidly tenting fabric of his pants and delighting in the strangled whine that punches from his lips at the contact. His hands fly up to clutch convulsively at your hips, gripping with bruising force as if you’re his only lifeline in a raging sea of lust and sensation.

“Yes … please,” he forces out on a ragged exhale, body practically thrumming with desperation as you continue to work him with languid strokes while rocking your hips in a slow, sensual grind against his throbbing need.

The headiness of having this confident man quivering and needy at your touch sends a heady surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely ...”

With a decadent hum, you deftly pop the button of Lando’s pants and drag the zipper down in one smooth motion, allowing his rigid cock to spring free at last, flushed and straining obscenely. You swipe your thumb through the pearlescent bead of precome gathered at the swollen tip, making his hips judder with desperate rolls at the stimulation.

“Y/N … fuck, I need … need your mouth ...” Lando grits out, tangling his fingers in your hair with a barely restrained growl.

You can’t help the low, sultry chuckle that spills past your lips at his feverish plea. “So impatient,” you tut, even as you sink gracefully to your knees before him, trailing openmouthed kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me lately, I suppose I can reward you.”

Another punched-out curse fractures the air as Lando’s head tips back on a low groan at the first hot lick of your tongue up the length of his rigid shaft. You take your sweet time working him over until his entire body is trembling with the effort of holding himself in check, fingers clenched white-knuckle tight in your hair.

“Look at you, so pretty for me,” you purr at him from beneath your lashes. “I wonder how quickly I could have you coming apart completely on my tongue.”

A broken, desperate whine escapes Lando at your words. “Fuck … I’m not gonna last,” he warns through gritted teeth.

With a final swirl of your tongue around the swollen crown of him, you pull off with a lush, obscene pop. “Don’t you dare hold back for me,” you murmur, voice dripping wanton sin as you tighten your grip at the base of his throbbing length to stave off the mounting waves of his building release. “I want to taste every … last … drop.”

The broken whine that tears itself from Lando’s throat quickly warps into a strangled shout of ecstasy as you hollow your cheeks and sink back down to take his aching cock as far as you can. He outright sobs your name over and over as you relentlessly work him undone with hollowed cheeks and swirls of your talented tongue — at this point he’s putty in your hands, helpless to do anything other than clutch at you and shatter apart.

You pull back with a filthy, slurping noise just as the first hot ropes of milky white spurt from his slit, painting your tongue and lips with thick, viscous streaks. A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest at the shamelessly lewd sight, cock giving one final twitch against your lips as you swallow greedily, lapping and sucking every musky drop from his overstimulated flesh.

His knees nearly buckle at the over-the-top eroticism of it all, hands knotting tighter in your hair as if the grounding points of contact are all that’s keeping him anchored to this mortal plane.

Only once you’ve thoroughly wrung him dry with your mouth and tongue do you sit back on your heels, swiping the back of your hand across your swollen, well-used lips to clean away the remnant beads of his climax. Each breath Lando sucks into his heaving lungs is like molten fire in his tortured chest, his pupils still dilated as he gazes down in awe and not a small amount of reverence at where you’re tucked so demurely between his parted thighs.

“Bloody fucking hell, love,” he rasps around a breathy, disbelieving puff of laughter. “C’mere, lemme return the favor … I need to taste you in the worst way.”

His words go straight to your rapidly tightening core, sending a fresh gush of slick arousal pooling between your thighs. You allow him to haul you up by your elbows and press you into the plush mattress, surrendering to his hot, open-mouthed kisses and seeking hands as he divests you completely of your last shreds of clothing.

When his tongue finally finds your drenched center, you keen high and helpless in the back of your throat. “Oh god, Lando … yes, just like that ...”

Lando answers your breathless encouragement by burying his tongue deeper into your grasping heat with a satisfied groan. The wildly intimate stretch and stimulation of his clever licks and kitten flicks against your swollen bud quickly has you squirming and thrashing against the mattress in a glorious, overstimulated daze.

All you can do is pant and whimper encouragements, fingers tangling unconsciously in his thick chestnut locks as you rock yourself shamelessly into his mouth.

Just when you think the maddening coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter deep in your core can’t possibly grow any tighter, Lando slips two long fingers inside your slick, fluttering entrance with a guttural groan of satisfaction. The fullness of the dual sensations instantly has you seizing up all over, back arching off the bed as he works you over with sure, steady strokes.

“Oh fuck, fuck me … Lando, you feel … so g-good, ungh!” The inarticulate stream of praise and curses rapidly devolves into broken moans as he relentlessly pistons his fingers in and out, strumming insistently against that spongy cluster of nerves with each punishing thrust. You’re quickly rendered mindless, nothing but a writhing, desperate bundle of raw need and want with every nerve alight at his exquisite touch.

When Lando’s lips finally close over your pulsing clit and suckle hard, your entire world shatters into stardust with the force of your climax. A hoarse shout rips from deep in your chest as the coil within you finally detonates in waves of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure that seem to go on and on and on. Lando works you through it all with his plush mouth and tireless fingers, lapping up the honeyed rush of your release like a man dying of thirst.

For several long, blissful moments, the only sounds are your mingled gasps and pants for air as you float hazily down from your high. Lando’s lips trail scorching paths along the inside of your trembling thighs, nuzzling and nipping at sensitive flesh before finally lifting his head to grace you with that familiar adoring look that never fails to make your heartbeat trip.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, love,” he drags his index finger through the slick mess coating his chin and lips. With a blatantly filthy leer that sends a shiver of fresh arousal cascading down your spine, he slips the digit into his mouth and sucks it clean with a rumbling groan of satisfaction. “Delicious.”

You’re still totally wrecked and incoherent from your release, every nerve in your body humming and jangling in the aftermath like overstimulated livewires. A punched-out moan manages to escape you at his brazen obscenity as your hips lift off the bed in an instinctual, needful grind. “Inside me. Need y-you inside ...”

Lando rises over you in one fluid, graceful motion, hips slotting effortlessly between your splayed thighs as he brackets your face between his large palms, drinking you in hungrily. “God, look at you — you’re fucking glorious like this, wrecked and desperate for me,” he murmurs in a low rasp, cock dragging slickly through your sopping folds to nudge insistently at your entrance. “How do you do this to me, huh? Break me apart so effortlessly then have me begging on my knees for more of you ...”

With that, he bottoms out in one smooth, torturous glide — the exquisite, familiar fullness stealing your breath and sending stars bursting across your vision at the electrifying feeling of being stuffed so deliciously deep. You wrap your legs high around his taut waist, ankles locking needfully as you roll your hips in frantic little circles seeking any kind of friction.

“Oh god, Lando … move, please … need you to move, it hurts so fucking good ...”

He answers your pleading moans with a soul-scorching kiss, lips and tongue consuming you in delicious, velvet heat as he sets a ruthless, punishing pace, spearing into your clenching depths with all the force and stamina that makes him such a world-class athlete. You match him thrust for thrust, your cries swallowed by his plundering mouth as the delicious drag and slap of skin against skin fills your senses.

“I’ll never get enough,” Lando grits out between breathy curses. His teeth find purchase at the dip of your neck, sending a starburst of sensation and pain across your sensitized nerves that only compounds the haze of carnal bliss wrapping you in its searing embrace. “Could spend my life buried inside you like this and it still wouldn’t be long enough ...”

His words ignite something feral, darkly possessive in your core, an echoing howl of belonging and ownership that it feels like you’ve been careening towards since the very first time he surrendered to you in trance. With a carnal growl, you hook your ankles tighter, using your legs to flip Lando onto his back as you rise up to straddle his hips.

His eyes go comically wide before he’s grinding up into you with a gasp, grasping your hips hard enough to bruise as you set a punishing new rhythm.

“Say it again … tell me who you belong to.” Your voice is hoarse, burnished in equal parts wanton need and flinty command — you don’t care which one makes him shatter apart at the seams so long as he answers your order.

Lando immediately locks eyes with yours, gaze fever-bright and seeming to pierce straight into your very soul as he clamps his hands around your throat with delicious pressure. “You,” he groans without hesitation, the pads of his fingers flexing as your pulse throbs wildly beneath his touch. “You own me, down to my bloody bones.”

The reverent oath sends a surge of lust and possession searing through your bloodstream, stoking the incandescent heat pooling low in your belly to fever pitch once more. Your hips move in wild rolls, desperate and ragged as you ride him with reckless abandon. Lando keeps one hand locked at the juncture of your throat while the other skates up your side to palm your breast, rolling the peaked tip between calloused fingers.

“I can feel you getting close already, look at you … my perfect, filthy girl throwing herself at me like she needs nothing else but my cock splitting her apart,” he growls gutturally, his words and the punishing rhythm growing more and more erratic as your combined pleasure crests higher and higher.

Quite suddenly, Lando hooks his feet against the mattress and surges up to capture your lips in a sweltering, soul-devouring kiss as his hips somehow piston even faster into your desperately clenching depths. His name fractures and shatters around the seal of your kiss as your entire world liquefies into ribbons of rapture, ecstasy blotting out all coherent thought until every last shred of tension and want finally implodes in a supernova behind your navel.

Lando gasps against your lips as your release floods him, thick and scorching hot — wave after wave milking the most intense convulsions from his straining cock as his own orgasm shatters loose. You rock together through the shared obliteration of your mutual bliss until there’s nothing left but the gentle lapping of aftershocks and Lando’s thumb stroking idly along the racing pulse at the hollow of your throat.

When you finally manage to crack your eyes and focus on the beautiful wreck of a man sprawled boneless beneath you, the look of besotten awe on his features nearly takes your breath away all over again. Then his rueful chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest, melting away the last smoldering embers of tension as he brushes a stray lock of damp hair back from your brow.

“What on earth am I going to do with you, love?” He murmurs, the hint of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Now I’m permanently addicted.” He presses a lingering, searing kiss to your swollen mouth before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Though I suppose there are worse fates.”

You answer his sentiment with a breathless chuckle of your own, tracing the lines of his face in an achingly tender caress as the last lingering flickers of passion slowly ebb and flow into deep, drowsy contentment. “Such are the spoils of victory,” you breathe fondly. “Though I suppose I should thank you for being such an … enthusiastic participant.”

“Mmm, I think I can manage that.” His eyes slip closed as he winds his arms around you to roll until you’re flush atop his chest, every supple inch of heated skin against skin and your legs tangled together in a sprawl. “You’ve ruined me,” he murmurs softly, reverently against your hair. “And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.”

You hum serenely in agreement, nestling impossibly closer as Lando’s breathing evens out and you both begin to drift into a dozy haze of sated bliss. The warm, hypnotic lull of his heartbeat against your cheek and the delicious ache of well-used muscles is pure nirvana.

In this moment, suspended in time in the afterglow, you can scarcely fathom how you ever existed before Lando barreled into your life and ignited this intoxicating flame of desire, devotion, and bone-deep belonging between you.

His voice, already rough and worn velvet from your passionate exertions, breaks the contented silence once more as he nuzzles against your temple. “Stay with me tonight? God knows I could use a few more hours with you in my arms before we have to brave the real world again.”

A languid smile curves your lips at his soft plea, warmth blooming in your chest. “As if you even need to ask,” you murmur, punctuating the sentiment with a tender brush of your lips across the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “I’m yours, remember? Any time and any place you’ll have me.”

Lando doesn’t respond further, simply tightens his arm around your waist as he hooks his chin over your head with a low, satisfied rumble.

With his name a breathless vow on your lips, you allow the bone-deep weariness of pure satisfaction to finally pull you under into peaceful oblivion beside the only man who will ever hold the keys to unraveling you so completely in return.

***

The pale moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Lando’s posh London flat, casting everything in an ethereal blue-silver glow as you burrow deeper into the plush duvet.

A lazy, spent sort of satisfaction permeates the air in the wake of your earlier lovemaking — though honestly, is there ever a time when you don’t feel utterly cherished and deliciously sated these days?

Lando’s arm is a warm, heavy brand across your waist, the solid plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. You can sense the steady thrum of his heartbeat mellowing into the deep, even cadence of slumber and make to slip out of his embrace, eager to make use of the en-suite facilities. But the moment you shift, his arm reflexively tightens, drawing you impossibly closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a low, sleepy noise of protest.

“Mmm … stay,” he mumbles groggily against your skin, voice still rough and sweetly wrecked from the way you had him crying out your name mere hours ago.

You huff a quiet laugh at his drowsy insistence, nosing affectionately at his tousled curls. “I’ll be right back, you insatiable thing,” you rasp, carefully extracting yourself from his octopus-like clutches to plant a lingering kiss to his slack, pillow-creased cheek. “Promise I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Lando grumbles something indistinct but doesn’t protest further, already slipping back into the lull of sleep with a final contented sigh muffled against the plush bedding. You take a moment to simply drink in the sight of him sprawled out so unguardedly – all toned muscle and tousled chestnut curls, the crisp white sheets tangling artfully around his hips to offer tempting peeks of tanned skin and lean, powerful thighs.

He’s gorgeous like this, you muse with a soft smile, feeling that oh-so-familiar spark of possessive want begin to simmer low in your belly. A dizzying rush of affection and belonging surges through you as your gaze rakes over the starburst of reddened lovebites peppering his throat and shoulders from where you marked him as yours so enthusiastically earlier.

It’s hard to fathom that there was ever a time you considered your life remotely complete before Lando and his smoldering passion whirlwinded into your world.

Still, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the alluring scene with a steadying breath, retreating to the en-suite with the promise to return hanging unspoken between you.

By the time you’ve padded back into the bedroom wrapped in one of Lando’s obscenely soft bathrobes, he’s shifted to sprawl across the centerline of the mattress, face half-buried in his pillow and one hand flung haphazardly above his head. The rakish sprawl of bedsheets and moonlight across his sculpted form renders him a vision of absolute debauchery and desire — not that you’d have him any other way.

You can’t resist ghosting your fingers in a featherlight caress along the hard ridges of his spine and the lean cords of muscle defining his broad shoulders, relishing the shiver that chases itself visibly across his skin. “You awake, darling?”

Lando grunts an affirmation, languidly cracking one eye to regard you through the tangled fringe of lashes fanning across his cheekbones. There’s a hint of wry amusement laced through the rough velvet of his voice when he speaks. “Was starting to worry you’d wandered off again without me.”

“Never,” you reply instantly, warmth threading through the simple avowal. Moving to settle in the vee of his splayed thighs, you trail a meandering path of openmouthed kisses along his lower back, nosing aside the rumpled sheet to expose the swell of his ass with deliberate intent. “You know I’m defenseless against this gorgeous body of yours.”

A low, approving rumble vibrates up from Lando’s chest at your blatant appreciation, his hips giving an unconscious, languid roll as your lips brush across the dimples at the base of his spine in a teasing caress. But then, quite suddenly, the boneless sprawl of his limbs seems to tense as a perceptible aura of hesitance permeates the desire charging the air between you.

You immediately feel the subtle shift in his energy, that jarring note of dissonance plucking disquietingly at your intuitive senses — the same ones that have always allowed you to tune into the deepest vibrations of the soul with preternatural clarity. Without pause, you abandon your sensual exploration of his body to settle beside him once more, cradling the sharp line of his jaw in your palm and wordlessly coaxing him to turn and meet your gaze.

“Hey … talk to me, love,” you murmur, the soothing tone of your voice blanketing the sharp edged undercurrent of uncertainty in its rich, soothing folds. “Where’d you go just now?”

Lando exhales a soft, humorless puff of breath, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth in that adorable yet concerning tell of his whenever something is weighing on that mind.

For a long stretch, he studies your features in silence, the only sounds in the room the ambient thrum of the city beyond the flat’s walls and the occasional muted honk of a passing car in the night below. Just when you’re about to prompt him again, the words finally tumble out in a low, slightly self-conscious rush.

“You … you don’t take on other clients like me, do you?” You feel him tense further under your palm, discomfited energy practically vibrating off him in waves. “Not that I’m judging, honest! It’s none of my business what you do or who you see for work, but I just ...” He breaks off on a frustrated exhale, jaw ticking in that way that tells you he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotion beneath his placid surface.

A dawning realization begins to unfurl in your chest, intimately familiar with the root of Lando’s inner turmoil. This brilliant, sensitive, achingly beautiful man — the force on the racetrack who melts into the most sweetly vulnerable creature behind closed doors whenever you bestow him with the full force of your focused attention. Of course he would crave that intensity of focus, that promise of belonging solely to him in your most intimate embraces, no matter how irrational or paradoxical the notion seems from the outside looking in.

Slowly, carefully, you reach up to frame that beloved face between your palms, silently urging Lando to hold your unwavering gaze as the words he needs to hear spill forth in a low, resonant murmur.

“Do you remember when this first started between us? How completely you surrendered yourself to me in the most profound way?” You begin, watching his pupils slowly dilate and a nearly imperceptible tension begin to unwind from his shoulders at the timbre of your voice. “The absolute trust it takes to let someone delve that deep into the most sacred corners of your psyche … to share your fears, insecurities, and unvarnished essence without artifice?”

Lando swallows thickly, nodding once in a jerky affirmation as the words seem to bypass his conscious mind and resonate somewhere deeper. You card your fingers soothingly through his disheveled curls, allowing your touch to lull and ground him as you continue in that same low, hypnotic cadence.

“That depth of surrender and connection is not something that can simply be replicated or transposed onto others, Lando. What we have is singular. Untouchable.” You press your forehead to his, registering the faint hitch in his breath as you drink in every last nuance of his features. “My gift has always been to help unravel the truths someone tries to bury, follow the threads that tether the conscious mind to something vaster and more primal. But with you ...”

A low exhale ghosts across his parted lips as your thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone in an achingly tender caress. “With you, it was as if the universe aligned to allow me to shed every last shred of protection and pretense until there was nothing left but the purest vibration of my very essence resonating in time with yours. Do you understand?”

Lando’s gaze is a hazy swirl of naked emotion and trust, drinking in your every syllable with the desperate reverence of a man being offered the world’s greatest truth. “Like … like the truest version of ourselves was always there, simply waiting to recognize its other half,” he rasps, the words seeming to bypass his conscious faculties entirely as he remains held captive in the depths of your connection. “Two souls spilling into one another.”

“Precisely.” Your lips curve in the ghost of a smile, a bone-deep sense of belonging and contentment settling over you both like a well-worn hug. “In that moment, you became an inextricable part of me, and I of you. Something that profound doesn’t simply … vanish, or dim, or lessen with time and distance.”

You allow the weighted truth of your decree to resonate between your joined bodies for a suspended heartbeat, cradling Lando’s face as if mapping every plane and angle with worshipful precision.

“I could help countless others access their potential or tap into dimly lit corners of their awareness,” you continue. “But there will only ever be one person to whom I belong in that elemental way. One person who will ever see this side of me and who lays the very fabric of their being bare without reservation.”

A tremulous exhalation shudders across Lando’s lips at the finality in your tone, as if every lingering filament of doubt or uncertainty has finally dissolved in the face of your avowal. One of his hands comes up to splay across the small of your back, fingers flexing and bunching the silky material of your robe in a desperate clutch as if you’re the last solid comfort in a churning sea.

When his eyes slip open once more, they’re practically luminescent with a naked heat that sends a delicious curl of answering want unfurling through your core.

“Show me,” he rasps, the simple entreaty laced with an edge of heart-stoppingly vulnerable need. “Please, Y/N …. I need to feel you completely.”

In the stillness that follows, the only sounds are your mingled exhales and the thunderous gallop of racing pulses filling the air with resonant verses of sin and worship. Then, with an instinctual roll of your hips, you’re slotting one toned thigh between Lando’s splayed legs and sealing your mouth over his in a filthy, searing kiss that instantly has his back arching off the rumpled sheets with a muffled groan.

There’s nothing tentative in the wanton slide of your lips and tongues, every flick and brush and gentle graze brimming with carnal intent and the unspoken promise to strip one another to the very marrow.

Lando surrenders to the sweet onslaught eagerly, hands skating across your body in frantic, searing paths until the belt of your robe finally falls away and he can palm the bare curves of your ass to grind you more fully against his rapidly stiffening length.

You break away with a sharp gasp at the delicious friction, mouth immediately seeking out the fevered juncture of Lando’s neck and shoulder to mouth searing patterns across the taut tendons there. “You want my gift?” You rasp against the thrumming pulse under your lips, rolling your hips in a languid, purposeful grind that drags the already swollen head of his cock through the slick evidence of your arousal with tantalizing friction.

Lando’s response is a low, breathless stream of curses and encouragements, blunt fingernails raking distractedly down the length of your spine in a way that sets every nerve alight with tingling sparks of pleasure-pain.

Allowing him to nip and suck intoxicating patterns across your collarbones, you dip your hand between your bodies until you can wrap your fingers around his rigid shaft, dragging the pads in a devastatingly slow glide from base to tip.

The groan that punches from Lando’s chest at your touch is guttural, hips pumping restlessly into the tight channel of your fist. “Fuck, yes … want all of you, every bloody inch ...”

His words seem to bypass your conscious mind entirely. You’re suddenly blisteringly aware of each and every point where your bodies join: the heated crush of his straining cock in your palm, the delicious friction of your slick folds catching and dragging against the cut grooves of his abdomen with each gyration of your hips, the teasing rasp of his calloused palms as they roam hungrily across your skin.

It’s as if Lando’s very being calls out to yours in an ancient tongue, rendering coherent thought utterly obsolete as you simply feel — the pulsing, cosmic certainty of your connection amplifying every tingling spark of friction and delirious drag of skin against skin until your entire world narrows to the joining of your shared potential cresting higher with each and every move.

“Now,” you grate out, vision whiting out as your climax detonates in a blinding supernova behind your navel — an ecstasy so transcendent that you’re certain it scorches across the very fabric of your soul. Your fingernails sink vicious crescent moons into Lando’s bicep as you arch against him with a keening cry.

“Y/N!” His hoarse shout fractures on a broken whine, muscles tensing as the first searing pulse of his orgasm floods your belly, joined soon by rich, viscous ropes of white heat that leave you both totally undone.

You simply clutch at each other through the relentless waves, Lando’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as if urging you to brand him irrevocably as yours.

When the explosive rapture finally begins to ebb, you both sag into the tangled bedding in a limp sprawl of sweat-slicked limbs and trembling aftershocks, chests heaving in perfect synchronicity as you cling to one another like lost mariners adrift in some fathomless sea.

You can’t even begin to discern where your consciousness begins and Lando’s ends — your very essences having merged so irrevocably that you simply exist as a singular vibration pulsing through the cosmos.

It takes several long, suspended moments for the concept of individual awareness to gradually seep back into the edges of your being, though even then it feels blasphemous to separate yourself from the soul-deep profundity of what you’ve just shared.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you manage to crack your eyelids enough to drink in the sight of Lando gazing back at you with that same awed wonder etched across his beloved features.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasps, the words little more than a throaty whisper ghosting against your over-sensitized skin. “That was … there aren’t even words, are there?”

In lieu of responding, you simply wind your arms around him with a tremulous exhale, hooking your chin over the solid comfort of his shoulder and allowing his clean, earthy scent to wash over you like a balm.

In this place, suspended between bliss and awareness, there’s no need for words or platitudes. You can feel Lando’s very essence thrumming in tandem with yours — the inherent recognition of your twin flame and sacred belonging reverberating on a molecular level.

Here, entangled in the vital warmth of shared trust and intimacy, all that exists is the boundless and the eternal.

[16wolke11]

psychologist reader x piastri or yuki

reader started noticing the more she knows the driver, more she falls in love, and worse: her professional life is in game.

In Between - Yuki Tsunoda

A/N Dear Anon, I love this idea! And maybe I got carried away a bit with it. I decided to write it with Yuki, because I barely wrote about him before (:

I am not an expert when it comes to psychology, but this is what I came up with^^

WORDS: 3473

_____

“So, we want you to start with Yuki today,” Laurent tells me, and I nod, obviously knowing that he is one of the drivers, not going totally uninformed into my first official work day. And it kind of makes sense that they want me to start working with the drivers immediately, considering that they might be under the most stress from all the people in the team, at least the one with the most public attention. 

“Okay, what do you want me to talk about with him? Is there any specific reason why you want him to see me as a therapist? Or just for his mental strength as a racer?” I ask for clarification, like to have a rough idea of where the session might lead. With usual clients, there is always a bit of information, sometimes not much, sometimes people with confirmed diagnoses who switch therapists, but always something to give me a starting point. 

“Yuki has some problems with his anger management. He got better, but we want to help him as best as possible.” Laurent explains and I nod. Being in the public eye and having a short temper isn’t the best mix, but I am sure we will find a solution for it. Well, if Yuki is willing to work with me on it. There are always people who don’t believe in therapy, giving me and other therapists a hard time trying to do our job. 

“Any specific situations when he is stepping over the line?” I tilt my head to the side, already making my mental notes for Yuki, before I write them down later. Keeping as much information about him as possible to help him as best as I can. 

Laurent sighs before answering. “Things that go wrong on track, things not going like they should, issues in the team. Anything you can name that might frustrate anyone, but he usually snaps.” I see the problem and why they want someone to work with Yuki on this matter. We reach the room that will be mine from now on and I smile at Laurent, thanking him for bringing me here. 

“Yuki should be in there already.” Laurent informs me and I thank him again, glad I don’t have to fetch the driver from somewhere. I take a deep breath before casually entering my room. Yuki is already seated in one of the lounge chairs, looking around like he wants to be anywhere but here at the moment. 

“Good morning Yuki.” I speak up with a friendly voice, turning his attention to me. Yuki looks at me for a moment, narrowing his eyes, before looking away again. Eyes finding the window to look outside so that I wouldn't see his face. 

“I am not mentally ill.” Yuki huffs and I already know that it will be a challenge to work with him, but I don’t let my mood be affected by this, acting professional as I learned to be. 

“Why do you think I believe this?” I ask him, trying to figure out why he is so much against a session with a therapist. And mostly, why he believes seeing someone like me means he is mentally ill. 

“You are a psychologist. Aren't you supposed to treat people who are a little ill in their mind?” Yuki asks me, before huffing again. “Hmpf, that sounded wrong.” His arms are crossed in front of his chest and I settle down in the lounge chair on the opposite side of him. Facing him while he is still staring out of the window. 

“I am not just here for those who might be struggling mentally, but also for other things.” I gently explain and Yuki’s head snaps around to finally face me. Eyes unsure, but still curious about everything. 

“And why am I here?” He asks, voice barely loud enough for me to hear and I can see so many emotions bubbling over his face, while I decide to be just honest with him. 

“Some people are worried about your anger management.” I am not here to lie to him and he deserves the honesty about why his team wants to see me. His expressions harden, and I can already see the first signs of anger taking over his body. 

“But when something stupid happens, I need to express it.” Yuki tells me, hands gesturing around and I slowly nod. Expressing is one thing, but yelling at the people around you is a different thing. He might be right about not stuffing his emotions inside of him and letting them out, but his approach isn’t quite the right strategy. 

“Maybe, but you could just talk instead of yelling at them.” I suggest testing out the waters with him, trying to figure out what kind of therapy approach might be best for him. 

“I am angry and when I am angry, I want to yell.” Yuki tells me, voice already a pitch louder and I lean back, acting unfazed by his rising anger, while making mental notes about him. 

“Okay, so how about you try to store the anger until you are in a less public space? Getting into boxing or something similar might help you to blow off some steam afterwards.” I give him an idea for an outlet. Something to do with sports and something to get all his anger out. Seeing that boxing helps with frustration and anger, without hurting anyone in any way. 

“I am small, I don’t have much space to store the anger anywhere.” Yuki huffs, not looking impressed by my suggestion, before adding. “It just bubbles over when it comes.” I am glad he is at least explaining his feelings a bit and not just straight up leaves, yells at me or tells me he doesn’t believe in going to therapy at all. 

“I am not that tall either, Yuki and still, I don’t yell at the people around me.” I smile at him while mentioning my height. This might have been a logical explanation for him, less body, less space to store emotions, but luckily, this isn’t how this works. 

“Yeah, because you are that perfect psychologist and probably surround yourself with calmness.” He waves his hand around and I get that he isn’t fond of psychologists. Time for a different approach. 

“Okay, I think we can't get a solution right now, what if we talk about something else?” I suggest getting him off guard. If he doesn’t want to talk about his anger right now, that’s okay with me. This is only the first session and therapy is no miracle work done with just one meeting. 

“You are supposed to help me with my anger issues?” Yuki questions me and I shrug my shoulders. 

“And? They don’t need to know what we talk about, they just want to feel like we are working on it.” I explain, staying calm, because there is no need to rush this. We have all the time in the world to go to the root of this problem and I feel confident that one day we will be able to make his anger management better. 

“And I won't get in trouble?” Yuki asks, hesitating like he is scared that I will report everything to Laurent and that he will be scolded for not working properly with his therapist. 

“Of course not! The things we are talking about are kept in this room, except if you are going to be a danger to yourself or others. In this case, I might have to inform someone.” I promise him and Yuki tilts his head to the side, probably thinking about whether he can trust me or not. 

“That's okay, I guess.” He then decides and we talk. Nonsense, things about each other, getting to know the new coworker for a bit, until our time is up. I remind Yuki about his next appointment and he even gives me a tight smile when saying goodbye. He will be a hard client, but nothing I can't handle. We will be making progress sooner or later and I look forward to working more with Yuki.

I settle in pretty quickly with the team. Have one-on-one sessions with some of the staff, hold a group session for the mechanics and even get to talk with Isack, the second diver of the team, about his mental struggle of being enough for F1. He is a sweet boy, easy to talk to and is open to every suggestion I make. Isack might be too hard on himself, but he is willing to work on it and this is what matters for me. 

Today I have my second therapy session with Yuki. I watched him over the last days, tried to get a look into his days, how he behaves, what might stress him and what helps him to calm down. All things that will help me to work with him more easily. I still get that he isn’t so fond of the thought of going to therapy, but we will find a way to work through this together. 

I wait for him in my room, scribbling down some notes from my last session with one of the race engineers. It knocks on the door and I ask him to step in, smiling softly at Yuki, who holds two plates in his hands. I raise my eyebrow, ready to ask, when Yuki does speak up. 

“Hungry?” He asks me, holding out one of the plates, which is scattered with different foods from the hospitality. I look at him, before glancing back at the plate again. 

“You brought food to bribe yourself out of your session?” I ask him with a grin, taking the plate from him to inspect it further. 

“No, but food makes everything better.” Yuki states, drawing a laugh over my lips. I still think that he tries to shorten the session by bringing some food, but I don’t mind as long as he talks to me during it. 

“Most things.” I accept his explanation and we dig into the food, just chatting casually about it, when Yuki suddenly looks up from his plate, looking more nervous than ever. 

“Soo, I thought about that anger management thing.” He speaks up and on the inside, I am cheering that he is the one approaching the topic again. 

“Yes?” I say, trying to show him that I am listening, but at the same time not wanting him to back out of the conversation again. 

“You mentioned boxing, but what about when I am in the car? I can't just hop out, punch something and go back to driving.” Yuki huffs, hands gesturing and as entertaining as his imagined scenario might be, he is right. 

“What do I do in that situation?” Yuki adds and I am more than glad that he is interested in working on his anger management. 

“There are techniques to keep your emotions calm. We can go through a few and find out which one is right for you.” I suggested to him and Yuki looks at me with a blank expression, making me ad, “If you are up for it?” If he wants to, we can go through the different techniques, test which one might be the best for him and help him to stay calm even under harsh situations. Yuki is silent for a moment before sitting up straighter, looking confident.

“Let's do this.”

Over the next weeks, we work on different techniques to make Yuki able to hold back his anger better. I spoke with his trainer to incorporate some boxing into his training so that Yuki is able to blow of all the steam he has managed to hold back by now. And it works, most of the time. Of course, there are still situations where deep breathing, counting things, or any other strategy doesn’t work, but Laurent did thank me for my work so far, because Yuki snaps far less than before. 

But working so closely with Yuki also comes with issues for me. Instead of being able to keep him at a distance, talk with him professional I grew to like him more and more. Get to know him better, and I try my best to stay professional, hoping that little crush will fade, but it is getting harder and harder the more I know about him. 

His obvious love for food and that one day he wants to open up his restaurant. That he usually plays video games during race weekends in the evening to calm down. His training consists a lot of cycling, which he enjoys and that in the winter break, he likes to hit the snowy tracks with a snowboard. And of course, he mentions his love for the actor Jason Statham more than once. 

While  I manage to stay at a distance, Yuki seems to struggle with not coming closer to me. His hands brushing over my back when he walks by, him bringing me food when he thinks I might be hungry and he always smiles widely when he spots me anywhere. This doesn’t help with my fluttering heart, but I am deemed to stay professional, not wanting to lose my job here. The crush will go by, it has to. 

But then, during one session Yuki grabs my hand and I freeze. Head stops working and it takes me a few seconds before I slowly pull my hand out of his. “I can't do this Yuki.” I mutter, but trying to sound strong. This is what I feared, him overstepping the line, confirming that this crush isn’t a one-sided thing. 

“Why not?” Yuki huffs, eyes narrowing and I feel a bit of anger bubbling up inside of me. 

“Because my reputation is on the line, my whole career.” I speak up, hands gesturing more than usual and as good as I might be at covering up my emotions, at this moment I just can't. 

“If someone just thinks I am involved romantically with a client, I am out.” I explain to him, hoping he will understand and even add some more, “And not just out of this job, but forever. I will lose my license.” I would no longer be allowed to practise as a therapist, all the hard years of working would be damaged, destroyed beyond repair and I can't risk that. 

“There has to be a solution for this.” Yuki says, voice desperate and I hate to break his heart like this. Our relationship will not be the same and I am not sure if we will even be able to work together after this. 

“I am not sure there will be.” I mumble, hoping that he will understand, but Yuki shakes his head and stands up. 

“I will find one.” He promises, before disappearing, leaving me with an aching heart. 

Two weeks go by and Yuki and I do our therapy sessions as usual, not speaking one word about him grabbing my hand, us having feelings and his trying to find a solution. It feels like it never happened and I am not sure if I like it. I even thought of resigning with the RacingBulls to eliminate the issue, but apart from the situation with Yuki, I love working for the team. Right now, I just want to leave the track, drench myself in the bathtub and sleep for a bit, but a voice calls me back.  

“Wait a minute.” Isack comes jogging over to me and I offer him a smile, liking the young driver from the beginning. „You look tired.” Isack says, tilting his head and I huff softly. 

“Had a long day. Happy to head to the hotel now.” I tell him, the day was really long. Having group sessions with both mechanic groups, squeezing in some one-on-one sessions and I am beyond tired at this point. 

“Ah, sorry to stop you from that, but Laurent said he wanted to have a word with you.” Isack looks genuinely sorry and I tense up at his words. 

“Did he say about what?” I ask, attempting to keep my voice calm while Isack merely shrugs. 

“No, but I saw Yuki slip into his office.” My heart stops at this sentence, but I try to keep my face relaxed. 

“Thank you, Isack.” I say before slowly making my way over to Laurent's office. Hoping it wouldn’t be the last time I enter the hospitality and that today wasn’t my last day working as a therapist. 

I take a deep breath before I knock on the door, not ready for the situation but having to face it. 

“Come in.” Laurent's voice is dampened by the door and I slowly open it. Yuki and him sit at the table, both seem to be relaxed and I try to sense if they really are.

“Hi, Isack said you wanted to talk with me.” I speak up, sounding neutral and Laurent just nods, before gesturing to one of the chairs. 

“Yeah, have a seat.” I sit down and then I wait, heart pounding in my chest. 

“So Yuki came to me telling me a few things about your sessions.” That's it, I am done “Oh…” I just mutter, eyes flickering to Yuki, who looks way too relaxed for my liking. 

“And that you two came closer to each other.” Before Laurent speaks any more, I speak up. 

“I swear nothing inappropriate happened and if you need me to, I will resign immediately.” I stutter, panic rising in my chest. How could Yuki do this? Reporting me to the boss when he was the one who overstepped the line first? 

“Please don’t panic.” Laurent's voice is calm and I try to stop my heart from beating its way out of my chest. 

“We talked about solutions and one of them will be hiring a second psychologist, splitting the work between you two.” I do calm down a bit, but still frown at his words. 

“This still leaves the issue with Yuki being my client.” Even if there is a second therapist, Yuki is still one of my clients, leaving us with the issue of me not being allowed to date my client. 

“Well, technically, RacingBulls is your client.” Laurent says and then there is silence. My head ringing, trying to figure out what that means and this is what I express. 

“I don’t understand.”

“This is a loophole and I already checked it with the lawyers.” Laurent explains, and I feel the calmness seeping over me. “Yuki wasn’t your client, but the RacingBulls are. So there is no conflict with you having a few sessions with him, but obviously, we would prefer Yuki going to our second psychologist from now on.” This. Is. Perfect? Having the group as a client and not just every individual of them is the solution, and when Laurent already checked it with the lawyers, it seems too good to be true. 

“I don’t know what to say.” I mutter, eyes flickering between Laurent and Yuki, who watches me with caution in his eyes. He was probably scared of my reaction, but I am just too overwhelmed to say anything.

“You don’t have to say anything; you just need to know that everything is fine and you can go on dates or whatever you want to.” Laurent has a grin on his lips, as if watching people fall in love is his greatest pleasure. 

“Thank you.” I whisper before leaving the office, closely followed by Yuki. He stays by my side, doesn’t say a word while I try to sort my thoughts. 

“Are you mad at me?” Yuki hesitantly speaks up and I glance at him, seeing an expression I have rarely seen on him before. Uncertainty. 

“Not sure yet.” I mutter, my eyes returning to the ground. How am I supposed to be fully angry with him when he did find a solution to our issue? Still, this whole situation could have gone terribly wrong. 

“I said I would find a solution and I did.” Yuki states and he is right, still he needs to understand that just because it worked, it wasn’t the ideal solution. 

“Yeah, but what would have happened if Laurent hadn’t taken it well, if there was a loophole or anything else we could do? That would have been my downfall.” I ask him, highlighting the things that could have occurred, before huffing, “You should have talked with me first and we could have made that decision together.” Yuki blinks, once, then again, before tilting his head slightly to the side. 

“I am sorry then?” He asks and I hesitate for a moment, before a relieved laugh slips over my lips. Before he can even react, I fling my arms around his neck, leaning my head against his and whispering.

“Thank you.“

[mcflymemes]

THE DA VINCI CODE (2006) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

you say you hate history. nobody hates history. they hate their own histories.

we are who we protect, i think. what we stand up for.

that's why we study history... so we'll stop killing each other.

can you keep secrets? can you know a thing and never say it again?

how many have been murdered over this question?

if it's so important to you to stop us, then you're just going to have to shoot us.

understanding our past determines actively our ability to understand the present.

tonight, this will be our quest.

how would you know that?

you seem... uncomfortable.

you have me confused with someone else.

why would i try to run? i didn't do anything.

will you excuse me a moment?

i was supposed to have drinks with him earlier this evening.

i waited for over an hour.

i'm afraid the police arrived more quickly than i anticipated.

you must follow me, please. for your own safety.

you knew they were coming?

if you step inside, please. time is of the essence.

you have not been honest with me.

you will leave this house!

your ruse is pathetic.

will you just tell us what the hell it's for?

i've jammed my shoulder, i've been shot at... i'm bleeding.

if we are to get away from here, we must find another way.

you can start with him.

do not react to this message.

you must follow my directions very closely. you are in grave danger.

i could run them over.

i can pretty much remember what i see.

sorry for all the mystery, [name].

i'm into something here that i cannot understand.

you should be ashamed.

if you would close your eyes...

well, that's a bit strange, isn't it?

how many wine glasses are there on the table?

there's virtually no empirical proof.

that is what they want you to believe.

that's a common misunderstanding.

you are saying all this is real?

you are an angel.

i am a ghost.

have you ever heard those words before?

why are you asking these things?

i am the messenger of god.

every breath you take is a sin.

you will be hunted by angels.

you believe in god? your god doesn't forgive murderers. he burns them.

do you mock me?

we are betrayed.

did they find it? this buried treasure?

i've never heard about any of this.

this is an old wives' tale.

now you're a psychologist too?

what will you do?

it's a rudimentary phallus.

the only thing that matters is what you believe.

i thought i was going to die.

sometimes i wonder if i wasn't alone down there.

maybe human is divine.

thank you... for bringing me here.

the mind sees what it chooses to see.

do i owe you money?

care to open up for an old colleague?

first, a test of honor.

shall i serve coffee or tea?

what would you do?

maybe there is no proof.

surely such a travesty has never occurred.

your heart is true.

they are used to keep secrets.

you used me.

we've been dragged into a world of people who think this stuff is real.

do you trust this man? i hope you can.

i don't follow.

stop now. tell me where it is.

i don't know what you are talking about.

is it a secret you will die for?

well, i must say, you two are anything but dull.

forgive the intrusion.

i'm not sure how much help i'm gonna be here this evening.

funny, i don't even like history.

i've never seen much good come from looking to the past.

are you a god-fearing man?

you're acting like you lost your mind.

[ceilidho]

This is in no way of hating but i want to know why do you enjoy writing noncon/rape? When I first downloaded tumblr which was couple of months ago i was surprised by the amount of noncon fics here. I eventually came to enjoy them which makes me question myself. Whenever i read a noncon fic and enjoy it i feel like im betraying women who actually went through those traumatic events. Plus I actually don't really like dark romance books? I love cod dead dove and that is mainly because i really love the characters and the authors are so talented. I rambled so much and i hope you don't get this in the wrong way i don't mean to hate AT ALL i love the stuff you write. Maybe i shouldn't think too much and let myself enjoy what im reading lol

first of all, no worries! i wasn't sure about your tone/intentions at first, but by the end i was totally fine with the question.

i actually don't mind talking about this stuff - i just sometimes avoid it on main because i prefer chatting about it privately.

second, i'm no psychologist or sociologist, so i probably won't be able to give you the most satisfactory answer, but i think there are a lot of different reasons. i can only name a few. one thing i should mention right off the bat is that rape fantasies are very normal (and this is true whether you're a survivor of SA or not) and writing/reading fiction can be a safe way to process those thoughts/feelings.

one of prevailing reasons is, of course, that many survivors of SA use noncon/dubcon literature/art as a way of processing their experiences and taking ownership of their trauma.

and look, people are going to go back and forth on this point (i've seen it all before - many people refuse to believe that engaging with noncon lit/art is helpful, and in fairness, it's NOT helpful for everyone because every person is different), but at the end of the day, if a survivor tells you "writing/reading this was helpful in my recovery" then that's that!

additionally, for many women and non-binary folk (i can only speak as a cis woman, but i'm sure this is a shared lived experience across many different people), we're also taught from a very young age to suppress our sexual desires / that being open about our sexuality is morally reprehensible and shameful. and a lot of people carry that shame for years, impacting them well into adulthood. so dubcon/noncon fantasies can be a way of being able to enjoy sexual scenarios where you don't have to be the initiator, thus taking away some of the emotional weight and shame.

plus, at the end of the day (and im sure many people will disagree with this take, it's something that i'm still figuring out myself), there is a kind of weird underlying consent implicit in dark fics. like, you might be reading a fic or novel that's ostensibly noncon, but you're also actively seeking out that literature (hopefully it's not just sprung on you - i do very much agree with tagging to the fullest extent and my lukewarm take is that I think all books, even traditionally published ones, should come with content/trigger warnings too).

there are a medley of reasons why someone might write or read dark fiction/dark romance. again, i'm just one person and i can only speak from my own experience!

i think at the end of the day, the important thing to realize is that fiction is fake, and as long as the writer appropriately tags their work and ensures that the audience is aware of what they're getting into when they start reading, they're not coercing the reader into something they aren't prepared for.

and it's totally fine if you have limits (like, you can read and enjoy dubcon, but not noncon) or can't engage with the material at all, but it's also unfair to say that it reflects someone's real life values - the same way that we don't say that the people who enjoy crime fiction must love murder.

and the last thing i want to say because this got a bit out of hand lol, is that, yes, for some people dark fiction is genuinely harmful, whether or not they're a survivor. it's not for everyone and that's completely fine and i'm aware of that, which is why i agree that you should tag as much as possible (even if you feel like you're overdoing it sometimes), but someone else's discomfort doesn't give them the right to tell you how to process your own emotions/experiences/desires/etc.

as long as no one's getting hurt, there's no issue as far as i'm concerned. and sorry but, no one's getting hurt by reading a fic or a novel unless the author didn't give proper content warnings - if you "forgot" to read the tags or read anyway DESPITE being warned, im sorry but that's life.

[back2bluesidex]

Where Do Broken Hearts Go - Chapter 7- Finale (18+)

Pairing: Model, ex-boyfriend!Jungkook X Child psychologist, Fem!Reader X Lawyer, Single Dad!Hoseok. 

Summary: Jungkook stripped your emotions naked, left you bare in the chilly wind of despair and self-doubt with an unending heartache. You tried your hardest to move on from him, to live for yourself but failed miserably. Each night you had to come back to your empty home where memories and broken dreams were scattered all around the floor, until one day a little angel and her unbelievably beautiful father came into your life. Finally, when you find yourself healing, maybe falling too, Jungkook had to show up! Again!

Theme: Angst, pining, heartbreak, break-up, smut

Warnings: some explicit smut, Jungkook being immature, a little time leap, a fairy tale ending. NSFW!!!

Word count: 5k+

Taglist requests are closed.

Minors and karens are not allowed in this blog

A/N: Guys, we have come to the end. ngl, I am emotional and sad and not ready to let them go yet. but it's been more than 10 months since I started this series and it's the right time to end it. Please let me know about your thoughts in the comment section or in my askbox. More notes at the end.

Main Masterlist

Chapters:- 

Prologue/Masterpost || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 - Finale

There is a lot in Jungkook’s mind. 

He has been trying to calm himself down, trying not to think about you and focus on Jiwon but he has been failing terribly. 

The person he thinks of (or misses) mostly during all of his waking hours is, you. 

He knows he has been a dick to you. He borderline stalked you, invaded your privacy, riled you up and tried to justify his actions even when he should be the last person to do so. 

But he couldn’t help it. 

He still can’t. Just the thought of you belonging to someone else other than him drives him insane. 

Something shifted inside of him after that night. Something shifted so terribly that now he is questioning his life choices. 

He is questioning if he really fell out of love with you or not? ‘Cause if that was the case, his blood wouldn’t boil when your special client almost kissed you. 

Also, he wouldn’t walk up to your door and start questioning you as if he still has some kind of rights over you. 

So, what is it? 

Why does being with Jiwon never seem to be as exciting as it was with you? Why does kissing her never ignite that insatiable hunger you could induce with your lips? Why can’t he picture a future with her like he used to daydream with you? 

Why? 

He misses you! Fuck! He misses you! 

His eyes crave for your one sight, his skin wants your touch, his ears are dying to hear you call his name once. 

He doesn’t realize when he starts crying silently. 

He takes a hold of his phone and opens the gallery. Scrolling through the application he looks for the evidence of your once in-bloom relationship. 

But he finds none.

There is not a single photo. 

No photos from Jimin’s show two years ago, no photos from the last picnic of you two, no photos from the jeju trip, no photos with your parents. Not a single one. 

He frowns at that. 

He very certainly didn’t delete a single file. Then where are those memories? 

“Kook, can you drop me off at the set?” Jiwon speaks from behind the couch. 

He doesn’t pay attention at first, his fingers work vehemently scrolling up and down on the device. 

“Kook!” she almost screams now. 

“What?” Jungkook screams back. 

“What are you so busy with that you can’t even hear me out?” 

“My photos-” Jungkook starts speaking but he stops immediately. 

He never locked his personal phone with a password or whatever, so it remains accessible to almost everyone. Given the fact that he mostly uses his work phone, this particular device stays at home, unlocked.

“Did you.. Did you go through my phone?” he asks finally. 

Suspicion takes over his mind when Jiwon doesn’t say anything for several seconds. 

“I asked you something, Jiwon.” 

“Why? Is there something wrong?” Jiwon raises one of her eyebrows. 

“You know exactly what’s wrong, don’t you?” 

“I don’t think we should be having this conversation now-” “Why did you delete her photos? Who the fuck gave you the right to?” 

Jungkook yells at the top of his lungs, taking Jiwon by surprise. 

“What do you mean I don’t have the right? I am your girlfriend and she is your past, Jungkook! You’re supposed to let her go! Why are you still looking at her pictures?” Jiwon screams back, by the time her sentence ends, she is crying. 

“Because I love her. Yes! Yes, I still love her.” Jungkook yells as if he is realizing the words himself and not just telling Jiwon for the sake of it. The realization hits him like a truck.

“What? What are you-”

“I thought I liked you, Jiwon. But it was an illusion. It has always been her. I never felt for you as intensely as I felt for her.. I feel for her. I- I’m sorry. This is so fucked up! I am sorry to both of you. I misjudged my feelings and now-” 

“Stop it! Stop it! I can’t hear it anymore. Let’s take a break, Jungkook. Let’s take a few days away from each other. It will be fine. It will be fine.” 

Before Jungkook could reply to her, Jiwon runs out of the door. 

He knows he is the main culprit here. He hurt you both. But he also knows nothing can be fine anymore. Not at least between him and Jiwon. 

About you though, he can beg you until you take him back. 

You still love him after all. Don’t you? 

Jungkook feels nauseated as the scene unfolds right in front of him. 

He has come to beg you. He has come to tell you that he would do anything for you to take him back, he even lied for you to open the door. He did all of these only to have you turn your back at him. 

You tell him it’s too late but he is adamant. He silently promises himself that he will win you back but just then his eyes fall on the purple bruises littered all around your throat. 

You look like someone has been kissing you breathless. 

His heart drops at the thought. But he consoles himself, tells himself that you still love him and only him. 

But his fears take shape when a male voice speaks from the dining place of your once shared apartment, “Didn’t you hear what she said? She asked you to leave, Mr. Jeon.” 

Jungkook’s blood starts boiling when he sees it’s the guy from the other day. Your special client. 

So you are most definitely sleeping with him. 

“And who are you to come between us?” he grits through his teeth. Everything he sees is red. 

“I am her boyfriend.” the man replies as he comes to stand between Jungkook and you. 

Jungkook chuckles evilly, “No. You are just a rebound she is using to get over me.”

Jungkook expected the man to retort, to have a crack in his confidence but he only smirks, “I think you are confusing reality with your fantasy, Mr. Jeon.” 

The older guy gives him a flashing smile and continues, “you know her better than me. Do you really think she will be using someone for her own needs and benefits?” 

Jungkook’s heart breaks further. 

He knows you are definitely not a hypocrite. He knows if this guy is in your house, calling himself your boyfriend then he is your boyfriend. 

But he is determined to fight until he can’t anymore. 

He will be fighting until he wins you back. 

He diverts his attention to you again, “Y/N please-”

“Jungkook.. Now is not the right time. Let’s talk. Let’s talk things out but not now. I will text you the time and place. Please leave now. Please do as I say for once.” you cut him off. 

Your calm voice calms him down as well. And he decides to listen to you. 

“You promise to meet me?” 

“I promise.” 

You cover your face with your hands as soon as the door closes behind you. 

You are ashamed, so terribly ashamed of whatever happened that it’s tough to even look at Hoseok. 

He doesn’t deserve this, neither do you. 

“I’m sorry. I- I’m so fucking sorry, Hoseok.” you mumble inside your palms. 

Hoseok’s strong arms wrap around you and pull you into a hug. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. It's not your fault.” Hoseok speaks into your ear with his soft and comforting voice. Stroking your hair with one hand, he pats on your back with another. 

You’re incredibly grateful that you found this man and he likes you as much as you like him. 

If your life had driven Jungkook away to make space for Hoseok, then you would be incredibly happy with the sacrifices you made. 

“You don’t mind me seeing him, right?” you speak into Hoseok’s shoulder.

“No. Not at all. As long as you come back to me… I will be fine.” 

“You can be assured about that. I will always come back to you no matter what.” 

You can’t help but smile to yourself a little at the turn of events. 

Almost two months ago you were sitting at the same restaurant, in the same cabin, at the same spot. You were waiting for the same person but the reason was completely different. 

That day you were all nervous and fidgety. You knew you were aiming at a blind spot and your efforts might be nullified but you were determined to try. 

You were even ready to beg Jungkook if that means he would stay beside you, with you. 

And today, the situation has taken a wild turn. 

You are here to hear him out and today he might become the one to beg you to take him back. Your ego soars high but you know how to keep that in check. 

Jungkook is, as usual, late. 

When he finally arrives, he apologizes a ton of times, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. The traffic was so bad today.” 

“It’s okay. But I don’t have much time, so can you please tell me why you have been pulling all those stunts lately?” you start the conversation. Even though you are very worked up, you try to keep your voice neutral. 

“I- I am sorry, Y/N. I am actually ashamed. I know I shouldn’t have barged into your house like that or question you about your life. But I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop myself. At first I told myself that I am just concerned for you. But later I realized I have been deceiving myself. I have deceived myself for that every second I thought I didn’t love you anymore or I loved someone else. That’s not true. I- I still love you. I love you so damn much.” By the time Jungkook completes, his eyes turn glassy. 

The anger you have felt prior to this moment, vanishes into thin air. Now you feel bad for him. You really do. 

You nod, “I understand. It’s common for us to misjudge our feelings on several occasions but” inhaling a sharp breath you continue, “what’s done can’t be undone.” 

Jungkook leaves his seat and walks around the table to reach where you are sitting and then he is sinking down on his knees, “Y/N please. Please give me another chance. I- I will make things right.” he grabs your hands with his huge ones. Big fat trails of tears roll down his cheeks. 

The scene breaks your heart even further. 

You break his hold on your hands and hold him by his shoulders, hoisting him up on his feet. 

“Jungkook, there is no point in doing this. You know I have moved on.” 

“But- but you still love me. Don’t you? Tell me honestly, Y/N. don’t you still love me?” 

“A part of me will always be loving you, Jungkook. You have given me so much after all.” you give him a small smile, “but I have left that part behind. And now, I’m afraid, I’m in love with someone else." Just the thought of Hoseok puts your mind at ease. 

“Y/N- that guy has a kid!”

You chuckle at his complaint, “and how does that make him less deserving of love?” 

“He is a good human being, Jungkook, and he loves me just as much. That’s more than enough for me. I was never very demanding in the first place, you know that.” 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to understand just yet, “One last chance, please?”

You exhale loudly now. Diverting your eyes from him you murmur, “I love Hoseok, Kook. I really do. Please let me go now. Please?” 

Jungkook burst into tears upon hearing your verdict. You step closer to his body and hold him close to you. You pat on his back to calm him down. 

As a few seconds pass, he seems to stabilize himself. 

“But I won’t be giving up on you. I will wait. I will wait for you to take me back.” Jungkook states with a weird determination. 

You don’t say anything but nod a little. 

If Hoseok says he is completely comfortable with the idea of you meeting Jungkook alone, then it will be a lie. 

Because he is very much afraid of what may come out of this meeting. 

What if you decide to give the guy another chance? 

Hoseok trusts you with the entirety of his heart but sometimes fears are greater than the trust itself. 

This is the fifth time he takes a look at his watch. The meeting is still an hour away and the drive from the restaurant to the school is only fifteen to twenty minutes, so if you come out now, he will have enough time to understand what has been your decision. 

Just when he is about to peek at his watch another time, the restaurant door slides open and you walk out. 

You give him one of your iconic blinding smiles while running towards him to fall back into his arms.

Hoseok is now relieved. 

Because the way you smiled at him, the way you ran to his arms and the way you are placing a kiss on his lips now, tells him that he has nothing to worry about. 

That he has you all to himself now. 

He kisses you back with urgency, as if to confirm that you are really here in front of him. 

“You okay?” Hoseok asked once you are on your feet properly. 

“Umm.. I was fine. But now that I get to see this handsome face of my boyfriend, I feel even better.” you flirt shamelessly. 

God! How can you be this addictive? 

The tip of Hoseok’s ear turn red. He smiles a little sheepishly. He can’t remember the last time he felt this giddy around a woman. 

He squeezes your sides, lips almost find yours to capture in another kiss but a voice interrupted the affectionate moment. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” The question is directed at him. When Hoseok looks for the source of voice, he finds your ex, Jeon Jungkook, standing right behind you. 

He leaves your side, you turn around to face the younger man. 

“Jung-”

“Sure” Hoseok cuts you off. 

If Jungkook has something to say, he would make sure to share a piece of his mind as well. 

Hoseok non-verbally asks you to sit in the car while he figures out what in the world Jungkook would say to him. 

Once you are inside the car Jungkook starts speaking, “Just so you know, I won’t give up. I will always be here for her if she decides to come back to me.” 

Hoseok smiles at that “that won’t be necessary, I believe.” 

Jungkook fixes him with a glare, “I don’t know how things escalated between you and her but she-” he pauses at first and then diverts his eyes from Hoseok’s face, looks towards the car, “she is in love with you.” 

“The feelings are mutual.” Hoseok replies, keeping his calm demeanor. 

“Just don’t fuck things up like I did. Don’t hurt her like I-” he doesn’t continue.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” 

“What did you two talk about?” you seem to be genuinely curious about what your ex boyfriend had to say to your recent boyfriend. 

“You don’t need to know that, sweety.” teases Hoseok. 

You huff at his reply. 

In the span of your short relationship one thing Hoseok got to know about you is that you are incredibly cute when teased and he takes advantage of that knowledge whenever there is an opportunity.

“Okay but just tell me if he cursed you or something like that?” Now he knows that you are worried. 

“Not a chance, Y/N. He wouldn’t get away doing that, I am an attorney, remember?” he gives you one of those smiles that he knows you love way too much to admit.  

You nod. 

“You need to boast about your profession for this upcoming meeting a lot.” you say after a moment of silence.

“I know” Hoseok’s voice turns serious, “but I don’t know if I can do this or not, Y/N. I might just lose my cool.” 

You rest your left hand on his right one. Squeezing the same a little you reply, “I am here with you, Hoseok. I will handle it if things go out of hand, even though I don’t think that'll be the case.”

Hoseok’s mind sets itself on ease. If you are with him, he can do this. If you are with him, he can do anything.

“So.. you want me to believe that my son has been bullying your daughter?” The pitch of Jaemin’s mother’s voice is unnecessarily high and it hurts Hoseok’s ears. But he tries to calm himself down while focusing on your touch where you are holding his hand under the table. 

“Yes.” hoseok voices. 

“Do you have any proof?” the woman cocks one of her eyebrows. 

 “I am the proof myself, Mrs. Park. Being Sua’s therapist, I have gotten the chance to talk to her. Or rather I would say, I have made her talk to me as the child was way too afraid to share anything. And I assure you, your son has been bullying Jung Sua by outcasting her, calling her names that probably he doesn’t even know the meaning of, locking her in dark rooms and by damaging her relationship with her father. All apparently because she doesn’t have a mother.” you complete with a professional tone, something that the other woman can’t dare to defy. 

“B-but he is just seven years old-”

“That’s exactly my point, Mrs. Park. Given the fact that Jaemin is only seven years old, there is no way he knows what illegitimate is. He must have heard it from someone. Someone he could easily pick it up from.” you lean a little towards the table, narrowing your eyes on the woman. 

“What? What are you trying to say? Are you blaming me? That I have bad-mouthed Sua or something?” Jaemin’s mother screams at the top of her lungs. 

“Ma’am please, don’t shout.” the homeroom teacher rushes to stop the woman from yelling. 

“Yeobo! Stop it.” Jaemin’s father tries to do the same. 

He has been quiet from the start and from the looks of it, you can tell that the man is wiser than his wife. He probably understands what you and Hoseok are trying to convey. 

“We have not said anything explicitly. But you are getting worked up anyway, which suggests you are the one he picked it up from. If that’s the case then… just so you know that I can sue you for defaming my family and indirectly torturing my daughter.” Hoseok states flatly, even though his insides are burning already. 

“No. no, Mr. Jung. I am sorry for what has happened. I know my apologies are not enough and these can never undo the mental trauma that my son has caused to your daughter but I promise I will move him to a different school. Just please don’t drag us into anything legal. Please.” the man, who is clearly the oldest in the room, practically pleads Hoseok. 

Hoseok feels a little uneasy but then you squeeze his hand again, giving him a sign to settle the matter here. 

“I am okay with the proposition.” he lets everyone know. 

“Okay. This is settled then.” the homeroom teacher huffs out of relief. 

“We are all good now.” you say as the two of you are outside of the school.

“Thank-”

“Shut it, Hoseok. Thank me one more time and I will run away.” you whine angrily, a little pout graces your pretty lips. Hoseok wants to kiss it again and again.

He laughs instead. 

“Okay okay fine. Let’s go home.” he pulls you closer to his body by holding onto your forearms. 

“Sua is away on a Gwangju trip, right?” you seem to recall it finally. 

“Oh yeah. We can have our own trip tonight, baby.” Hoseok replies, licking on his bottom lips. His eyes drop on the narrow opening of your dress shirt. 

“What trip?” you smirk.

“Sex trip.” he whispers, squeezing on your waist. 

“Oh my god! Ho-Hoseok!” you groan seductively as Hoseok pounds on you as roughly as possible. 

He spreacds your asscheeks with both of his hands to take a look at the spot where his cock is disappearing into your hole. 

“Fuck baby! You are taking me so good. Your little cunt is swallowing my cunt so well, baby.” he praises, you moan as a reply. 

Two of his fingers chase your clit to draw slow, torturing circles.

“God! You are swollen!” he bemoans when his fingers come in contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Guess who ate me out minutes ago? As if it was his last meal?” you manage to say in between your ragged breaths. 

“Can’t help when you taste so good!” His reply is accompanied with a harsh thrust.

“Hoseok. -seok ah, I’m clo-” and even before you could complete your sentence, you cum.

The sight of you on all fours, drenching his cock while moaning his name, makes the tension in his lower stomach unbearable. 

So he releases inside the condom embarrassingly early. 

You fall on your face on his mattress, he falls on top of you.

“Let me run you a bath, hm?” he says in your hair. You nod. 

“Y/N” Hoseok calls your name as he strokes your hair softly. 

“Hm?” you mumble in his chest.

“I am thinking of telling Sua once she comes back from Gwangju. What do you say?” 

Your heart races at the thought. Honestly, you have been pondering on the topic for the past few days. You totally understand if Hoseok doesn't want to tell her anything just yet. But you also wondered what if she rejects you, unapproves you just as she did with Mina. 

“We should tell her. But-” you let your voice fade.

“But?”

You pull your face away from Hoseok’s chest and look into his eyes, “what if she doesn’t-” 

“I love you. I will be loving you, nothing can change that. And if she doesn’t approve of us together, I will try my best to change her mind.”  He gives you a smile. 

You return the gesture and you find solace in his chest again. 

“Oh I always knew.” Sua is more focused on the cookies you baked her than the conversation, which is indeed very serious. 

“You knew what?” you try to coax the answer out of her. Her father is sitting still with his mouth open ajar. 

“I knew that daddy likes you. And that you like daddy." She bites on the cookie. 

“How did you know it, Sua?” your eyes open much wider than you have ever had them opened. 

“He doesn’t take anyone to the bakery, you know. Not even emo and halmoni. And the way he panicked when I talked about Mina aunty.” the kid giggles. 

Apparently, a seven year old caught on to the feelings of two adults. You two have been that obvious all these time. 

“So… you are okay with Y/N?” Hoseok asks. It is as lf he is asking permission from his parents, which in this case might have been less nerve wrecking.  

“Ummm yeah. I like her and I always wanted a mommy.” Sua smiles at you. Her eyes crinkle. 

Is this what true validation feels like? 

Not what your partner thinks about how your dress or makeup looks or how well you have been taking care of your skin, but a seven year old kid, giving you the place of her mother despite knowing you for less than two months? It is true validation for sure. 

Tears prick your eyes but you are quick to blink those away. 

“I will try my best to be your best mommy, Sua. I promise.” you open your arms wide. Sua takes the invitation and jumps on your embrace. 

You hug her smaller frame, while your smaller frame gets engulfed by Hoseok’s body. You feel his tears on your head. 

A year later

Jungkook was euphoric when he got your message a week ago. You had asked him to meet you at the same place where he broke your heart once and then in turn you broke his. 

But… 

Today he got a good feeling about it. 

It’s been more than a year since he fucked up and lost you. And as if to redeem himself, he waited for you. 

He checked up on you from time to time. He asked to see you, even though you declined. But what’s more important is that he kept telling himself one day you will be coming back to him. 

And he thinks… today is the day. 

He is not late today, rather he came thirty minutes earlier than the time you decided to meet. However, waiting makes him nervous. And waiting for you is overwhelmingly so. 

The cabin door creaks open and he sees you entering.

It’s been more than a year since he last saw you. If there’s anything that has changed by the time, then it’s that you have gotten even more beautiful. 

You look gorgeous in the midnight blue bodycon dress that you chose to wear today. He can’t help but grasp at your beauty. 

And when you smile at him, fully, he loses his breath. 

How the fuck did I even think I fell out of love with her? he thinks to himself. 

“Hey” you chime in, taking the seat across from him, “you are in time.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Not this time.” he replies genuinely. But he can see your smile dulling a bit. 

“So..” you start. Jungkook crosses his fingers under the table, “how are you doing, Kook?” 

“I am doing fine, Y/N, at least physically. But mentally, I don’t know. I am- I am not over you yet.” he confesses. 

You sigh, “you should move on, Jungkook. It’s been more than a year. It’s time for you to forgive yourself and move on.” 

“I don’t even want to try, Y/N. I am going to wait for you.” and he is serious about it. 

“Okay. Now let me come to the reason behind wanting to meet you.” you change the topic as you busy yourself in looking for something inside your bag. 

You pull out an envelope and extend it towards him.

One look at it and Jungkook knows what it is and suddenly he can’t breathe at all. 

“I’m getting married next month, Jungkook and I would be very happy if you come to congratulate me and Hoseok.” you look at him as if you are pitying him. 

He laughs. He laughs out loud, “You really are getting married to him?” 

“Yes. Thank you for leaving me back then. If you didn’t leave me, I would have never seen this day or be as happy as I am now.” 

Jungkook tries to find mockery in your voice or in your eyes but what he finds is sincerity. 

You are actually thankful to him for leaving you. 

The heavy door of the waiting room opens as a staff walks in, “ma’am you have a visitor.” she says before standing away from the door and allowing the visitor to come in. 

It’s Jungkook. 

You never expected him to actually come. But he did and you are happy to see him here. 

“Kook.” you call him, making him smile. 

Jungkook ogles at you. You look like a dream come true. You look better than his imagination in which you wore this white gown to take vows with him. 

And it would been him if he was good enough, instead, he had to fuck things up.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. You look perfect.” Jungkook’s genuine words make your heart melt. 

“Thanks. I am glad you came.” 

“I had to. Congratulations. I am happy for you.” Jungkook smiles easily, he extends his hand to invite you into his embrace. 

You accept it. 

A knock rings on the door. 

“Y/N. come out. It’s time.” Mi seon screams from outside. 

“Yeah coming.” you reply, breaking the hug, taking one last look into your ex-boyfriend’s eyes.  

Hoseok had never thought a day like this would come for him as well. 

A day where he would wear an immaculate tuxedo, stand at the pavilion and wait for his bride to walk up to him. 

But it’s happening. 

And it’s happening all because of you. 

It’s safe to say that you have changed his and Sua’s life within this one year. And now he can’t imagine a life where you aren’t there to make it better. 

Sua, too, now loves you more than him, probably. 

His parents love you, his sister cherishes you, his friends call you incredible. 

All in all, he has found heaven in you. And he hopes you found peace in him as well. 

The piano starts playing as you appear at the other side of the aisle, holding your father by his arm. 

You are smiling from ear to ear. Even from a distance he can tell that you are staring right at him. 

You know Hoseok is devastatingly handsome, but he looks even dreamier as a groom. You could cry from just the way he stares at you with eyes full of love. 

Your father squeezes the back of your hand, nodding at you and probably praising your choice in men. 

Initially you were scared of your parents' reaction, of what they might think when they get to know that Hoseok is a single-father and he has never been married before.

But with Hoseok, things can’t go wrong. Your parents accepted him and Sua readily when they got to know his past. 

Now, your parents and Sua are practically inseparable. 

You start walking towards the man of your dream waiting for you to make him yours. 

When you get closer to him, he holds your hands so softly as if you are made of porcelain. 

One by one you take the vows, intertwining your life with his. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest says. 

Hoseok lowers his head to catch your lips, “forever?” he asks.

“Forever.” you answer, as you seal your promise for an eternity.      

Taglist 1:-

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @xjoonchildx @justmewondering-recs @cuteipat @miakey98 @purpleanchorcrown @chimmisbae @ane102 @junniesoleilkth @terjeonbebas @kookssecret @appleh4ad @kayleeshinee @whoa-jo @definetlythinkimanalien @lovelgirl22 @agrika

Taglist 2:-

@llallaaa @mikrokookiex @parkinglot-nights @hiqhkey @diamonddia-mond @00frenchfries00 @koalasandcuddles @superchamchi88 @ttanniett @coralmusicblaze @multiasf @kookscumrag @sumzysworld @knjjjk @xtrataerrestrial @survivalistghost @kelsyx33 @aann95 @btsffreader92 @jjk174 @dragonflygurl4 @xwniazx

A/N: Thanks thanks thanks to all of you for being incredible readers. I really can't thank you all enough for being so into the story, for interacting with me through the progress, for being as attached to the characters as I am, for being patient whenever I was late to upload. Where Do Broken Hearts Go will remain very close to my heart and your positive reaction is a big part of the reasons why. Just know that Nika loves you. Nika loves every single one of you a ton! <3

[rtv-puzzlevision-studios]

☆ THE RTV!PUZZLEVISION TOUR [Part 2]

Participants actions:

Becky

Marie

Loyboo

Astro

Nia

Nicknack

Harley

Grinnames

Asper

Vex

Lucas

Lari

Rayas

Lily

Creature

Sci

The Director

Bunnybot

The Scammer

KuromiPuzzles

Messy

Orion

Nira

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

While the voting continued, RTV was kind of just pacing around near Colores giving a smile here and there, asking how it’s going.

Typical host behavior.

Okay, maybe he was also shooting a few glares, especially in the direction of a certain head of the Delivery Department.

He was really considering not paying her that overtime because her grumpiness was starting to piss him off.

Something she managed quite often.

Tearing his eyes away from Nicknack, he now turned his attention towards that same brown-haired rough looking girl he talked with before.

Now she looked even worse, oh boy.

“Okay! I’m not sick, just sleep deprived!! The nightmare realm takes out on me a lot.”, she defended herself, even though RTV never even voiced his suspicion that she was sick. Apparently he had been a bit too obvious, whoops.

“I never MEANT to imply-”, he tried to say, but was immediately cut off again as the girl ranted on.

“All because my “friends” abused me and left me to die in a crumbling castle, which was my home. But the King - of the Nightmare Realm - is my friend and took me in. But… he doesn’t understand that keeping me up and having a panic attack every 5 minutes-”

“Miss.”, he interrupted her now, really trying to keep the exasperated tone out of his voice, as he folded his hands behind his back. “With respect but that sounds like something you should discuss with a professional.”

The TV head gave her a faked look of pity, before patting her shoulder once and moving past her.

“Preferably someone in the PSYCHOLOGY department…”, he muttered to himself, before quickly distancing himself from this particular participant before he was there to witness a live breakdown.

Perhaps incidents like this were why he should get some sort of therapist or psychologist on the team, but he really didn’t need people to think that his studio was a bad work environment. It was fine! Aside from a few hiccups here and there everyone was satisfied with the pay, the work-

Okay who was he kidding, alone the Film Department was a mess. Internally sighing, he put it on his very long to-do list. 

Note to self: Hire mental health support.

His attention was briefly diverted to another person he had talked to before. The brown haired guy with the missing arm. 

They were currently happily yapping about all the props and Puzzlevision elements before noticing RTV’s glance and slightly shrinking.

“Ahem…apologies, Mr.Puzzles.”

Was he that intimidating?

Flashing the participant a smile, he waved the apology aside.

“Why apologize? You came here to ADMIRE after all!”

He extended his arms.

“Please, feel free to look AROUND the studio while we are still here!”

In the next second, RTV’s smile slightly froze as he got a notification from Wr3n.

Taking his phone out of his coat, he spared it a quick glance.

Got one sneaking away.

Attached was a screenshot of a blonde figure sneaking towards a certain office door. Ah, that explained why Wr3n was notifying him and not security.

He raised his eyes, muttering an “Excuse me”, before moving towards the crowd straight towards the target which was just about to open the office door.

Mask’s office door.

“Now now, GOING somewhere?", he now spoke, placing a hand on the person’s shoulder watching with satisfaction how the deviant froze and then looked up to him.

“Sorry, thought I heard something, thought someone maybe wandered off and uh, well you know, figured I get them." they said, giving a shrug with a chuckle, before they looked off to the side, and avoided eye contact.

RTV was not buying it for a second, but right now he was way more interested in the person’s resemblance to Mask.

Another doppelganger no doubt, either from another universe or an insert without  background. He was betting on the first.

Either way, they had no business being here.

His eyes narrowed a tad at the familiar feeling that cursed through his cold hand as he touched the participant’s shoulder.

Could it be…?

“Oh but of COURSE, can't have that, can we? However I assure you everyone is accounted for, perhaps NEXT time, let security do their job, no need to wander off, hmmm?" RTV now snapped out of his observations, before his hands clasped together.

For now he needed that one away from this office.

Luckily, they seemed to play along, giving the TV head a nod.

"Very good! Now, why don't you join the OTHERS and cast your vote, we'll be leaving for the next department shortly!”, he announced before placing his hand on their back instead now and pushing them along, back to the crowd.

As soon as he had led them back there, his smile dropped and he gestured for Chris to keep an eye on that one.

What was their name even again…? He typed the question to Wr3n.

Astro.

Astrovision AU.

Ah, that explained a lot.

“Ah, Sorry-”

Stuffing his phone back into his coat, he turned to look down at the horned girl who had bumped into him a second ago.

His dry stare slightly softened as he saw the Puzzles Plushie in her hands.

A fan apparently.

If a clumsy one.

“No worries, go along, but do take CARE of your surroundings, yes?”, he spoke in a forgiving voice, gesturing for her to go along, before shaking his head and moving back to his previous position.

One that was approached by an individual with swirly eyes, black and red horns and weirdly floating ribbons around her waist a few seconds later.

He recognized this one as “Grinnames”, as she was one of the people whose submissions he had read through and saw sometimes when on the site for business with his ask box.

Well, at least the visitors seemed to warm up to them enough to ask questions now.

And he didn’t have to wait long for Grinname’s.

Raising her arm, she voiced her question in the next question.

“Colores! Mr. Puzzles! I have a question! Two questions actually. First, why aren’t Bob and Saiko on the crew anymore?”

Ah.

Well, he should have seen that one coming.

“Also…”, Grinnames now continued more sheepishly, tapping her fingers together. “Could I… possibly… if it’s no trouble… have the box of fan mail from Valentine’s day?”

RTV’s eyebrows rose in the air.

Luckily, Colores managed to ask the question that was running through his own head, but nicer.

“And… why would you want the fan mail? They’re not… addressed to you, you know.”, she asked Grinnames, confusion clear in her voice.

“Well, to be completely honest with you, I was planning to read all of them. And then eat them.”

“…”

The silence was deafening as even more questions filled RTV’s head.

“So can I have them?”, Grinnames repeated.

Feeling Colores’ helpless stare on him, he now sighed, crossing his arms as he looked down at the menace.

“I highly advise you against eating these letters, as they probably taste like tears, CHEESY romance and PARASOCIAL relationships.”, he spoke dryly, before smirking. “So that’s a no, I’m afraid.”

Next to him he heard Colores hide her chuckle behind a cough.

“As for your first question, well, Saiko and Bob have been…let go a while ago due to some HEAVY tension in the crew.”, RTV explained with a saddened tone, one hand absentmindedly tapping on the long scar that was hidden behind his sleeve.

Why did that guy even have blades for hands?

“So, I fear they won’t be appearing on the shows anytime soon.”, he continued, shrugging with a shake of his head. “Rest assured though they are just FINE.”

Physically.

“Oh yeah, I also heard someone ask about Luigi.”, Colores now added, folding her hands. “He’s fine as well, but he resigned from the crew even before I was hired because of what happened to his brother.”

“And there you have it. Now, if you would excuse me…”, RTV spoke, his solemn expression immediately turning back to a bright smile as he now turned to the next asker.

This was going to take a while.

☆

“ALRIGHT, THE VOTES ARE IN! WE ARE GOING TO THE FILM DEPARTMENT!”

Lucian who had been leaning against a wall next to the door after his talk with Sci, now watched how the people slowly started to leave the studio and started gathering in the hallway.

Chris and Swag already followed the crowd which meant that he was staying in the studio until the last people had left.

He briefly looked up, watching as his sister talked to that one anxious participant with the fox ears, visibly assuring them.

“Lucian.”

The object head tensed as RTV suddenly stood next to him.

For someone this tall, the TV head had the uncanny skill to sneak up on people.

“What’s up…boss?”, he forced himself to a casual attitude even though he felt like throwing his fist right into that man’s screen.

RTV gave him a narrowed glance for a second, the condescension visible in his eyes for a few seconds, before he lowered his voice.

“What’s the status on Animsay?”

Ah, so this what it was about.

“Worried she has more things planned that you didn’t know about?”,Lucian couldn’t help but mock, clearly referring back to the fanmail talk.

A scowl slowly faded into RTV’s expression.

“You already managed to ruin your relationship with your sister all on your own.”, he slowly drawled, slightly leaning down to Lucian. “Do you think I can make it worse?”

Everytime he brought Colores into this Lucian felt like taking his gun and ending this story once and for all, but he lost once before.

He was surrounded by people who obeyed RTV, followed him.

His sister included.

If she killed him, she would be one of the first to call security on him, probably hate him forever too because you didn’t just break out of brainwash like that.

RTV had a solid grip on his sister’s mentality and he wasn’t afraid to remind Lucian of it.

“Wr3n set her loose shortly before the tour began.”, Lucian now answered, forcing the hostility out of his voice. “If she’s not here, she’s probably roaming around. You know she’s not exactly caring about set timelines.”

“She better be about THIS one.”, RTV muttered, now walking past Lucian towards the crowd, screen displaying a happy face again though his muttered sentence did not match. “Or her vacation is going to be permanent.”

Lucian lowly snorted at that.

As if.

Without Animsay this whole tour would not even have been set up.

RTV needed her if he wanted to manage that whole 4th wall business even if he was too proud to admit it.

The sound of rustling paper made him glance up the ceiling where he saw Colores now picking something up from some of the cubicles.

Some kind of paper.

He quickly looked away when she looked over to him, not wanting to spark another argument because of his “overprotective brother behavior”.

Tsk, if she knew.

“Do me a favor?”

“Huh?”

Lucian looked up as his sister floated over to him, handing him the paper.

“So now we are talking again?”, he asked, but took it, giving the paper which turned out to be a drawing a puzzled look.

It included several versions of Puzzles with RTV in the middle.

Absolutely something that belonged to the tour participants.

“If you could stop for once to stop behaving like I can’t do my job-”, Colores started.

“It’s not about your job, it’s about the boss-”

“-that gave YOU a job after you wrecked your whole life and that of a bunch of others.”, Colores hissed, before shaking her head. “No, I’m not going into this again with you today. Take the drawing, give it to the one with the striped uniform. See you later.”

With that she turned around, giving a desk with what appeared to be a star on it a side glance before shrugging and disappearing into the depths of the studio.

Lucian stood there for a second, hesitating before cursing and turning around to catch up to the group which RTV had meanwhile began leading to the next destination.

Finding the owner of the drawing wasn’t too difficult as her uniform stood out quite easily and she was at the back of the group.

Putting a hand on the robotic fox-like girl’s shoulder, Lucian turned her attention towards him.

“Keep going.”, he told her reassuringly, noticing her startled expression before handing her the drawing. “Don’t lose it, alright?”

Taking it, she muttered what appeared to be a thanks before turning around and moving on.

Lucian did notice how the tension he had previously noticed on her seemed to slightly leave.

Well, his sister always had been better at making people happy.

Sighing, he crossed his arms, as he proceeded to walk at the end of the group, blending out RTV’s speech.

☆

“The Film Department makes the CORE of the Headquarters, after all Puzzlevison’s main thing is to create MOVIES and SHOWS for everyone!”, RTV meanwhile explained while leading the group back the way they came. Luckily for them, there was a second less cursed staircase in the hallway to the left that led back to the ground floor. “I could of course show you all the different studios we have, but I think you may be interested in a PARTICULAR part of said department.”

RTV now stepped to the side, gesturing for Swag to take the lead for a second.

He had to check up on something.

While Swag began leading the group onto the ground level over the staircase, RTV moved past it and a few meters back to the elevator they passed beforehand.

Pressing the button he called for the elevator, before slipping inside as soon as the doors opened.

If anyone were to step in as well, they would have seen RTV slightly sizing down to fit better into the lift.

It had been a premonition pretty much, a little hunch if you will and lo and behold, he was right to have taken this way.

A scowl placed itself on his screen as he glance at the floor buttons.

Below the two buttons that were accessible to everyone, were three other buttons that led to the basement levels.

Floors which were usually hidden behind a secret panel, one that a certain other TV head had carelessly left open.

He was seriously regretting his decision now.

It's always something like this.

Small things that could cause disaster, intentionally left around for her amusement.

To bring in some action as she would say.

RTV didn't want action in this tour, he just wanted a civilized little event, gather some data about these people and that was it.

With a loud sigh, he now put the panel back in place with a practiced motion, before pressing the button to the ground floor.

Really, one of these days he was going to-

Ping!

The doors of the elevator opened, revealing a much smaller TV head with a turquoise scarf and black and green clothing.

The black screen, which only displayed a few blue lines, temporarily showed a digital sweatdrop running down the face, before it revealed a curled smile.

“Oh, hey RTV-”

“YOU.”

In the next second, Animsay was lifted off the floor by the collar of her jacket and came face to face with a very angry RTV.

“I decided to let you back for the first time in MONTHS and this is how you repay me?”, he snarled at her.

“Weeeeeeelll”, Animsay drawled slowly. “If you look at it, I’m simply trying to fulfill our promise to the other audience by leaving narrative devices that could be used later to-”

“-to RUIN me?”, RTV ended the sentence for her, glowering.

“...well, it’s all a matter of chance…?”

“One. Just ONE more of these shenanigans and I swear I will-”

“Ahem.”

The fake cough made RTV halt in his threats as he turned his head to look at the rest of the tour group which had now arrived around the corner.

….great.

“- haaave a TALK with you.”, RTV now finished his sentence, before placing Animsay back on the floor.

Said TV head gave a thumbs up, before turning to walk away.

“Great! I will keep that in mind, See y-”

“Don’t even try.”

“On the other hand, staying with you sounds like a very good idea!”, Animsay announced, making a U-turn to join the group to which Swag let out a groan.

She wasn’t exactly beloved among employees.

“Hello, bonjour, assalamu alaikum, hallo!”, she now began shaking several random people’s hands, among them those of Asper’s, Nia’s and Vex who seemed to be zoned out by all the talking, before pointing at herself. “The name’s Animsay, some of you may know me from a certain site, wink wink, others maybe not. I’m the head of the Social Media Department but we will probably get to that later! Probably.”

She turned her head away from RTV, whispering behind her hand.

“Depending on your choices, yada yada. You read the rules.”

Running a glove down his face, RTV’s eyes closed for a second as he mumbled something under his breath before he turned back to the group.

“MOVING ON- if you would start following me again.”, he now raised his voice again, this time a clear strain to his cheery tone. 

He began leading them down the hallway with several doors with name tags on the one side and windows that showed an open area outside on the other side. In the near distance one could spot a familiar purple themed castle.

Animsay had efficiently placed herself in the middle of the crowd just far enough away from any security guard who would rather have her standing not to them. 

Whistling, she now slowly moved next to a certain trio consisting out of a Siren, a robot and an undercover TV head.

“Glad to finally meet you face to face! Hope you’re enjoying the tour so far.”, she innocently began small talk, before nodding to the side.

“Oh, by the way, the many doors we are passing? All offices, mainly of the Administration Department. Pretty neat, right? The offices of the heads, such as myself, each have their own office in the building block their department belongs to. Well, with exception for 3 he prefers to keep in the castle. Mine and Colores are in B!”, she happily began rambling.

The Director just quirked an eyebrow, confusion and scepticism in his gaze, while ​​the Siren blinked in surprise but seemed intrigued.

Bunnybot on the other hand grinned, greeting the fellow, what he assumed was a robot, with a bright smile and a wave.

 "I can't speak for everyone here," he shrugs, "but I'm having a great time!~"  

He listens quietly as the newcomer begins to ramble about this and that, leaning in with interest whilst stealing a glance at "Micheal" out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, anyway I probably shouldn’t hang around too much or the boss gets weird, bye bye!”

With that she moved on to search for the next victim to yap to, in this case a former employee and friend.

“Hey Mi, wait for me!!”

“Ani??”, the black haired girl gave the TV head a hug, before lowering her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yep! No need to worry!!”

“I’m sure you’ve GUESSED by now where we are heading.”, RTV now spoke again, now opening a set of doors that led to the inner courtyard. “The SMG4, now SMG3 castle has gotten a bit of a rework to fit more to it’s NEW crew.”

Setting the doors so they wouldn’t move he now took the lead again, walking past the grassy fields and a few planted trees and benches.

“This area is often used by employees during BREAKS by the way. It can be accessed from ALL building blocks. Building Block C contains the studios of the Film Department. If you WISH we could take a look at them later, but I think you may be much more interested in the crew’s residence.”

A few moments later, they arrived in front of the SMG3 castle’s gates which Chris and Swag opened for them.

Stepping inside, they were welcomed by the familiar yet recolored interior. 

Checkered floor, two staircases leading up to a room above and several doors with pillars next to them leading to more side rooms.

However, instead of being blue shaded and decorated with SMG4 banners, the interior now was colored in several purple shades and Puzzlevision as well as SMG3 logos.

If one looked above they could also see that the ceiling had been turned into looking like a star filled sky.

“WELCOME TO THE SMG3 CASTLE!”, RTV announced, now moving in the middle of the room, next to the crew who had meanwhile been gathering while the group fully walked in.

Behind them, Lucian closed the doors in front of Animsay who had tried to slip back outside.

The “SMG3 gang” looked pretty similar to its original self if with less members and slight signs of overwork and aside from Tari missing Clench.

All were in uniform, now greeting the group with Meggy and Boopkins giving a bright smile and a wave, while Tari settled on a more sheepish and hesitant one, avoiding eye contact.

The head of the group, SMG3 meanwhile stepped next to RTV, looking awfully tiny next to the 12ft TV head.

Barely hidden dark shadows could be seen below his eyes and although it was clear that he had tried to look his best for today, there was still an aura of exhaustion surrounding him.

Clearing his throat, he now gave the group a two-fingered salute.

“Hey! I’m SMG3, but I’m pretty sure ya know that already.”

He now waved over to the rest of the crew.

“I’m the head of the Film Department and also the leader of the SMG3 gang.”

He then nodded to the other three.

“Me, Tari, Meggy and Boopkins welcome you to our crib- I mean base of operations!”

The meme guardian let out a small sigh of relief as Meggy now took over.

God, he was so tired.

“The film department is responsible for creating all the shows and movies that you know from Puzzlevision.”, Meggy now continued. “Of course, we don’t make alone at headquarters, some of our other locations also have their own studios, but all the movies and shows containing our cre- gang, specifically, are made here in the headquarters.”

SMG3 couldn’t help but rub over his eyes as he remembered the bunch of work he had to go through the next few days.

Maybe he should start asking for a vacation, but what would people think?

The Film Department was already known as the most dysfunctional part of the headquarters ever since he took over.

Constant bickering, overtime, deadline stress and then Saiko and Bob got fired.

Even now he hated himself for doing that, but he just couldn’t do it anymore.

Had he overreacted?

Sure, maybe, but he didn’t think it would end with them cutting contact with everyone.

He really thought they would come around eventually, understand why he pulled Puzzles into this and maybe they could have talked it out.

No such thing possible apparently and now-

…and now he was zoning out.

Blinking a few times, SMG3 forced himself back to the present, clearly feeling Tari’s concerned look on him.

“The Film Department consists of the whole castle and a few studios and offices over in Block C.”, he now heard Meggy move on. “Aside from acting, we are of course also responsible for editing, the whole technical aspects like cameras and sound and script writing though the latter is often taken over or proofread by Mr. Puzzles.”

RTV nodded at that.

“So yeah, if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask them! Other than that feel free to explore the castle! I know a lot of fans always want to see it, so go ahead.”

“You can go anywhere except for the room upstairs.”, SMG3 now butted in, stuffing hands into the pockets of his overalls. “It's, uh, not cleaned up.”

In reality he simply didn’t want people putting their nose into his and SMG4’s setup that he still didn’t put away.

It just felt…wrong.

“Yeah, aside from that you can access the kitchen where we have a few snacks and drinks standing, the storage where honestly ain't much except a bunch of equipment and whatever we stuffed in there, the gaming room if you want to play a few games with Tari, the guest room if you just want to relax for a second I guess and lastly the bathroom if, ya know.”, Meggy added on, before crossing her arms and giving a nod. “Thaaat’s pretty much it! Have fun exploring!”

“Oh-oh! Can I play some animes on the TV in the guest room, pleeeease?”, Boopkins now perked up, prompting the gang to all look over to RTV to make the decision.

Said TV head looked like he would rather not have that happening, but sighed.

“...sure. Whoever wants to watch an ANIME, though I doubt we even have the time-”

“-I will put on the mini-episodes-!”

“-they can follow Boopkins into the GUEST room.”

“Yippeee!”

SMG3 watched the small green fish waddle off in the direction of the Guest Room.

Despite all the exhaustion of the last days, he was still somehow the most enthusiastic of them all.

The meme guardian used to find that trait of his annoying, now he really wanted to desperately know his secret.

Unfortunately the price for it was a sleepover and an anime marathon.

Well, until he got over to doing that he would just have to stay through this.

Answer questions.

Play nice.

☆

After a while, RTV figured that it was time for another vote.

In the meantime he had pulled SMG3 away from the interacting crowd and next to himself for better observation.

The man was done, he could tell as much and it may have been the fault of the last movie deadlines that got way too close to each other.

Well, it stressed RTV too so he wasn’t the only one suffering.

What he was more worried about was the fact that SMG3 tended to overthink when in this state and when he overthought stuff it often came to him questioning everything about the event that started his whole career.

The Puzzlevision movie.

And that was something RTV would rather not deal with today.

“ALRIGHT, NEXT VOTE STARTS NOW!”, he announced, his loud voice making SMG3 flinch for a second, before he quickly tried to hide his reaction by rubbing over his neck.

The rough feeling of missing texture quickly made him lower his hand.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list

@niranutcake @fenicearts420 @leirom71000 @entityarts @alelathedragon @mylifeisfakeenjoy @lari-the-dragon @lislelycan-i-am-dumb-lol @rat-n-atty @nia1sworld @untitled14360 @Irayasostripes @theclosetcreature @jovialoddity @purpdrawsthings @varian-the-alchemy-boi

All characters of mine are able to be interacted with as usual! If you questions about how they would react, never be afraid to shoot me a message!

[osamusbigtits]

osamu hated the school psychologist's office. he sat on the couch, the only spot he deemed normal in the entire room. hospital white walls were covered in pictures and posters, bright with motivational sayings that grated on osamu's senses. the room was filled with furniture; bean bag chairs, classroom plastic chairs, rainbow-colored rugs, and various pillows and mats to sit on. toys and stuffed animals littered the room, always on the ground unless osamu was sent first thing in the morning.

he squirmed in his spot. uncomfortable. he hated being in this room alone. but they started to separate osamu and atsumu.

the left side of osamu left bare, open to the world. the spot where atsumu should have been sitting.

the psychologist walked in with a bright smile. osamu curled in on himself. he hated that faux smile plastered on her face. to him, it was a sign he was about to be asked uncomfortable questions while she assured him everything would be okay.

despite himself, osamu reached out and grabbed one of the squishy toys on the table in front of where he sat. it was a red stress ball, stressed and worn with use. but osamu liked to hold it in his hands and squeeze it until his hands hurt, tension lacing down his wrists and through his fingers. for a moment, the pain would clear his mind, distract him from everything.

this time, the psychologist sat in front of him as he let go and his mood quickly soured again.

"your teacher said you were struggling today," she said, voice soft and gentle. it reminded osamu of his mom. he looked down at his hands, beginning to squeeze again. "do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"no," osamu replied. he watched the stress ball slowly fill to its original form.

"okay," she said. she always said that when osamu said no to talking. he almost wished she would fight him like the teacher did. desperate to get him to listen only for him to say no and do whatever he wanted.

"I've got a new idea," she said, easily pivoting. osamu looked up at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I know you don't like to talk." she pulled out a notebook. a small thing, the cover had different balls on it: volleyball, baseball, basketball, and so on. "I tried to find one with volleyballs on it, but this was the best i could find."

she set it on the table and slides it toward osamu. despite himself, he sat forward and peered down. he was a curious child, always had been. and this was simply dangling bait in front of his nose. and he was about to fall for it.

"have you heard of journaling, osamu?" she asked. he shook his head and pulled the notebook towards him. he opened the first page and found a prompt written in neat kanji. osamu tilted his head, mouthing the words to himself.

"you don't have to, but I would like you to try. I wrote a question on the first few pages to help get you started. but, I would like you to write about your day. however you would like." osamu glanced up at her and quickly looked away from her encouraging smile. "I won't ever read this. its just for you. and no one else has to. I can even tell mom to stay away."

osamu swallowed. "that's okay," he said. his mom had always respected his privacy. it was atsumu he was more worried about.

she slid over a pencil. "you can write. I have some work to finish. you can walk over if you need me, okay?"

osamu nodded. he stared blankly at the page as she walked away. eventually, the sounds of her tapping at a keyboard filled the room.

osamu slid off the couch and onto the ground

"write 3 things that make you sad."

osamu glanced back at the psychologist to make sure she wasn't watching. her eyes were firmly on the computer.

he grabbed the pencil and began to write.

and maybe, after he had left her office and headed back to class, his chest felt a little lighter. and instead of picking a fight with his teacher, he silently followed along.

osamu made sure the notebook stayed firmly in his backpack. he didn't speak to the psychologist, but she always welcomed him in her office so he could have a quiet place to write out his thoughts.

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Why I recommend age regression as a way to cope.

If you're stressed the F out, feel like you missed out or lost your childhood, or have terrible coping mechanisms? Then this is the post for you. (Maybe.)

Also before we jump in—Just wanna say that I'm not a psychologist, I'm just sharing tips and advice from my own positive and negative experiences. And that age regression may not work for you after you've tried it, but I say give it a shot! Especially if your current ways of dealing with life aren't.... great.

With all that our of the way—Post beneath cut!

So here's some resources for a TLDR version! But I'll be explaining age-regression, it's benefits to me, and why I encourage others to try!

Remember it is ALWAYS sfw! (Which means agere isn't a kink, never has been and never will be!)

So age-regression, or it's shortened name Agere (Takes Age, and the Re from Regression and combines them!) Is a form of dissociation in which someone mentally reverts back to a younger age! This can be anywhere from a few years younger, such as a 17 year old regressing to a 15 year old. Or it can be many years younger—Example being a 17 year old regressing to a 4 year old!

During this state: they are mentally younger, either fully or partially depending on the person. And do think like said age. And often their behaviors correspond with their regressed age, assuming they aren't masking it!

Sometimes you are aware you're regressed, and other times you're not—Both are completely fine!

It's a wonderful way to relive your childhood in a safe environment, feel young and cared for again like a child, or express your inner child!

Okay, but why would I use that to cope?

Don't worry, I hear your questions!

The reason it's a good coping mechanism, for me atleast, is regressing allows you to process your emotions at your own pace. Though they might still be overwhelming, I find it much easier to let my big emotions calm down when I feel small, because it's like they slowly burn off rather than going boom!

If you're stressed a lot, it's a good way to temporarily remove yourself from your burdens! Like you don't have any worries other than 'should I use the pink or blue crayon?' Vibes! Pressure slowly bleeding off rather than having an outburst.

And, for fun! It can be fun to connect with your inner child, do the things you liked as a kid and reunited with that mindset! You don't need to have missed out on your childhood to regress, it can be completely for fun!

Now now, age regression isn't always all fun and games. Because you do think like whatever age you've regressed to, you might have temper tantrums or get cranky or confused if something triggers it.

That's okay.

Yeah, it can feel icky—But me personally, i much prefer these occasionally than letting my emotions boil over and having a breakdown when I'm not regressed!

I've lost and wasted a lot of my childhood. This is my way of healing and re-experiencing childhood joy. Please, don't ever forget that type of wonder, it's so magical and so nice and cozy.

It's a way to cope because it can be an outlet, a comfort, a way to regulate emotions, a way to escape, a way to just relax. And, while not everyone turns out liking it, that's okay! But it works for me, and so so many others. I've had atleast 6 or so friends start regressing and they're still doing it to this day!

And the best part is it's temporary, so if there's more mature things you enjoy? You don't have to give those up, okay? You can find time to regress and relax, and come back to your normal routine later!

It's benefits can be:

Destressing.

Processing lots of emotions at once.

Enjoyment.

Getting to do things you were denied as a child.

Able to let out emotions via tantrums or fits in a much less destructive headspace.

Reliving a simpler mindset.

Helping with sleeping. (I find it much easier to nap/go to bed if I'm regressed!)

Getting a fresh feeling after you're done regressing.

Stimulating if understimulated.

Can help if you're also overstimulated.

Healing inner child.

Coping with trauma/stress in a healthy way.

Help with doing chores. (It's way easier to make chores fun if you're regressed in my experience, but some hate doing chores while regressed and that's cool too!)

And it can be different for each person!

It is absolutely okay to have a different experience, struggle regressing at first or even always, or not do it often!

I recommend if you want to start regressing—Find something that makes your inner child happy, indulge in the best things you liked or would've liked as the age you wanna regress to, find ways to incorporate your current interests into it!

Also things that you like, or positive things can help too!

It's honestly my best coping mechanism, it isn't 'weird' or 'wrong' especially if it helps you. And I can guarantee it's far better than plenty of unhealthy coping mechanisms!

Sooo... yeah! If you want, I recommend looking more into it! There's a whole community for you here on Tumblr, and other sites!

And this post mainly only covers the positives, but it's what I wanted to focus on!

Byee!! (Pssstt BTW agere doesn't have to be all pastels and cute and stuff!! Do what makes you happy! Use whatever colours and vibes you want!)

[kaveat]

Part 2: Parentification, Abuse and Exploitation

Wanna start this section off by saying that despite my efforts I am absolutely going to be biased within this analysis. Not this section particularly but probably somewhere in the future.

I don’t hate Kalim or anything, but I do like Jamil a lot, if you couldn’t tell by me writing this whole thing and while I want to do my best to acknowledge his actions in book 4, which despite being understandable were still wrong, I need people reading this to know that I’m not perfect.

I will be criticising Kalim’s actions as well as Jamil’s, and I will also be providing my own theories and opinions on them, and I’ll try to be unbiased but I might still get things wrong.

I said it in the first part but I’ll say it again here that if you disagree with anything I say or if you think I was too harsh with Kalim and too lenient with Jamil then feel free to argue again so long as you’re respectful.

I’m also not a psychologist or anything, but I’m going to be discussing the potential affects of abuse so be warned that what I say might not be entirety accurate as it will be mostly based on what I find online.

I meant to add this in the last part but I forgot, so I thought I’d put it here. Sorry if it ends up sounding repetitive.

Anyway onwards.

Trigger warnings for discussions of abuse, but I think the title made that obvious.

The definition for parentification I found online described it as: When a child is forced to take on the role of a supportive adult within their family.

I think this is an aspect of Jamil’s childhood that is severely overlooked, granted I haven’t been in this fandom for very long, but I hardly see anyone acknowledge it, or how damaging it is.

Of course Kalim and him aren’t family so maybe Adultification would fit the situation better? But I thought the gist was still the same.

From a very young age Jamil was forced into a caretaker role for Kalim. He performed a lot of the practical responsibilities such as cooking and cleaning. And he mentions getting scolded for being too young to use the stove at some point so we know he was performing these tasks at an age where they weren’t appropriate.

He is also expected by his parents to mature a lot faster than he should be. We see this in his backstory, when they tell him to downplay his own skill for Kalim’s sake. Which as a result leads to Jamil repressing his own emotional needs which then ends up heavily affecting his mental state throughout the game.

Parentification has many lasting effects, things like: anxiety, low self esteem, increased likelihood of risky behaviors. It can also lead to struggles with setting boundaries as well as emotional regulation.

All traits that can be applied to Jamil in my opinion.

It is mentioned by several other characters that Jamil is constantly stressed and anxious and we see during the firelit sky event when with Najma that he is extremely sensitive to criticism.

Apparently as a child she called his singing bad and Jamil spent years trying to prove her wrong despite the fact that she had already forgotten about the conversation.

I think increased likelihood of risky behaviour speaks for itself when you consider how bad the consequences could’ve been after book 4 for him and his family if Azul had actually been live streaming.

Parentification itself is a form of emotional abuse. However it is not the only way Jamil is exploited.

Being a servant to Kalim and his family leaves him in a vulnerable position and this is very much taken advantage of by the Asim’s who frequently abuse him, which again I barely ever see talked about.

Maybe because it’s not so overt as most people assume it to be? Abuse of servants in media is often depicted as violent and humiliating, and Jamil’s situation is definitely more mentally damaging over all, but either way it’s still abuse.

He is being intimidated and coerced into working since he mentions how his entire family would suffer where he to disobey Kalim.

Not to mention the Viper family living on the Asim’s property, (which heavily implies Jamil’s family don’t actually own the house) is a massive red flag as their home seems to be something that could be held over their head.

Even if it hasn’t been explicitly threatened in the English translation, I think the original dialogue mentions that Jamil disobeying could put his whole family on the streets which means there is a massive power dynamic between him and Kalim, which causes several issues when it comes to consent and boundaries.

And it’s these issues that lead to Jamil being exploited labour wise throughout the game.

Where I live Jamil’s position violates several child labour laws. Of course this is a fictional world so for all I know everything he’s doing could be perfectly legal, but his workload is still very overwhelming.

He has been forced to keep up with a full time employment alongside a full time education since he was at minimum elementary school age, and potentially even younger.

This leads to his employment often disrupting his education since Jamil is expected to act as Kalim’s full time caretaker.

We see examples of this during one of Treys vignettes where it is mentioned that Jamil had to leave his own lessons because Kalim wanted to take his flying carpet to class and ended up loosing control over it, and again during one of Ace’s vignettes while attempting to complete an assignment he is called over by Kalim and made to leave his own work behind.

There’s also the fact that Kalim regularly hosts parties and gatherings for people that he expects Jamil to plan, decorate, cook for and clean up which leaves Jamil very little free time especially if you factor in having to keep up with schoolwork/studying on top of all this.

As someone who used to act as a caretaker for their younger siblings for extended periods of time I’m telling you this shit takes a toll on your mental health. It’s exhausting.

I mean it’s no wonder that he’s stressed all the time.

Even if on their own these things could be considered small, they are all still examples of work affecting his school life, and the stress/ overwhelm of it all tends to build up over time.

Then there’s the most obvious form of abuse in Jamil being expected to poison test Kalim’s meals.

We know he’s been doing this since before he came to NRC and if you read through the vignettes I think it’s implied that this likely started when he was around 13/14.

I mean I don’t really think I have to elaborate on why having a 13 year old taste test for poison is insane.

This is also why I get so confused when I see people attempt to defend the Asim family, because this alone even without all the other stuff makes them horrible people.

Like Kalim’s dad hopefully isn’t stupid considering he runs a massive trading company. Definitely not dumb enough to think Jamil is in any way willing to do this, unlike Kalim he’s a grown adult who understands that he can leverage the power he has over Jamil’s family to make him do it anyway.

It’s also another thing that makes me question just how much power the Asim’s have over Jamil’s family, because surely if they were paid a liveable wage, and were free, voluntary servants they’d have left by now?

Jamil’s parents don’t seem to like their position too much? Jamil obviously doesn’t want to be there and I personally would rather take the risk of being on the streets than the risk of my child dying.

The fact that despite this the Vipers are still working there makes me think that whatever consequence Jamil and his parents are so scared of is a lot worse than just being kicked out of their home.

Of course there’s always the possibility that his parents are just assholes. I mean they are also abusing Jamil

Though we hear very little about them outside of his backstory the two scenes we do see them in speak volumes to what Jamil’s childhood with them was like.

I’ve already mentioned the parentification, but a lot of that was instigated by his parents who put the heavy burden of their delicate situation on Jamil despite him still being a child, but there’s also the fact that they do just openly hit him and call him stupid.

Both those things happen right in front of Kalim who doesn’t say anything about it and while we already know that Kalim has been very normalised to the abuse Jamil faces I think this along with Jamil’s overall treatment and how his parents act during his backstory could also hint at abuse towards servants in general within the Asim household being pretty normalised to him.

I really don’t know enough about the Vipers or their situation to say for certain why they make the choices they do. Jamil’s parents seem terrified when they scold him and I do think they genuinely love him but although they’re in a situation where they aren’t able to protect him, I feel like there’s so much more they could’ve done instead of basically telling him to just suck it up.

I also think that part of the reason that all of this rarely gets mentioned and is also frequently excused and defended is because the twst fandom in general seems to also adultify Jamil.

I mean it’s not malicious or overt but I think even small things like jokes about him being the mom friend sort of play into this idea that Jamil is more mature than he actually is which is a position that has been thrust on him his entire life.

I mean he’s 17 and he literally does not know a life outside of work. That’s incredibly depressing and also just way too much for a child.

If anything I’d argue the abuse he’s faced in childhood has stunted his development. Especially because some of his actions make him seem a lot less mature than most of the cast all things considered.

Idk this is something I feel passionate about cause it’s something I heavily relate to and I don’t want to go too in depth into this but I wonder if his race also plays a factor in this, because it is him and Leona who I often see people hating on the most. Though then again that could just be because they are my faves.

And the fact that Kalim is very infantilised within the fandom could also be a factor.

But yeah, I think that mostly brings this section to a close? I think I want to go more in depth on how the abuse and conditioning still and honestly always will affect his relationship with Kalim, but this also ended up being really long so I think I’ll leave it here.

I apologise for any spelling mistakes!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[xxastreascornerxx]

First post let's go!!

I've seen A LOT of hate towards Lunar but where's that energy towards Earth?

Lunar has gone through a lot and it seems like Eclipse did some stuff off camera as well because of how bad it did fuck him up. Some people don't seem to acknowledge that although most of their lives are uploaded to YouTube there is no way that you can capture someone's entire life unless you just let it keep rolling, no camera cuts, just pure raw footage.

Lunar might be a bit spoiled to some, sure— I'd even agree he's self centered. But has everyone forgotten the SHORT time span this is going on in? The amount of shit that has happened and it's only been what? Two and a half maybe three years?

Now onto the actual argument because I'm tired of filler to help my case.

Lunar TOLD Earth the shit that he went through at the hands of Eclipse, and she respected it. But clearly she didn't respect it enough to not BEFRIEND THE MAN.

Sure you can argue that it's a different Eclipse but my stance is the same Lunar has stated time and time again that Eclipse has treated him the same, whether physically or verbally this Eclipse has still treated him like that "failed creation" and that fucks with someone.

"Lunar didn't have to start a villain arc by killing Ecli—" SHUT UP. THAT WAS NOT A VILLAIN ARC. Earth got pissy because her new "friend" died and she was going down the same route as they did with Nexus.

Earth was fully planning on disowning Lunar for killing his abuser whether she says it verbally or not. We're told time and time again that Earth is deathly afraid of being a bad person, of not being the perfect sister. It seems that fear applies to every one of her siblings but Lunar.

Everyone who's calling Lunar a bad person for his "Villain arcs" are ignoring the fact that Earth despite claiming not to be a therapist and trying to "help" Lunar has been sitting there DEMEANING HIM FOR NOT GETTING HELP.

Sure Lunar should see an actual psychologist but why would he want to go to his sister when she's just going to judge him?

Onto the current "villain arc" because I feel like I'm harping too much on Eclipse and Earth, I don't condone Lunar killing Eclipse but Earth's reaction was fucked up.

Lunar has been training for months, it started once every week with one teacher and now it's twice a week with two. He's going to be exhausted, sure Lunar took what Gemini said wrong but they still essentially told this man to stop being traumatized.

Taurus is just as badly in the wrong as Gemini for this however with Gemini I expected some sort of respect? I mean you're claiming to try and love someone despite your limited understanding of the concept however you're treating him like lesser.

Earth claimed to want to help, to understand how stressful training was. But as soon as Lunar tells her that he's getting a break she's ON HIS ASS. (It's not actually a break, Lunar literally got told that he couldn't be useful unless he was letting his emotions go)

Sure, during the Nexus situation he was pretty absent— both Nexus situations he was absent but guess what Earth? HE HAS A LIFE THAT DOESN'T REVOLVE AROUND HIS SIBLINGS.

Do I agree Lunar could've been there more? Yes. But he's balancing Training with two GODS twice a week, what limited schedule he's given for the daycare because he "isn't good at his job" (he wasn't MADE to be a daycare attendant he was made to be a suppressant so Eclipse could rule the world) and on top of that he has to go home and be a "good brother" in Earth's eyes.

I feel like Earth pushes her own fear onto Lunar, he's not a bad brother he's just crumbling under pressure LIKE NEXUS. Earth pushed him too far and she got hurt, I'm not saying she deserved it but she has no fucking respect for his emotional and mental well-being because when she looks at him she sees someone unfit to be apart of the Celestial family.

I'm sick and fucking tired of saying that Earth is always good because SHE FUCKING ISN'T. She's a great girlfriend and wonderful at giving advice but she is a HORRIBLE sister to Lunar.

"Earth is crumbling under pressure too—" AT LEAST EARTH HAS OUTLETS AND PEOPLE WHO ARE WILLING TO LET HER VENT. Lunar doesn't have HALF of what she has, when he tries to communicate with the Astrals they put him lower than them and try to tell him how to fix the problem (when you're venting you don't want a solution you want to be heard) when he tries to find his own ways to destress guess who comes waltzing in with another problem? EARTH.

Earth has a problem with Lunar always saying that he's going to die when she has a problem with him but does she not understand that her feelings aren't being invalidated he's just communicating his own? He's afraid and needs someone to talk to and his own SISTER won't comfort him because she's too wrapped up in being pissy over the miniscule issues.

Lunar should've been there more for Sun but could he have? He was trying to cope with the idea that he no longer had mentors, to him he didn't have a purpose. He had every right to try and stay away especially while messing with NSP.

Earth doesn't seem to understand that Lunar has been fucking doomed by the narrative since day one, he's been abused, pushed to the side, and told that if he isn't helpful he might as well be dead. Of course he's going to go looking for other ways to be of use.

I don't agree with Lunar teaming up with Rez and using NSP but he accidentally hurt Earth because she pushed him too far. She asks so much of him. I wish Lunar wouldn't have gotten into this mental state but again he's doomed by the narrative. He loved Gemini and he would've done anything for them to see him as useful.

Now, Lunar is on trial again and his sister is damaged because SHE pushed him too far. I don't hate Earth but trust me I'll be one of the first people to put that bitch in her place because she has no right making Lunar's issues about her.

[mangowillow]

last to know | ch. 1: haunted dreams

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst (who am i without it), hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: nothing really; well, maybe except seokjin's intrusive thoughts about an axe k*ller— but it's tame, i promise! oh, and jeongguk gets slapped. be nice and let me know if i miss anything! there's a mini flashback in this chapter in all italics marked by a ♥!

word count: 3,900

author's note: i am very nervous about this first chapter because it's been A WHILE since i last wrote ~something~ so anyway! here you go, enjoy!

fic masterlist

New York, 2023

It was right when the DJ turned up the volume that Jeongguk felt the impact of a palm hitting him square in the jaw.

Jeongguk doesn’t know what stimuli to focus on: should it be the loud music blasting through the speakers or the sting of the slap that he probably deserved. It doesn’t take his brain too long to piece together what just happened 5 seconds ago. He knows what’s coming and he is also very much aware that he did see it coming sooner or later.

“Fuck you, Jeongguk,” Ae-cha grits through her teeth. Jeongguk swears she’s about to cry, tears threatening to spill amidst the blue glow of the lights above them. “We are dating, how can you say that—”

“We sleep together when it’s convenient for the both of us, Ae-cha.” Jeongguk downs the rest of his scotch, along with the remnants of his pride. “I never said anything about dating.”

“You are such a jerk!” Ae-cha turns a shade of red, tears in the corners of her eyes. It isn’t the first time Jeongguk has ever made a woman cry, but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel that hollow ache in his chest; the one he felt the first time he made that mistake. He should feel bad, he thinks, but then again, he also doesn’t.

Does that make him a bad person? 

“I didn’t listen to my friends when they said you were trouble. I wanted to prove them wrong—” Ae-cha starts, but Jeongguk cuts her off.

“Why? Why do you have to?”

Ae-cha’s eyes grow wide as she watches Jeongguk stare at his empty glass.

“You should have listened to your friends.” Jeongguk says, matter-of-fact. Ae-cha scoffs and Jeongguk knows now is the right time to probably shut up.

But he’s a jerk, just like Ae-cha says he was.

“I told you right from the beginning… we just use each other because we’re both lonely,” Jeongguk feels his throat turn dry, “I think somewhere along the way, you misread my actions.”

Ae-cha doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She closes her eyes for a minute and Jeongguk looks at her, waiting for her rebuttal. Or maybe a second slap. Whichever comes first.

Ae-cha speaks in a voice so low, it’s perplexing how Jeongguk is still able to pick up her words— “Your problem is that you do not care about other people’s feelings, Jeongguk. You only care about your own.”

Jeongguk tightens his jaw; now he feels his heart aching.

“You hurt people. You ruin good things. You keep your heart under tight wraps and you do not let anyone in. If you keep that up, you will end up with no one.”

Jeongguk stares at Ae-cha, wanting to say something, but failing completely. Maybe this is what he gets for sleeping with a psychologist— a rude awakening.

Before he can say anything, Ae-cha turns on her heel and walks away. Jeongguk remains at the bar for a bit more until the song changes into a slower tempo. It feels like a chore walking back to the table where his best friend Yoongi was— like walking on lead. 

“That must’ve hurt—” Yoongi starts, fingers reaching out to the peanut bowl and putting some into his mouth. Jeongguk plops down on the chair with a sigh. “What a shitty night,” he quips.

Yoongi hums, “And whose fault is that?” 

Jeongguk looks at his best friend in annoyance. Yoongi chuckles, putting more peanuts into his mouth. “What’d she say?”

“That I’m a jerk who hurts people and ruins good things.”

“Is it true?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t think I need to do that, kid.” Yoongi concludes, glancing at Jeongguk. He takes a swing out of his beer bottle before continuing, “You know damn well the answer to that.”

Jeongguk clicks his tongue and takes the beer from Yoongi. He takes a swig himself, letting their conversation die out by drowning it into the same old music he’s used to hearing almost every night. 

Jeongguk comes home to his apartment that night, tipsy and his heart in pieces. Walking into the living room, the corner of his eyes catch the stack of luggages already packed and loaded. He didn’t feel like sitting on the couch so he opts to sit on the floor, his fingers grazing the carpet absentmindedly. A beat later, he allows his heart to bleed once more— as he always seems to do every single night for the past few years. Leaning his head back against the edge of his couch, he cries himself to sleep, wishing, praying the ache in his chest—and the words you hurt people—would go away in the morning.

Seoul, 2023

Your eyes try to take in the art in front of you— The Artist’s Garden in Giverny, Claude Monet, 1900. Usually, many emotions overwhelm your system and you cannot help but discuss any painting with the next person willing to listen. 

And once upon a time, you were enthusiastic about your craft and love for the arts. It was almost always too easy, too often that you could come up with pieces to add to your gallery. But that hasn’t happened in over a year— maybe more than. 

In the stillness of the room you are in, you hear light footsteps coming closer to where you are. You keep your eyes trained on Monet’s painting until your brother Seokjin sits beside you.

For a while, you and Seokjin just sit beside each other— no words, only a quiet understanding that close siblings seem to share and empathize with. Seokjin’s parents adopted you when you were eleven; a year after you and your parents met a horrible car collision. You are five months older than Seokin, yet that fact doesn't deter him at all, and more often than not, he usually ends up acting like your older brother. When he first met you at the orphanage, he grew fond of you real quick— already asking his parents when he’d be allowed to play with you. He doesn’t mind that you were once part of the system, that you are his half-sister— not really. He never treated you any differently. He loves you with his whole heart and he will always protect you. 

This is why he also cannot stand stillness at times, especially when it involves you.

“Have you been waiting long?” Seokjin asks.

You have a habit of kicking your right foot into the air when you don’t really know how to respond right away. You take a sharp inhale before shaking your head. Seokjin follows your line of sight— you were still looking at the painting.

“Does it make you feel better? Looking at this, I mean…” 

Seokjin’s question makes you look at him instead, like you just realized he had been sitting there this whole time and you never knew. He meets your eyes, sees the sadness in them. He will always know no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“Happy birthday, ____”

You don’t respond. 

“Taehyung and the others are waiting down at the cafe. Do you still want to meet them?”

You nod once before giving Seokjin a smile, “Of course.”

Seokjin slides into the gap between the two of you and instinctively, you rest your head on his shoulder as he envelops you in a side hug. He rubs a hand up and down your arm before planting a light kiss on top of your head.

“I know it doesn’t get any easier, ____. But I just want you to know that I love you… We all love you.” 

With shaky breath and tears that threaten to spill from your eyes, you whisper, “I know.”

As Seokjin gets into the driver’s seat, you hand him an envelope. Seokjin has an inkling what it is, but he asks you anyway as he squints his eyes at you.

“What is that supposed to be?”

You push the envelope towards him a bit more, just humming, “It’s the last payment.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes as he presses the ignition. He doesn’t take the envelope, “Oh come on, Seokjin, just take it.”

“And for the nth time, you shouldn’t have to pay for something I willingly helped you out for. We’re siblings, for gods sake, ____.”

You lower your hands, setting the envelope on your lap. Eyes cast down you mumble, “I know that. I was able to sell a painting again after a long time and it felt good… But I already told you this before— I’d feel better if you just please take this.” 

Seokjin lets out a sigh— usually he makes that sound when he’s already defeated. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re giving me all the money you worked hard for,” Seokjin starts and you shake your head as soon as you heard the word all. “No, not at all, I— I had some saved up and the rest of it will be for rent.”

You look at Seokjin who still looks suspicious. You playfully roll your eyes and Seokjin sees you smile for the first time that night.

“I promise.”

Seokjin sets his eyes on the parking lot, placing his hands on the steering wheel, “Fine—” you squeal as soon as he gives in and you place the envelope in the glove compartment. “—but this is the last time, all right?”

“Yes sir, that’s the last of the payments,” you respond a tone higher than your usual. Seokjin chuckles as he sets the gear into reverse.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help moving some of your stuff?” Seokjin asks as you fasten your seatbelt.

“Not really, I think I can manage just fine.”

You expect Seokjin to be backing up the car right now, yet he remains unmoving. You chuckle.

“I’ll be fine, Seokjin. Movers will help me move some of the heavier stuff.”

“Listen, ____, I was beyond ecstatic when you told me you were moving out of… there. I just don’t understand why you need to move in somewhere else when you can just stay with me.”

“Seokjin—”

“And it’s not like you have any problems with money or anything, I mean, you are doing okay right?”

“I am,” you answer with a smirk.

“Yah, don’t give me that look, ____. I’m serious, I really don’t understand why you have to stay somewhere else.”

“I already told you. I don’t need a big apartment, I just need a place to sleep. And isn’t it weird if we live together— people are going to think we’re co-dependent.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off, “And I know what you’re going to ask next. Why did I choose to move in an apartment on the other side of the city? And I already told you a dozen times— I need to learn how to be on my own for real this time. And it’s much cheaper compared to all the other apartments in the city center, I mean— have you seen Seoul?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, woman. Sure yeah, valid, but have you met your neighbors?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you ask confidently.

“Well, they could be an ax killer or something—”

“Or they could just be an ordinary person with a normal life, Seokjin.” You laugh at your brother’s catastrophic thoughts. You completely understand where he’s coming from— he just wants to protect you.

“That’s only hypothetical,” Seokjin snarks as he stops at a stoplight. You lay your hand on top of his on the console.

“I know you’re worried about me—”

“I am, you brat.”

“And I will forever be grateful… but I need to do this,” you reply calmly, almost like you were whispering. “I hope you understand.”

“I’m trying, ____. It’s not exactly easy to do that when you’re not giving me the grace to understand exactly why you need to do this… when you can just stay with me. The house is too big. And the cafe is right next door!”

“And we will get to that someday… but not right now, hm?” Seokjin sighs in defeat. “I will call you every single night if that will make you feel better.”

“Yah, those kinds of things have to come from the heart, not because you’re forced to do it just to appease me.”

“I’m not… I actually really want to talk to my little brother every day,” you tease as Seokjin scoffs.

“Fine, you have to call me every day, okay? Promise?”

You grin wide, “I promise.”

“And I am not your little brother, we’re only 5 months apart.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m older than you.”

Seokjin grumbles under his breath but a smirk was on his lips, “And you’re always going to be my brat.”

The coffee shop you and Seokjin run together has been passed down by your parents. Ever since Seokjin could utter the word, “coffee,” everyone in the family knew he was destined to manage the coffee chains. Even though you were technically the older one, your parents were more lenient and allowed you to forge your own path. Seokjin understood that and he wouldn’t have it any other way despite your pleas to help him with all the major business work. It has been a few years since the original coffee shop in Seongsu-dong expanded into different branches across Seoul. When you flew back from New York, you immediately put up your own artist studio right beside the cafe. Seokjin even pitched in on the idea of a gallery where people can choose to paint while drinking their favorite latte. Four years later, people now come for the art displays and occasional indie music performances, at times poetry nights. 

Four years later, you were also making a name for yourself as an artist. Seokjin once told you you were a jack of all trades, master of everything because you were crafty with your hands— painting, dress-making, cooking. And you brush him off every single time.

Because if anything, one of your greatest weaknesses was believing whether or not you were good enough for anything or anyone.

Seokjin opens the door for you as you both enter the coffee shop. As soon as you come in, you are greeted by your long-time friends— Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin. You met Taehyung and Jimin in New York because you were all fine arts students. Hoseok came into the picture as Taehyung’s lover not long after the three of you came back home to Seoul. 

“There she is, our little star,” Taehyung greets you with his signature boxy smile. His arms are wide open, ready to engulf you in a tight embrace. Jimin and Hoseok follow suit, each with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s about time you show your pretty face, ____. It’s been ages since we last saw you,” Jimin quips.

“But I text and call you guys almost every day,” you defend. Hoseok pushes a plate of strawberry cake towards you and adds, “It���s not the same as seeing you in the flesh, ____. You look amazing, as always.”

“Thank you, Hobi. That’s reassuring, considering the fact that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”

“Too many commissions?” Jimin asks.

“More than that, the gallery show at Seojung Art is in six months, and I still haven’t started on my piece.”

“Do you already know what you’re going to create?” Taehyung asks as he takes a bite of his croissant.

“That’s the problem… inspiration isn’t coming. It’s a bother,” a frown now evident across your face. Jimin holds your hand.

“You know you’re really talented, right, ____? You’ll pull through.”

“Thanks, Jiminie,” you smile at him. 

“Maybe one of the customers’ paintings here could ignite a spark?” Taehyung starts. “I mean, sometimes the best kind of inspiration hits when you least expect it.”

“You’re right. I’ll sleep on it tonight… if I do get to sleep,” you chuckle, but they all know it’s more than that.

Seokjin comes back to the table with your hot mint tea— a drink that almost always helps you fall asleep.

“What’s with the dead atmosphere, guys? It’s been a while since we all got together like this and you’re all moping,” Seokjin jokes. He has always been the life of the party contrary to his very introverted nature.

“It really is a good night, isn’t it?” Taehyung replies as he eats up the last bit of his pastry. “Hoseok and I actually enjoyed the night breeze on the way here because it was just the right amount of chilly.”

“Always the romantic, this one,” Hoseok laughs.

Jimin carefully watches you as you sip your tea in silence. “Are you all settled to move in tomorrow, ____? Do you need help?” 

“I’ll be fine, Jimin. I don't have as much stuff to pack, anyway.”

“Oh yeah that’s right, tomorrow’s moving day. Are you excited?” Taehyung jumps a bit on his seat, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Not really, I mean, it’s going to be pretty boring moving stuff around, don’t you think?”

“But it’s also the start of a new beginning.” Taehyung supplies.

You smile after taking a bite of the cake, “That is very true.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it. He changes his mind anyway, “Her neighbors don’t own axes or something, right Taehyung?”

Taehyung giggles, “I don’t know, hyung, It’s not like I went into every apartment on her floor.”

Seokjin turns pale and Taehyung laughs. Taehyung used to live on the same floor as the one you’re about to move into— before he moved in with Hoseok.

“Seokjin is so worried about the neightbors that he couldn’t stop ranting about it on the way here,” you chuckle. “But as I told him, I’ll be fine.” You placed emphasis on the word fine as you held Seokjin’s hand for reassurance under the table.

“Are you telling that to us or to yourself?” Seokjin starts. He has a way of being so upfront with you that there were moments when it became the cause of your fights and misunderstandings. Seokjin sometimes does not know when to stop, yet you know he always means well. You love and dislike him for it at the same time.

“Hyung…” Jimin readily interjects.

“It’s okay, Jimin…” you put your fork down and paused before looking at Seokjin. “I am telling all of you and myself… that I will be fine. I am honestly really thankful that you’re all here now to keep me company.”

You’ve been saying the word “fine” and “okay” a whole lot that night— you started to doubt if you really are or if Seokjin was right— that you’re just trying to convince yourself of it.

“Are you holding up okay, noona?” Hoseok asks, worried.

“Of course—” you take a sharp exhale before continuing, “It also means that time is helping me get past it. And I am okay with that.”

None of your friends respond. 

“We love you always, ____. You’ll always have us.” Taehyung said.

“Happy birthday, noona,” Jimin smiles. 

Your friends sing you their greetings as Hoseok brings out their surprise birthday cake and flowers. As you try not to cry at their gesture, you try to give them the most genuine smile you can muster. Yet in your heart, you know it’s not enough to convince them. Or yourself.

♥ “You do not get to tell me shit because I have done everything for you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Jeongguk—”

“And yet you still came here with me. If you are really that resentful about moving here… about marrying me— then why did you stay? Why are you still here?”

“I never said I resented you.”

“Yeah? Well it feels like it. You make me feel like shit whenever I can’t help you! God I— you know what? I’m done. I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“W-what do you mean you can’t—”

“—I’m saying we should end this. I want a divorce.”

Yoongi gently shakes Jeongguk’s shoulder to wake him up. “We’re almost landing, Jeongguk-ah,” he whispers.

Jeongguk slightly jerks from his sleep. His body feels heavy, his brain foggy but at the same time trying to recover from the dream he just had.

“It’s the same dream again, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks, knuckles turning white as he holds on to the arm rests. Turbulence has always been a bitch— well, at least to Yoongi. Jeongguk doesn’t answer him; instead, he looks out the plane window, thinking the plane couldn’t land fast enough.

“You keep calling out for her, you know? When you dream, I mean. Did you know that?”

That gets Jeongguk’s attention. He bites down on his lip ring before shaking his head, “No. I didn’t know.”

From baggage claim until Jeongguk and Yoongi exit through arrivals, there has been nothing but silence. Yoongi notices how Jeongguk’s hands couldn’t keep still: he’d take them in and out of his pockets. As they walk to the car that awaits them, Yoongi asks once more— “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?

Jeongguk lets out a long breath before looking at his best friend: “I will be.”

“This is the last of the boxes, ma’am.” One of the movers holds a medium-sized box. “Where do you want me to put it?”

You get up from one of the boxes you were opening, “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“I just need you to sign one more thing before we wrap up.”

“Of course,” you take the pen and sign on the dotted line.

“Have a good day,” The movers gave you a small bow before they went on their way. Looking around the room, you let out a sigh. The apartment is bigger than you initially thought but you are happy about that. There’s an extra room spacious enough to set up a painting studio. 

Your eyes land on the last box that was given to you by the mover. Inside it are memories that you don’t feel ready to touch just yet. Despite everything else scattered around your room, you pick up the box and shove it into the back corner of your closet. Maybe someday you’ll have the heart to open it again, but right now, it stays out of sight.

You were about to start opening one of the other boxes when a soft, melodic voice comes up behind you— “Hey baby.”

You turn around quickly, your heart and body naturally gravitating to the owner of the voice: Kim Woosung, your boyfriend.

“Hi,” you softly respond, heart happy upon seeing your boyfriend’s smile. He sets the take-out bags down to hug you. Woosung then gives you a long kiss on your forehead, mumbling, “I missed you.”

You don’t lift your eyes to meet his right away, but your hands reach out for his as he cradles your face. When you finally look at him, he gives you that warm smile you have always loved. With Woosung, there is peace, the kind that secures your heart. As he aligns his forehead with yours, you feel all your worries melt away. 

With Woosung, everything feels safe, so right.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Woosung apologizes. You shake your head gently and wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re just in time.”

[ashen-vulture]

A Vulture In Therapy #3

The Appointment (Well, In A Few Months)

ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:15 AM

Hey so guess who just heard back from Doctor Erian's clinic after a month of waiting in the dark. I'm not scheduled until November, though Probably was too hopeful of me to think I'd have an appointment before my birthday

tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:17 AM Nice! Do you have an appointment then? Oh, heck, that's a ways off ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:18 AM November 14th, yeah But I guess it gives me time to prepare So… what should I expect going in? I've heard mixed things about Doctor Erian… tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:19 AM Oh boy that's the big question isn't it So for me, and I think for a lot of other people, he went right into the gatekeepy "one letter from a physician, two letters from psychologists, live as your preferred species for however many months" ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:21 AM He can't be too bad right? Oh yeah I've heard about the "live as preferred species" thing. Not sure he'll accept my response but that's one of the few things I am prepared for. tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:22 AM The thing is, I'm pretty sure it's all a secret test of your resolve and how well you match what you want He started hesitating once I got up in his face about how someone is supposed to live as a dragon for an entire year And he folded like a towel once I threatened to bite him But I saw him smirk, I think it was that I said 'bite' specifically ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:26 AM Huh. I guess I have some respect for that. Maybe a bitter respect but… uhg, I dunno, it's complicated. Like there are some things I certainly cannot physically do with my human body and that's the whole reason I want what I want. I really don't like arguing. This is gonna feel like my gallery capstone all over again. "No seriously I do know what I'm talking about, see it from this perspective" (strangling the Imposter Syndrome demon in the back of my head)

tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:27 AM Yeah I don't know if he would have approved it if I'd shown any kind of doubt But maybe it's different for non-predator theriotypes idk ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:30 AM Maybe. I wonder how they'll handle a scavenger. I guess there's only one way to know. Oh, do you know when you'll get your first prescription fill? Does it take a long time? tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:30 AM I'm supposed to get it in September, apparently if you're on gender hormones you have to wait for the one year mark, something about being 'biologically receptive' But you won't have that issue so you might get yours a lot sooner ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:33 AM I suspect part of the wait is having to formulate each therian's medicine individually. Giving me cat HRT probably isn't gonna turn me into a bird. tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:33 AM Yeah I guess this isn't One Size Fits Most like normal estrogen and testosterone are ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:36 AM Well. Nothing to do but wait now. Maybe getting on some of the Therian HRT support groups and hearing some more people's stories will help. Thanks for your input, hope your new therapy medicine arrives on time I might pester you with more questions in the future tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:37 AM Anytime! I'd be glad to help you along on this one ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:38 AM ^v^ (I've started using bird emoticons more, it's fun!) tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:38 AM I mean, you know how long I've been using cat emotes =3 So I get that

ashedink — 11/13/2024 11:01 PM

FIRST CONSULTATION APPOINTMENT TOMORROW WISH ME LUCK AAAAAAA- It's actually happening! It's actually happening!

tigergirltail — 11/13/2024 11:01 PM Gee I can't tell, are you excited? =3 ashedink — 11/13/2024 11:04 PM I am Anxcited Question: would it be considered too much if I came in with a folder of vulture facts outlining how similar humans and vultures are to each other, and how I've techincally been "living like a vulture" basically my entire life understanding that the parameters I need to fulfill exclude things that would literally kill me Because I already have the folder but now I'm second guessing myself and I can FEEL THE ANXIOUS INFODUMP INSTINCT I am either gonna say nothing at all or way too much HELP tigergirltail — 11/13/2024 11:07 PM Do it. Slap that gatekeepy doctor with every Cool Vulture Fact in your birb cranium Might improve your odds tbh ashedink — 11/13/2024 11:08 PM You are a cool and awesome friend and I am glad I have you to encourage me when I am a scattered anxious mess Thank you Alexis tigergirltail — 11/13/2024 11:08 PM You've got this Ash I believe in you =3

(featuring my long time friend and the person who acted as my gate into therian HRT, @tigergirltail)

[kaytheday]

Dog Tags and Damnation

Soda steps through the door as quietly as he can. Unwilling to wake the boy on the couch. Ponyboy was so exhausted that he couldn’t even manage to make it upstairs so he’d simply dropped onto the couch, practically guaranteed to wake up tomorrow with a killer hangover. He twists over in sleep, groaning a little and revealing a silver chain that slips out of his shirt to pool on the cushion below him. 

Soda’s dog tags. 

Bile comes up his throat and tickles his taste buds as he sways. He puts a hand on the wall to avoid falling.

He didn’t take those tags off for nearly a year. He couldn’t. If he was killed they would need those same dog tags to identify his body. Those tags would be the one to tell his brothers he was never coming home. Those same tags that watched him defile his parents' memory of the sweet little boy they had raised. Those same tags that hung around his neck as he did horrendous things, things that he would never ever breathe a word of to his brothers. Even if it killed him. 

Those same tags that he had hurled at Ponyboy nearly five days ago out of anger and frustration. Why couldn’t Ponyboy just leave him alone about this? Growing up, Soda always knew when to push Pony or when to back off, why couldn’t Ponyboy just return the favor? 

Both Darry and Ponyboy knew he had come back different. Darry had noticed but never said anything about it, but Ponyboy had taken a crack at it a couple days ago. Accusing him of using drugs to escape himself or some bullshit like that. It was those damn psychology courses he was taking at his fancy university. 

Then Soda had just laughed at him. Trying to crack a joke and say he should become a psychologist instead of a writer. Ponyboy had only gotten more upset, the tips of his ears going red as he tried again to push the issue, all while Soda deflected. Instead jerking past him to grab the chocolate milk out of the fridge, taking a swig straight from the carton. He had just finished a shitty day of work, he didn’t want to have a conversation about how shitty he was at being a brother too. 

Obviously frustrated, Ponyboy trudged on, trying a different tactic than the blatant observation of how Soda was killing himself with drugs. 

“You can talk to me, you know Soda? About anything, you’ve always been able to talk to me, even when we were kids You can still talk to me, now isn’t any different.” Soda wanted to rip out his hair and scream and then maybe beat someone half to death because it was different. Of course it was different. 

Ponyboy was different from Soda. He was good. Despite everything that had happened in his life, Ponyboy still found time to look at the sunset and read books and even write poetry. Despite everything, Ponyboy was still the same smart, talented, sensitive kid he’d been all his life. Losing their parents hadn't changed that, losing their buddies hadn’t changed that, and Soda was sure that even if Ponyboy had to complete a tour in Vietnam, he’d still come out the same poetry-writing, sunset-watching kid he’d always been. And he would continue to be like that, no matter what happened. 

So no, it was different. It was completely different. 

Soda was different. Anytime something terrible had happened in their lives, Soda had changed. A piece of him was chipped away and a mottled scar was left in its place. His parents death made him into the family bawl baby. His buddies' death had made him into a manipulating bastard with a colder outside shell. His tour in Vietnam had made him into a lot of things. It had made him into a broken shattered mess of himself, unable to find the pieces of his personality scattered on the ground. But the biggest and ugliest thing it had made him into was a killer. 

So Soda had tried to become some semblance of the person he was before this ugly stain on his life. He tried to say it kindly, he really did. 

“Yes it is Ponyboy.” He started gently. “I thought you were smart with all those fancy college classes you’re takin’ but you can’t seem to see that everything is different now.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I’m going to bed.” He decided with finality, having no desire to finish this conversation. Ponyboy gave a loud choked noise. 

“I don’t need those college classes to tell me something is wrong with my brother!” Pony shot back. “Why can’t you just tell us! Why didn’t you talk to me! Why didn’t you tell me you got shot!?” The last question comes out as a desperate hysterical scream. Pony is crying, but he’s trying so hard not to. Soda turned sharply from his spot on the stairs. 

“How’d you find that out?” He said quietly, almost dangerously. 

“I know when something is wrong with my brother Soda.” Ponyboy says simply before relenting the rest of the details. “I got your medical records pulled from the draft office. The officer there told me.” Before Soda can register what he is doing he is down the stairs eye to eye with Pony in some sort of stand off. 

“You had no right to do that you little son of a bitch!” Ponyboy doesn’t rise to the bait, insteading squaring his shoulders like he was expecting this sort of reaction. 

“Why didn’t you tell us Soda? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you. I still want to help you.” Pony asks, grabbing weakly at Soda’s wrist. Instead Soda jerks away, shoving his brother a little as he bites out a curse. 

“You couldn’t have done shit!” He snarls. 

“Is this what the drugs are for?” Pony asks. 

Soda doesn’t answer, instead biting out another curse while Pony keeps trying. They yell back and forth at each other for a while before Pony brings up their parents. How they wouldn’t have wanted their little war hero turning to pot and heroin and god knows what else. Soda blanches, his fists faltering a little bit. Bringing up their parents was a low blow. Finally Soda does the only thing he can think of. He rips off his dog tags that had been hanging around his neck. 

“If you and mom and dad up there think I’m such a war hero then you can wear them!” He hurls the dog tags at Ponyboy and before he can see the aftermath, he’s trudging outside to the car and storming off. 

Now he’s still standing at the door. His eyes on Ponyboy's ungreased hair, flopping a little over closed eyes. This fight was five days ago, they had since made up. Soda didn’t know he was actually going to wear those dog tags. 

The same ones he’d rubbed while shooting at kids younger than Ponyboy. The same ones he stared at during the long rainy nights, nothing in his stomach, thinking of his middle name. Patrick, like his grandfather. His grandfather was buried at home. The same home he longed to be. 

Those dog tags had been with him through so much pain and misery. They had sat on his chest while he watched unspeakable horrors unfold, stories of destruction, blood, violence, and death. He hadn’t realized what those dog tags meant to him until he watched them tangle around Ponyboy's neck. 

Because he was glad.

He was glad Ponyboy would never have dog tags of his own. He was so thankful that Ponyboy would never have dog tags sit on his chest as he witnessed destruction and death. And though he knew it would never change the kid, he was glad it didn’t have to happen nonetheless. He was glad Ponyboy could go on reading poetry and looking at sunsets and writing books instead of sitting in an early grave. Or worse, coming back like him. Soda was so glad that the dog tags around Ponyboy’s neck read Sodapop Patrick Curtis instead of Ponyboy Micheal Curtis.

A second submission for day 3 of @outsidersweek

[maydaygmooh]

So RM did mention in his Live that he had a difficult time to put his ego as RM of BTS away. I'm sorry he had a hard time but man, he served in a freaking band. He had it the easiest of all, besides Suga probably. He needs to stop complaining. And he also lamented about that has to write songs again, starting from zero etc etc etc .... Well news flash for him now.... There are other people in the group now who can write songs and compose (eyeing Yoongi here) as good as him or maybe even better .... There's another person now in the group who oozes confidence and leadership capabilities. I think the dynamics in the group are going to change dramatically and some members might have to check their ego. What do you think about group dynamic changes?

Its up to them if they would like to work as they used to or experiment new things. Time will tell.

But, trying to pretend that I care what the dynamics of the group will be like is disrespectful to you and me. I am not looking forward to their music, I am not looking forward to their promotional activities. I think majority of the members are boring, washed and unappealing.

RM should just go to a psychologist and address his issues, or not, that’s his fans problem.