#which he knows. because i was in some of the worst pain I've EVER been in

[readymades2002]

it is very frustrating because my mom does not know What The Deal Is but she certainly Suspects (for good reason. to be fair to her.) and she has Insinuated and she has Implied but she has not asked anything specifically. and its...not unreasonable for her to do this i guess because the last relationship i was in i didn't tell her for a year and a half. because the relationship BEFORE that was my first and it was with a girl and i asked her EXPLICITLY AND URGENTLY to not tell my dad about it because he was a massive homophobe and i knew this and saw this where she did not and she told him anyway and i have not trusted her since though, having few other options, i have continued to confide in her things that i should not confide in her that have then mysteriously made their way through all our shared coworkers back to me. and its.....its so. i don't know what to do about it. she..."stalked" is the wrong word but she followed my blog against my wishes and knowledge as a child and the more i lost trust in her and stopped talking to her the more she pried into my private life. i know my sister had similar experiences with her. and it has created this cycle where i keep trying to keep her out for my own privacy and dignity and safety and she just gets even more desperate and pathetic trying to get in after breaking my trust over and over and OVER again but i live with her and depend on her for far too many things and so it just. is this. awesomesauce

[romeoandromeo]

.

[ineffableigh]

Wait what the hell is Aziraphale mouthing here. Lip-readers sound off!!

This is RIGHT before "The Metatron! I don't think he's as bad a fellow - well I think I might have misjudged him."

His line was: "I, um... [mouthing something]" THEN the above line.

This can't be nothing. Can it? "We need to get out"??? Not sure. EDIT: I agree with @maximumpenguinpuppy here, I think he's saying

"WE NEED HELP."

Further deep dive on the most painful conversation I've ever seen:

Azi makes the most INTENSE EYE CONTACT I'VE EVER SEEN during "I think I might have misjudged him."

"PLEASE HEAR WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU RIGHT NOW."

After a few intercuts with the flashbacks we get to the really painful bit.

"He said that I could appoint you... to be an angel." His voice is so strained and high pitched even for him, here.

"Like the old times, only even NICER!"

The super nice old times where you couldn't be together at all, eh?

Crowley starts his confession and we get the "What the blazes is he doing?" face as he starts to realize Crowley is NOT picking up on any of this. Azi's breathing heavily here, revealing how very stressed the fuck out he is.

After this point is when things get really hard to interpret. Aziraphale sounds so genuine about "Come with me!" and "We can make a difference, I'll run it and you'll be my second in command." It feels like Crowley starting his very real confession broke through the charade of 'The Metatron knows something and we're in fucking danger'.

He blathers about Angels and Doing Good before breaking again, letting the "I need you!" slip. We get this HALF A SECOND look of the most profound sadness right before the "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

"You idiot. We could have been us."

Azi looks like he can't believe just how badly this went. This is right before he looks away.

OH NO NOW I'VE SEEN CROWLEY'S FACE RIGHT WHEN HE STARTS TO GO OVER FOR THE KISS AH MY FEELS

Azi is not hiding his emotions well, right before the grab:

Then of course we get the I Forgive You, which sounds like his most bitter one yet. A flash of anger and resentment, frustration, immediately followed by remorse and grief.

Having seen all that, my best guess now is:

Metatron made the (barely) veiled De Facto Partnership threats, implying he knows about the body swap and, implicitly, threatening Crowley with Holy Water, at least to some extent.

Aziraphale tries his damnedest to communicate to Crowley that Something is Fucking Wrong and they Have to Go to Heaven to Fix It.

Crowley, having been primed by the various chats with Nina and then the 2v1 chat with Nina and Maggie RIGHT before this, clearly timed by the Metatron, fully misses all of this and takes it all at face value.

Crowley starts to give his confession and Aziraphale realizes what he's trying to say, tries to adjust his Heaven Pitch to hinge on staying together as a team to fix things."

"You cannot leave this bookshop." "Nothing lasts forever." Azi has chosen the worst way to make another attempt at saying he has no choice but to leave the bookshop. I don't think this is about the Second Coming, given his reaction to the info later.

Everything deteriorates from there as Aziraphale tries again to imply something is Fucking Wrong by going back to the "Angels! Doing good!" shtick, but it's too late. It's always too late.

"I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." He doesn't but Azi is also communicating it very badly, likely because the Metatron is indeed watching.

Crowley thinks this is all real so he gives his No Nightingales line, etc etc. Aziraphale can tell there's no fixing this, gives up.

Crowley swoops in with The Kiss as a last ditch effort to get Azi to listen. Azi WAS listening, but cannot respond other than in anger and frustration that Crowley, in his view, refuses to listen to him again, has called him an idiot again. This happens multiple times throughout the show so there's history to fuel that assumption.

This is the precise outcome the Metatron was vying for, to split them up and emotionally/psychologically weaken them, to ensure there was no chance of a united front as there was for Armageddidn't.

My heart hurts, ow.

[fangsandfeels]

The vagueness of Astarion sleeping mechanics drives me mad sometimes

So, the game says that elves don't sleep - to the point where it's ironically stated that the only way for them to experience sleeping is to either drink a potion of Angelic Slumber or "get hit really hard with a chair".

Instead, they enter a semi-aware meditative state (Revery) where they experience memories from their past lives (usually most positive and emotional parts). Or they just sorting through their current memories.

Now, we've seen Astarion meditating if his way of lying on a bedroll is anything to go by. He is also immune to sleeping spells. We could also see him sleeping (in a Durge run). I know that devs technically recycle the same sleeping pose for all romanced companions, but still. Also, Astarion has nightmares, which is not typical for elves.

Of course, when I was going through the lore, I scratched the surface, but from what I understood, Revery is supposed to be a controlled state, and nightmares aren't exactly controlled.

But, I've found a very interesting bit that (so far) is still considered part of the official canon:

Elves can sleep and dream just like any human, but almost all surface elves avoid doing so. Dreams, as humans know them, are strange and confusing to elves. Unlike the actual memories of one’s primal soul, present life, or past lives, dreams are uncontrolled products of the subconscious, and perhaps the subconscious minds of those past lives or primal souls as well. An elf who dreams must always wonder whose mind these thoughts first arose from, and why. Priests of Sehanine Moonbow are an exception: they sleep and dream to receive signs from their god, and elves consult such priests to interpret their own dreams."

From: Mordenkainrn's Tome Of Foes, Chapter 2: Elves

And not only does this little bit explain a lot, but it also provides some food for your fic writing purposes.

Now, I'm entering the headcanon territory, so be warned.

Astarion's access to Revery got horribly fucked up after he had been Turned. Not only does he no longer have access to his previous lives since he is technically dead and plucked from the cycle, but he also can't even have his happy or good memories before he became a spawn. Even if they are still there, somewhere in the memory palace, getting to them requires going through the catalog of traumatic and painful memories he acquired after being enslaved by Cazador. It's like running through a burning house trying to rescue your family photo - and the hall gets longer each time. So, entering a trance means confronting the worst memories of his life over and over because there is nothing else there.

Due to this Astarion may resort to sleeping, which elves don't usually do. Elves don't like dreams because dreams are subconscious, and they can't be controlled, which scares them. For Astarion, however, it means there is a chance of him subconsciously dreaming of something nice or just being blissfully empty. However, it doesn't safeguard him from nightmares which (because they are the product of his unconsciousness) get even more twisted than simple memories.

Additionally, there can be a possibility that after becoming a spawn he got cut off from meditation and trances completely, relying on sleeping only: at least, the cut spawn epilogue by Withers mentions how while Astarion needs to sleep again, he doesn't sleep alone. While we don't know what that means exactly (and whether it will ever be implemented in the game), I assume that the tadpole gave him the ability to meditate back, but it was a small improvement because his memory headspace no longer holds happy memories capable of offering solace or refuge.

So, my personal headcanon is that he switches between meditating and sleeping depending on how aware he needs to be, and whatever option feels less torturous at the moment.

For instance, in his Origin run, when he remembers the moment of Cazador carving scars into him, he is in a trance. Which is why the memory is so horribly vivid, as if he is reliving it anew.

However, when he has a nightmare where Cazador finds him, he is sleeping and experiencing a memory affected by his subconsciousness. Which is why he jolts himself awake and desperate to know the limits of his freedom.

So, yes, the man literally can't catch a break.

On a happier note (and for your hurt/comfort fanfiction purposes), once Astarion starts traveling with Tav and the group, his memory bank gets updated with memories that are actually fun and nice, so he has something to linger upon when he is meditating. Sleeping gradually becomes a bit more pleasant experience because his subconsciousness got more material to work with, so the quality of his non-controlled dreams has to gradually improve.

[here2bbtstrash]

deep end (explicit)

genre: pwp / domestic-ass smut hehe 💕

pairing: namjoon x reader (ft. no gendered language! bc lots of people get periods!)

summary: your boyfriend suggests a new way to relieve your period cramps.

word count: 4.2k

contains: explicit sexual content ~*~*~ established relationship, boyfie joon in a hoodie/glasses/with stubble (yes that's a warning), they use the term 'baby' a lot because it's me writing joon duh, some minor implications that menstruation is gross (from reader) (buuuut they get over it lol), 🩸period sex🩸, nipple play, fingering and clit stim, joon has a monster cock bc of course he does, size kink, bulge kink, he's all up in their cervix, reader has a.... cervical orgasm which might just be an a-spot orgasm my googling was inconclusive whatever none of you care - a good mix of fluff and playful bickering, the ending is soft 🫠

A/N: JOON HOES I HAVE RETURNED FOR YOU 🫡 it's been too long, so please take one of my favorite things i've ever written as my very sincere apology. idk this really just flowed out (no pun intended ksdjhgdfsdf) and i had a lot of fun with it, i heart bodies doing body things yknow. shout-out to my period for being extra bad last month and inspiring this.... it's called MANIFESTING amiright besties 💅✨ i hope y'all enjoy!!!! would love to hear your thoughts if you did 🥺💜

and all the love in the world to @haliiimede for betaing and being my emotional support capricorn, where would i be without you my love

read on AO3 !

~*~

The hinges of the bedroom door creak softly as it’s pushed open, and you glance up.

You’re where you’ve been for as long as social responsibilities will allow you to hide from the world and futilely attempt an afternoon nap: curled up on your side, knees pressed tight to your chest, gritting your teeth through each fresh round of stabbing pain. It’s worse than usual this month, for no discernible reason, which is stupid.

Namjoon leans against the doorframe, domestic-cozy-cute in the way that usually makes you want to jump him, glasses and a hoodie. He can’t help but smile sympathetically when he notices your arms are wrapped around an emotional support Koya plushie.

“You okay?”

You wince. “Cramps. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a flutter of mattress springs and bed sheets as he sits down at your side. “Is today the worst of it?” You nod. “Did you take your stuff?”

You smush your cheek against the top of Koya’s head, nuzzling into the soft fabric, tactile comfort. “Yes.”

“Extra-strength?”

“Yes, Joon,” you snap. “I’ve been having periods since I was twelve, I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, baby.”

You feel guilty as soon as the exasperation-tinged words leave your mouth. “Sorry. I’m being an ass. Just… fucking hurts.”

He tries again. “Heating pad?”

“Worked for a bit, but I got too hot.” Your feet kick frustratedly under the blankets. “I’m ready for winter.”

Namjoon laughs at this. “Does that mean too hot for some company?”

The corners of your pouted mouth just barely start to pull up as you pretend to think it over. “…No.”

“Okay then.” He pushes back the sheets to slide in next to you, removing his glasses and reaching over to deposit them on the nightstand. He smells good, clean laundry and woody cologne. You don’t fight him when he moves to gently pry Koya out of your hands.

“Get out of here,” he murmurs, and you laugh in surprise when he unceremoniously flings the plushie across the room.

“Hey!”

“We don’t need him,” Namjoon says with a smug smile as he adjusts the blankets so he can settle in behind you.

Just the presence of him pressing into your back, big and solid and familiar, makes you start to unwind. His hand slips under your oversized t-shirt to rest on your low belly, fingertips dipping beneath the band of your underwear to gently trace over your skin. The warmth is nice— you feel yourself melt a little under his touch.

“You know what’s good for cramps?” He asks softly. You hum a response, prompting him to continue, and he does. “Orgasms.”

With a sigh, you turn your head to press your face into the pillow. “Vibrator’s dead.”

“Do you want me to plug it in?”

You make a sound that isn’t a clear yes or no, debating internally, then finally answer. “Don’t leave.”

He doesn’t. “What can I do then?”

The answer is immediate, paired with a dry laugh. “You can put me out of my misery.”

Namjoon shakes his head, tuts a little. “Can’t do that. But maybe I can help another way.”

The hand on your stomach slowly starts to slide further up, over your waist and rib cage, coming to cup one of your breasts. He gives it a tentative squeeze. “Sore?”

You shrug. “A little.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

His thumb starts to move, tracing slow, lazy circles over your nipple, coaxing the soft bud to a peak.

You let your eyes flutter closed and allow this sensation to overtake the others, enough to pull an appreciative noise out of you. “Nnh— feels good.” Your voice comes out nearly a whisper.

“Good.”

He wiggles his hips a little in response, and you can’t help but laugh when you feel something firm press against your ass. “How are you hard right now?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling, and you shift to turn onto your back so you can see him properly. It doesn’t hurt that it also gives him a better angle to play with both of your breasts— a second hand quickly finds its way up your shirt. “Everything turns you on.”

Namjoon shrugs, unbothered. “With you, yeah.”

“But…” You shift your legs vaguely under the sheets, knowing he’ll understand what you mean. “It’s gross.”

“How?”

The feeling of his fingers gently flicking over both of your nipples simultaneously makes your brain lag. “Uh— dirty.”

“Not true.”

Your eyes flutter shut again as you try to keep up with the conversation despite the heat of arousal that’s starting to swell in your gut, and lower. “Okay, messy.”

“All sex is messy,” Namjoon says, like it’s a given.

You huff a noise of frustration, glancing over at him. “Stop being obtuse. It’s different.”

“I’m not,” he insists. “It just sounds like you have some unnecessary shame. It’s a natural thing.”

“Natural,” you deadpan back. “You’re a hippie.”

He smiles. “Maybe.”

The admission is paired with a light pinch to your nipples, and you inhale sharply, biting back a whimper. “A freak.”

His laugh is soft and deep. “Sure. Have you fucked on your period before? I know we haven’t, but— ever?” You shake your head into the pillow. “Might feel good. They say it helps.”

You scoff at this. “Yeah, I bet ‘they’ all have dicks.”

“We don’t have to.”

Namjoon pauses, as if waiting for you to make a decision. You can’t ignore the way his hands on your tits have worked up a steady pulse between your legs.

“…You’ve done it before?” You squeeze your thighs together as you ask the question.

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

“And it wasn’t gross?”

“No, baby. It’s just a—”

“Do not say fluid,” you interrupt with a grimace.

He quirks an eyebrow. “An output.”

“Actually, I think that’s worse.”

A smile blooms on his face, dimples popping, his hands jiggling your breasts. Playful. “It’s free lube.”

You laugh despite yourself. “We’ll mess up the sheets.”

“We’ll put down a towel,” he corrects. “And if we do, I’ll wash them.”

You pause for a moment, considering. “Promise?” There are few things more torturous than the idea of doing laundry on your period.

“Yes, baby,” Namjoon assures you, his gaze roaming over your face. “But I don’t wanna force you. If you feel that bad, let’s just watch a movie.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unable to hide your smile. “Nuh-uh.” You scoot a little closer, rolling in to hitch a leg over him, your socked foot teasing up the back of his calf. “You played with my tits too much. No turning back now.”

The answer makes him cocky, his tongue briefly toying at the corner of his mouth when he smirks. “I’m not scared.” His voice is deeper, darkened by lust, enough to send a shiver through you.

You tilt your jaw up towards his mouth. “Kiss me.”

His lips are soft and warm when they press to yours, and you tip onto your back again, his knees and forearms sinking into the mattress as he follows to cover your body with his.

Your palms slip under his hoodie to slide up over the smooth, defined muscles of his stomach, the broad expanse of his chest. His tongue flutters over your lower lip, and your hands trace back down to the hem, bunching the thick fabric up in your fists.

“Take this off.”

Namjoon smiles against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, his hands still pawing under your shirt. “Bossy today.”

You tug at his hoodie again for emphasis, earning a pinch to your nipples in response. “You like it.”

“I do.”

“Off.”

He sits up on his knees, untangling himself from under your shirt to strip, and you do the same. You can see the imprint of his dick already straining against the thin fabric of his joggers, and you reach up to slip your fingers under the waistband, running your palm down the length of him over his briefs. There’s a new kind of ache in your core now.

“These too.”

He laughs a little. “Okay, baby. And do you wanna—”

You follow his gaze to stare down at your own sweatpants. “Yeah, let me just. Bathroom.”

Namjoon leans forward, so his mouth ghosts over yours when you sit up. “I’ll get the towels.” He sucks gently on your bottom lip when he kisses you. It’s enough to leave you breathless.

You do your best not to overthink it as you slip into the bathroom and go through the motions. Sweatpants off, underwear too, pad discarded, attempt to clean up a little. You move fast, trying not to leak. The blankets are pushed to the foot of the bed when you return to the bedroom, brown towels laid over the sheets, even a box of tissues on the nightstand.

Namjoon has kicked off his pants and underwear, one hand lazily pumping himself as he turns to face you, muscles in his forearm shifting from the motion.

You lick your lips appreciatively. His cock is flushed dark, hard, already wet at the tip. The thought of him dripping precum just from setting out towels and tissues makes you giggle a little as you climb into bed— a Virgo through and through.

The mattress shifts as he crawls over you, letting go of himself to trace a slow hand up your thigh, over your hip, to finally settle at your waist. “Still okay?”

You nod and pull him down.

He kisses you more fervently this time, and you tilt your head to lick into his mouth, your breath edged with a moan when your tongues pass over each other. You run your hands along his back, nails scratching gently, as his lips move to brush against your jaw, then nibble at your ear.

“How do you want it, baby?” Namjoon’s voice goes straight to your cunt, thick and dripping like honey.

Your mind swims as you try to answer the question, and you instinctively bring your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you were curled up in bed earlier. You pull them apart a little, spreading yourself for him, nowhere to hide. Heat blooms in your face as his eyes trace your body down to your pussy, and he hums softly.

You suck in a breath at the barely-there brush of contact, his slender fingers tracing over your folds. “Is it bad?”

“It’s perfect. It’s you.” You bite down on your lip, not quite willing to believe it’s that simple. “Can I touch you?” You nod again. He groans a little in the back of his throat when he presses in. “Fuckin’ wet.”

“Joon,” you gasp. Your cunt flutters around his finger, tender, as if to suck him further in. He adds a second, sliding easily, and you can feel the way he curls inside to pet long strokes over the ridges of your front wall, made supple from sensitivity. The pleasure sends a shower of sparks through you, and your spine arches. You squeeze your eyes shut as they roll back in your skull.

“This okay?”

You reach up to dig your fingernails into his arms, his biceps flexing under your touch. “’Sgood, baby. More.”

“More fingers?”

You shake your head, eyes flickering open to meet his. “Cock.”

It’s both dirty and domestic, doing it in broad daylight, the bedroom drenched in mid-afternoon sun that pours between the cracked window blinds. No shadows to disguise it, no questioning the color painted over Namjoon’s fingers when he withdraws, dark red.

Your discomfort feels like an afterthought compared to how badly you want him now. He pauses to wipe the excess off on the towel beneath you, free hand guiding the still-slick tip of his cock to brush over your folds, teasing.

You can’t help but whimper. “Baby.”

With a soft grunt, he does it again, more purposefully now— the whole of this thick cock grinding over your slit, both of you smeared messy with arousal and flushed warm from blood-flow.

You press yourself up on your forearms in time to see him wrap his hand around the base and slide it in. He pushes slow, but you’re wet enough that he can slip right to the hilt without resistance, and your jaw goes slack as you watch all of him disappear up inside you.

“Ah, Joon—” you hiss a little as he bottoms all the way out, fucks in until there’s no space left between you.

He stills his hips, eyes flitting up to find yours. “Hurts?”

You shake your head and whine softly. The stretch was easier than normal, actually. “Just, nnh— full.” Letting your head drop back on the pillow, you breathe a laugh. “You’re fucking big.”

He’s nearly wincing. “You’re swollen, baby. Makes it feel like more.”

The pressure of being filled blooms thick, indulgent, a sensation you can feel all the way down to the soles of your feet, every inch of you plugged up with his cock. You lick your lips and try to speak.

“Can you move?”

Namjoon flashes a dimpled smile, suddenly shy. “Hang on.” He scrunches his nose a little, eyes rolling up briefly to fix at a spot on the wall behind you. You can hear the strain in his voice. “Trying not to come.”

Your eyes go wide. “Really? Are you a teenager?!”

He huffs an indignant laugh, face flushing. “It’s like a fucking flood down there! And you’re extra tight… So damn, give me a second.”

Giggling a little, you reach up to loop your arms around his shoulders, fingernails lazily scratching at the nape of his neck, combing through his dark hair that’s gotten so long. He exhales a slow stream of air as he closes his eyes for a moment, then blinks them open again with a smile.

“Okay. You okay?”

You hum. “The pressure is… it’s good. Think it’s helping.” Your cramps have started to subside, or at least you’re not focused on them.

“It’s not too much, all the way in like this?” He circles his hips experimentally, which makes the head of his cock press firmly against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and you feel him reflexively start to pull out, paired with a concerned look flashed over his face. You smack a hand to his lower back to stop him, to hold him still.

“Please, Joonie, don’t— it felt good. Just, ah, keep doing that.”

“You squeezed me so hard. Thought I hurt you.” He rolls his hips again and you both groan softly. “Shit, baby, look down.” Namjoon’s voice is slightly hoarse.

You tilt your head up to see an unmistakable bulge in your lower abdomen that shifts as he ruts his hips into you again. You gasp at the rush of pleasure and the visual of his cock so deep inside you.

“You like that?” You swallow hard and nod at his question, whimpering as he brings one hand up to gently press down around his girth. A mixture of pleasure and relief floods through you, and you moan. “Like it when I’m in your stomach, baby?”

Your head drops back against the pillow. “Fuck” is the only answer you can give as he keeps moving his hips.

It takes you by surprise when you feel the brush of his lips over yours, and you tilt up to deepen the kiss instinctively. “So damn sexy,” he murmurs into your mouth. For a minute, you let the rest go, and allow yourself to believe him.

Namjoon falls into a consistent rhythm, cock grinding into your cervix so steadily that it makes it impossible for you to bite back your moans. He keeps one hand splayed over your stomach to meet himself there, and your cunt squeezed in between feels liable to overflow, on the verge of splitting open.

“Nnh, shit, Joon, that feels so good.” It’s like he’s pressing up on your lungs now— you can hardly breathe, dizzy with pleasure. 

Fucking is somehow more intimate this way, taking him as deep as you can go and keeping him there, his shallow flutter-thrusts rocking slow and heavy for your shared sensitivity. Trading lazy kisses and stilted breaths and pretty sounds into each other’s open mouths. The press of his broad hands into your skin and the towel-guarded mattress, the wet squish of your folds on the base of his cock.

“God,” Namjoon groans, breath ghosting over your lips. “This perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

Without warning— or maybe in response— your walls start to pulse, and then the dam of steadily built-up pleasure bursts, a rush so intense that you can only gasp and dig your nails into Namjoon’s shoulders. “Joon, Joon—” You clarify when his brow creases with concern: “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You think you might die if he does.

He keeps going, barely-there strokes that rub the thick head of his cock into you over and over, and you cry out as you come fully undone.

A strange new feeling lights you up like a live wire, warmth radiating through your body as contractions squeeze your pussy so tight you swear you see stars when you close your eyes.

Namjoon curses under his breath, your whole body shaking beneath him as he works this surprise orgasm all the way out of you, until your thighs reflexively pull together and he stills his motions again.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, turning your head to press your cheek into the pillow. You slowly start to come down through the aftershocks, a lingering buzz glittering in your fingertips from the weight of his cock still crammed up inside you.

Namjoon’s large hands pet up the backs of your thighs, trailing soft heat. “You good, baby? That was crazy.”

“I-I just—” You exhale in an attempt to catch your breath, and it turns into a laugh as your eyes flicker open. “I didn’t know I could come from that. Fuck.”

He cracks a smile. “Sensitive. How’s it feel?” He leans forward to seek a kiss and you return it, nuzzling along the line of his jaw once you break apart. His stubble drags against your cheek, not unpleasant, and you shiver a little.

“I don’t know, I just had a crazy fucking… cervix orgasm,” you tease. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”

“Just don’t want it to hurt.”

“It doesn’t,” you murmur into his mouth. “So fuck me?”

You both moan when Namjoon begins to properly move, thrusting slow and deep-deep, your pussy clinging tight to him on the upstroke. You’re wet enough to gush when he fucks back in— just the sound of it makes your head spin. Your clit aches, so worked up untouched that it’s starting to throb.

“Baby,” you whine. “Touch me. Wanna come again. Please.”

He hums a soft noise of surprise, eyebrows raising, hips worked up to a steady rhythm now. “Already?” His lips press to yours again, and a sly smile spreads across them as he pulls back. “Needy.”

You huff a laugh, leaning up for another kiss, insatiable. “I said please.”

Namjoon earns a whimper out of you this time when his tongue swipes into your mouth, and he’s a little breathless when he breaks away. “I like you needy. I’ll keep you in this bed all day, if that’s what you want.”

“I—nnh—” you lose the thread of mid-sex conversation entirely as he shifts to free one hand and bring the pad of his thumb to your clit, flicking down firmly at a pace to match his strokes. “Fuck, Joon.”

Your hands grasp at the pillow beneath your head, fingers sinking in to grip desperate. He’s pounding heavy into your g-spot now, your legs spread wide and back arched up to take it.

It’s so good, it’s overwhelming, warm glow all the way through you. Arousal drips from your cunt to make the squelch of his strokes even messier. His hips are unrelenting, and your thighs start to shake from the pleasure, amplified with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

“Just—” You can barely speak, have to gasp for air after the first word, “—just like that.”

“Baby,” Namjoon’s voice comes out hoarse, in the way it does when he’s close, too. The bed creaks from the weight of his strokes. “So damn tight, so soft, can you feel it?”

A whine and a nod are all you can manage. You can feel him everywhere, down to the details, the fat veins that run the length of his cock molded to your walls, pulsing velvet heat. Your cunt melts lush around him, wet and raw as he fucks you apart. He rubs you in time to bring you over the edge again, and you’re helpless to it, can only let out a strangled sob of a noise as you tense up and come hard.

Namjoon’s thumb keeps circling, hips keep rocking, working you through it and groaning low in his throat for the way your cunt clenches up around him. Your nails dig into the pillow as you shudder and gasp.

“That’s it, shit, baby. Tight little pussy, gonna make me come too, fuck.”

With a grunt of effort, he pulls out, one hand reaching down to stroke his cock as he comes, thick ropes of his release painting your stomach in milky gloss. Your cunt pulses around nothing, hot pleasure aftermath, twitching sensitive.

Fucked to oblivion, you collapse against the mattress, feeling spent and heavy-all-over. Your head is still spinning, enough that you’re only distantly aware of the way Namjoon’s ragged breathing softens at the edges and starts to dissolve into gentle laughter.

Your eyes blink open to see him leaning over you, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.

“Good thing I grabbed these,” he remarks as he lifts up his red-stained palm.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight. “Oh my god, Joon.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up enough for a dimple to wink back at you as he goes through a couple tissues to clean himself up. “Relax, baby. It really doesn’t bother me.” He pulls a few more loose from the box to deal with the mess on your stomach. “Just wanna point out that you don’t mind when I come on you.”

You huff. Smart-ass. “It’s different.”

“Is it?” He challenges. “It’s just bodies being bodies. Byproducts of the human condition.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “You’re a poet.”

“Maybe.” His clean hand smacks playfully against your thigh, jiggling the soft skin there. “Shower time.”

The whine that escapes you sounds pathetic, even to you. Movement of any kind feels impossible. “I won’t make it.”

“Come on.” You yelp and grab to wrap the towel beneath you over your waist as Namjoon scoops you up in an effortless bridal carry and heads for the bathroom. He turns the shower on with his foot as you cling to him for dear life, but he somehow manages not to drop you.

When he deposits you onto still-shaky legs, you let the towel drop to the bathroom floor. The water is scalding when you step into the shower, the way you both like it. Crowding you under the spray, he reaches for the washcloth and squirts a liberal amount of body wash into the fabric, infusing the steam with eucalyptus and mint. It feels like you can breathe a little deeper.

One large hand comes to your hip under the water as he works up a lather. “Turn around.”

You can feel the staining at the crux of your thighs, dry and sticky, as you shift unsurely in place. “Nnh,” you pout. “Can I rinse first?”

“Nope. Tryna take care of you, so let me.”

Scrunching your nose for dramatic effect, you turn for him. When the washcloth passes over your skin, his touch is so gentle, so immediately overwhelming, that emotion bubbles up before you can stop it. There’s nothing you can do to hide the way your shoulders start to shake as tears spill down your face.

It takes a second, and then you feel his motions slowly come to a stop. “Baby?”

You shake your head, embarrassed, bringing your arm up to wipe at your nose. “‘m fine. Emotional. Ignore me.”

“I can’t do that.” He rights himself, and the fingertips of his free hand trace the line of your jaw, encouraging your gaze to meet his. “Talk to me, please.”

Another fat droplet slides down your cheek, and his thumb catches it. You inhale, trying to catch your breath, and your chest shudders. “It just. Feels like too much, sometimes. Like I don’t deserve it.” You gesture broadly. “Everything, you. I don’t know.”

Namjoon frowns a little as he momentarily drapes the washcloth over the edge of the tub. “C’mon, don’t think like that.”

When he pulls you in, you allow yourself to sink into the embrace, tears flowing freely as his strong arms press you close. You know he’ll let you ride it out, the same way you do with him.

His lips brush over your hairline. “You’re good to me, wanna be good back,” he explains, voice low. “That’s all.”

Your cheek rubs against the hard plane of his chest as you nod.

“You’re so good to me, Joon. Too good.”

“Nah.” You don’t even have to look up to know he’s smiling— you can hear it in his voice. “You’re easy to love.”

[scarletwinterxx]

hyuck hugs and cuddles - haechan oneshot

heelloooo, i've been getting a few more messages now and it's so fun interacting with u all💛🥺 if you have any question for me or anything really, just send them my way and i'll answer when I can!

This one is a request. Hope you like it! if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2023 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Love, I thought you were resting"

You let out a sigh as you rinse the bowls and plates in the sink, feeling a presence beside you

"I thought you were resting, you said you weren't feeling okay"

"I thought I asked you to wash the dishes this morning" you mumbled, annoyed.

It's not totally his fault. You're on your period and everything is annoying to you at the moment. You really do feel bad right now, your cramps are at a level 8 on the pain scale and you woke up with the worst headache. Hence why you asked Haechan to do the dishes.

In his defense he was going to do it. But then he got distracted by other things. It's his fault you found the dirty dishes first before he did, he knows you hate telling him to do things twice. It's a flaw he's trying to work out.

"I'm sorry, baby. I was going to do it"

"You weren't, you didn't. I'm doing it now, can you just go?"

You didn't even notice you were crying until he wipes a few tears away. He takes the gloves off of your hands, he also knows your hands get an allergic reaction if you don't wear gloves which is why he's the one who does the dishes most of the time.

He wipes your hands with a towel, taking the apron off of you before pulling you in for a hug. You don't say anything, you just let him hug you then you walk upstairs to your bedroom.

Haechan let you have some time, finishing the remaining dishes before he follows you. There he finds you on the bed, tears in your eyes streaming down your cheeks.

Silently crying your frustrations and a bit of pain away.

You feel the bed dip before a pair of arms hug you.

"Shhh, it's okay" he mumbles, you turn around so you could bury your face on his chest. He feels you shake against him, crying.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you" you say in between cries while your boyfriend pats your back gently, trying his best to provide comfort for you

"Hey, no need for a sorry. I'm at fault here, I'll do the dishes okay don't worry about that. I'm sorry I didn't do it earlier, I went to the store to get you chocolates and your favorite bread that's why I was out"

"You got me bread?" you asked, resting your cheeks on his chest. Haechan smiles down at you, kissing your head a few times while his hand rests on your hand.

"Yep. Your favorite ones, if you want I'll cook you ramen too. I know you love that" he tells you. If he could he would take the pain instead. But you and him both know you can handle it better, you'd probably laugh at him if he ever agrees on trying that cramps simulator thing which he strongly said no to because he hates those things so much.

So when it's that time of the month for you, he tries to be the best boyfriend ever and get you everything you need. He hate seeing you in pain which sometimes can get real bad for you, but there's only so much he could do. He makes sure you have your heating pad, your favorite snacks, some medicine if you need it.

He loves taking care of you, he loves seeing the smile on your face when he brings you your favorite things.

"You're not mad?" you mumble, lips frowning.

He chuckles, leaning down you peck you on the lips a few times. You can feel his smile while he does this making you feel a lot better.

"Never, how can I ever be mad at you? How about I make us snacks while you pick a movie for us to watch? Or we can just cuddle, put on your favorite playlist. Whatever you want to do"

"Don't care what we do, just want to cuddle now" you mumble, Haechan all but combusted right then and there. Finding you the most adorable right now. He hugs you tightly, cuddling you close

"Sounds like a plan, Hyuck hugs coming now"

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 3

Again the winner of last week's poll! There won't be a poll this week because I'm planning something a bit different. I hit 1000 followers this past week and have been wracking my brain about how to celebrate! Wasn't up for doing prompts or adding more projects to my list, though, so I didn't want to go that route.

But I did come up with something that I think everyone will really enjoy. Especially those of you who have been voting for Carry Your Heart (I see you in the tags!). So look out for that post.

In addition, I've just posted the first chapter of Arc 2 on AO3! Link below.

Story Summary: Jack and Maddie install a new ghost shield on the house which activates the moment Danny tries to step into his home. His secret is out and his parents are determined to excise the ghost from their son.

Luckily Danny isn't alone. The Young Justice, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz aren't going to leave him to suffer.

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: AO3 (incomplete); Tumblr - First, Final

Arc 3: First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

-----

Fire rushing through him jolted Danny awake. His back arched as he cried out. He screwed his eyes tight, not wanting to see what torture his parents were going to come at him with next when he realized what the sound of his cry meant: the muzzle was gone.

As were the restraints. And he was lying on something soft. Trying hard not to hope, he opened his eyes.

Sam and Jazz were leaning over him, concern clear on their faces. They were in some sort of ambulance or van.

“How are you feeling,” demanded Sam.

Danny took a moment to answer, his chest was pure agony. He didn’t even want to think what it would feel like to sit up. And even past that, everything was sore. Though the fire that had woken him up had dissipated, the tell-tale feel of ecto-dejecto. “Pretty much the worst I’ve ever felt,” he answered honestly.

Sam and Jazz both winced and his sister grabbed his hand. He squeezed her fingers weakly.

At the foot of his bed stood Tim in full Red Robin getup and Kon as Superboy.

He couldn’t hold back the smile as he met Tim’s gaze. “You came,” he said.

Tim didn’t smile back, but some tension eased out of his shoulders. “I always will,” he said. “Been telling you that since we were ten years old.”

“I know. I’ve always known. Thank you.”

Jazz squeezed his hand again and he looked at her. “Red Robin and Superboy are going to take you away from here. Robin will help you recover.”

Sam nodded. “Yep. And the rest of us are gonna focus on making sure Amity is safe for ghosts once and for all.”

Danny shook his head. “I should be there with you guys, fighting.”

“Nope!” interrupted Jazz. “Not even a little. You’re going to focus on getting better, got it, Danny? That’s all we want from you.”

“But the ghosts—”

Sam covered his mouth with her hand. “Stop it right there. Tucker is working with Impulse and Wonder Girl to get the portal locked up. No one will be coming through. No one—ghost or human—will be in any danger while you’re gone. I promise.”

Danny slumped into the bed. Even the slight change in position caused waves of pain to radiate from his chest even through the healing ice he could feel implanted in his body. He whimpered and closed his eyes until the throbbing receded just a bit. “I trust you. I do, it’s just…”

“You’re used to taking care of everyone,” finished Jazz for him. “We know. So let us take care of you for a change. We love you, Danny.”

“Love you, too, Jazz. Sam.”

“Be good for bird-brain there, got it?” ordered Sam.

Danny gave her a half-smile. “Are Tim and I ever good together?”

She laughed. “Well, don’t burn down Gotham, capiche?”

“Capiche.”

“We have to go now,” said Jazz.

Danny gripped her hand tighter. “Don’t leave me.”

Jazz winced, but leaned down to kiss his forehead. “We need to make sure the Guys in White aren’t going to get involved further. And you need to get someplace safe.”

Danny huffed a half laugh. “Gotham is safe?”

Jazz rolled her eyes at his poor attempt at a joke. “For you it is. Now, I’m leaving Red and Superboy with a case full of ectoplasm for you and our entire supply of ecto-dejecto. I just gave you your first injection. Please try and eat something and drink your ectoplasm regularly.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Jazz.”

Jazz sniffed and it was only then that Danny realized it was wetter than usual and her eyes were watery. He tried not to feel bad for his jokes when she replied, “Yes, it is whatever I say. Glad you agree.”

Sam cackled, and now that he was paying attention, Danny could hear the hysterical edge to it. “You’d better text us multiple times a day, ghost boy. Don’t try and lie to us, either. Kon’ll tell me the truth about your condition. And as soon as we can arrange it, we’re coming out your way for a visit.”

“Course I will, Sam. Give Tuck my best?”

“Duh. He wishes he could’ve come with us, you know.”

Danny nodded. “But he’s better with the tech stuff and that is just as time sensitive.”

“Yeah. Now, get some sleep,” Sam ordered. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

Danny gave the rote answer after too many all-nighters taking care of ghost attacks before school, “I’m dead, I don’t need sleep.”

His sister squeezed his hand. “Ghosts who just went through what you did need their sleep. Love you, Danny. Get well and I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you, Jazz.”

She kissed his forehead one more time, followed by Sam. And with another two rounds of farewells and love yous, he was alone with Tim and Kon.

“Thanks for coming,” he said again.

“Obviously we weren’t going to leave you there,” said Kon. “Being a lab subject isn’t fun. Especially not that kinda lab experiment.”

Danny couldn’t quite hold back the flinch at that description. It was accurate, but blunt.

Tim walked over until he was sitting by Danny’s bed. “Just listen to Jazz and get some rest. We’re going to be taking the long route to Gotham by going south to start. If we stop for food in a few hours, think you could handle a smoothie?”

Danny shrugged and bit back a yawn. “Could try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Kon moved towards the front of the vehicle as well. “Looks like it’s time for us to skedaddle. I’ll keep the road from jostling you, ghost-boy.”

Danny gave a small smile and let his eyes close. As he did, he tried to mumble his thanks and he hoped it came across.

---

The next time he woke was more gentle. Someone was tapping on his shoulder and calling his name. But even so, as he was pulled closer to awareness, the pain made itself more and more known. He tried to cling to the darkness, but the tapping wasn’t stopping, nor was the person calling him.

He blinked open his eyes to see Tim’s concerned face. He wasn’t wearing the domino anymore, or his costume. Just a sweatshirt and jeans.

“Hey, Danny,” said Tim. “I’m going to need you to try and eat a bit right now. Kon got us those smoothies I mentioned. I’ve also got yogurt if that’ll be easier for you. But the smoothie will have more nutrients.”

Danny closed his eyes. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to eat. Why did Tim have to bring him back to consciousness for this? He hurt and just wanted to sink back into oblivion.

The tapping on his shoulder began again. “I know, Danny. But you have to eat something. And you should take some ectoplasm, too. So just stay awake for a few minutes.”

“Mm ‘wake,” said Danny without opening his eyes. He shifted his weight, hoping to push himself up to eat, only to scream in pain as his chest protested any movement.

“Shit! Don’t move,” said Tim too late. “I’ve got a spoon here. I’ll feed it to you, okay? So just stay exactly where you are.”

Danny gripped his sheets, unable to do anything else as wave after wave of pain over took him. Tim kept up a litany of reassurances and stroked his hair. Eventually, Danny was able to think past it again.

“Don’t think I can sit up,” said Danny.

“Of course not,” agreed Tim. He held a styrofoam cup between his knees and carefully took off the lid and straw. “Just let me. Take at least a few bites. Swallow as is, don’t try and chew. Just do what you can, okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Danny and Tim fed him the first bite.

Danny hated this. Hated it so much. Here he was being spoon fed like a baby all because his parents… He shut his eyes and took the next bite. He wasn’t going to finish that thought. Tim was here and that’s what mattered.

Danny wasn’t sure how much he ate, but it couldn’t have been much. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier and the pull of oblivion stronger.

“Wait, Danny. Stay awake just a little longer, okay?”

Danny groaned but forced his eyes open again.

Tim showed him a bottle of ectoplasm. “Just a few swallows of this, too. Okay?”

He didn’t want to. He’d rather just go to sleep again, but he opened his mouth obediently. By the time he finished his third spoonful, he couldn’t fight it anymore and slumped into the bed. The pain receded back into blackness for a time.

-----

Next

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Danny is going to be getting all the comfort throughout this. All of them will, tbh. Because no one is happy and they all need a hug or five.

Let me know what you think!

[kitorin]

journal.

in which, itoshi rin's midnight writing exposes what he's kept concealed from you.

contents. itoshi rin x reader, 2.878 k words, fluff, angst (in the past), itoshi backstory spoilers (mixed with a few headcanons), 1st person rin pov for a bit (journal entry), regular highschool au

a/n. is this my best? no. but is it the best i have for today? yes. happy birthday to rin <3 after assignments are done i'll definitely rewrite this (i gave up on proofreading)

10 / 09 / 2023 : SUNDAY, 12:04 am - 3:21 am

Solitude has never been a foreigner.

In fact, he's quite a familiar individual, an old companion that never seems to leave.

Even before Nii chan left for Spain, solitude was still there for me. During class I wouldn't utter a word to anyone else unless necessary, and contrariwise for said classmates. People still spoke to me; just not to the extent that they'd know what my favourite foods were, or what I liked to watch in my free time, not even bothering with it. I've never been invited to hang out with anyone after school, or been to someone else's house (not that I particularly cared, I was just sure that I was the only one).

But I was okay with it. I didn't want, or need anyone else when Nii chan bought me ice blocks, giving me the bigger piece as we'd watch the sun's warm hues bleed into the sky; the saccharine iciness contrasting how warm is was to be swallowed by sunlight together. Dad took us fishing a lot, he's always been well acquainted with the sea, taking us to locations well populated by bream; my favourite. On our way home we'd harvest kelp (Nii chan likes it in rice, salted) and take photos together on our yacht, admiring how the sun greets the world farewell, sinking into the aquamarine. Mum makes amazing food, I'm constantly astonished at how she manages to memorise every preference, from my love for ochazuke to being able to pour the perfect amount of tea; the rice never becomes too soggy (even I can't pour the exact amount I like). Solitude was close to me, but my family were closer.

There's a lot I could say about them, they've done more than remember what I love and ensuring I was happy; I'm thankful they've delivered the right for me to be comforted, to have a shoulder to cry on, to be able to freely ramble on about whatever fascinated me.

I've always been happy, even if I'm alone outside of the walls I call home. Because whether I laughed my heart out or sobbed to the point I couldn't form a coherent sentence, I'd always come home running to my family. Nothing can beat dinner; where we all relish mum's food, ask each other about our days' and offer solace or advice when necessary.

I miss that. Terribly, to the point my heart aches.

I knew that Nii chan's departure to Europe (Spain, to be exact) would change a lot. I'd have to score without his guidance, walk home alone and buy my own popsicles. Dinner time would have one less soul to laugh with, and home would have one less to embrace.

I just never expected it to be painful change. I never predicted that his return would result in losing us entirely. I didn't think his homecoming would cause my immortal resentment towards the snow, or how my eyes prickle a bit at the mere thought of an ice block. I'd say it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, separation from him following it on the list of my worst experiences.

Solitude avoided me at home, but wasn't enough.

One time on the way home, I was overhearing the team's conversations (nothing particularly new really) and it was a discussion about the future. It was honestly surprising to find out only some of us intended to become soccer players; Nagi would rather stream or compete in professional gaming, Kurona wants to study marine biology in uni, and Yukimiya wants to give acting a go along with his modelling career. Even Isagi has a plan for if professional soccer isn't an option. He said he wanted to help others achieve their dreams if he fails to do so himself.

I remained silent as always, but had a lot more thoughts racing through my mind. Retreating to my room immediately that night, my first thought was to lie in bed, to neglect the clips I planned to analyse, to ignore muscle training for today and to slack off a bit. That's when I realized how sad the life I was living. I was sad because I was reminded of my reality.

I'm a mere myriad of distinguished achievements, though a hideous attempt of replicating genius Itoshi Sae. I'm a collection of formidable accomplishments, basking in the spotlight of glory and honour. The trophies and awards adorning my room prove it, standing tall with pride and flaunting my hard work.

That didn't mean anything. I had remained in a constant cycle of training, eating, and sleeping. My teammates were just as ambitious yet still worked hard on other things; Yukimiya enjoys modelling and Reo has a passion for economics, That must've been where I was lacking.

That's how I ended up writing again. It was an attempt to break out of this cyclical torture of constant training and sports.

I don't know how I remembered it, but I found my notebook from primary, all the stories messily scrawled yet legible. Scarlet adorned narratives birthed from child-like imagination, eulogising the prose, even though I almost flinched out of embarrassment.

Flipping through the pages, I had found the paragraph my teacher left me, insisting that I keep writing. Obviously, I never did. After getting into soccer I ignored everything school related, and would've found words on a page foolish anyways.

Many years later, I finally followed that advice.

The end result wasn't pretty. I paused a lot, struggled a lot, and almost gave up, a lot. It may have been hideous, but it was mine. A piece birthed from curiosity and memories from the past turned into another attempt. Another attempt morphed into extensive reading, I wanted to observe what was considered worthwhile or meaningless.

Writing rewove the early nights into late night reading, fully immersed in the author's thoughts translated into prose. Reading was the push to giving academics a go. Academics pulled me out of the endless cycle of soccer, there was more to life than training and diet regulation.

Books I can read. Words I can write. Exams I can study for and sports I can practice. Weights I can lift and competitions I can train for.

But to be loved, is so difficult.

It's not like an exam that you can study for and simply memorise the answers to. Or a match that has the security of a referee and reinforced rules. It's not something that can be guaranteed with a mentor.

People treat Isagi to his favourite whenever he has a bad day (he likes kintsuba). People advocate their favourite novels to Yukimiya and Chigiri, even going as far as memorising their preferences to curate their recommendations flawlessly. It must be nice, for someone to invest that sort of effort in you, even if it's simply remembering a hobby.

As my peers savoured the allure of love, estrangement and desolation constantly haunted me; a pest habituating the sleepless nights where I try to escape with a cup of coffee that's long gone cold.

It's lukewarm, praying for another's attention, care and love, to be hungry for one's time. I pathetically plead whoever manipulating my fate to provide me some sort of human connection. I shouldn't be so hopeful of others, yet I find myself dying of curiosity; what would it be like for someone to remember my birthday? Or tell me about the horror movie they adored?

I despise solitude's clinginess. But I hate how it makes me sob endlessly when no one watches.

I have myself. I have my thoughts which I've transcribed to oeuvre. I have the pile of books resting on my bedside table which sleep alongside with me. I have the trophies and awards I've won, I'll always appreciate my own talent and diligence, even if playing soccer brought me so much pain.

I think I'm somewhat pretty. I find my prominent eyelashes special to me, it's something unique to both me and Nii chan. My physique isn't too bad, either. I like the way my legs look, and my shoulders as I dry my hair.

I've always been proud of myself. I've always been enough and I always will be. Just not for others.

That's why I never expected my bond with solitude to be severed so easily. Especially because of y/n out of all people.

I still don't get how it happened. The oblivion to their presence became a peculiar first impression. An odd first meeting turned into abrupt yet regular greetings amidst hallways. Soon, I was sitting with them in every class, passing notes during tedious lessons and discussing our favourite media on the bus ride home.

Before I knew it, passionate rambles about books turned into watching movies together in my room. Whenever they greeted me their friendly wave was replaced with a tight hug, passing notes in class were accompanied with subtle kisses on the cheek.

Our relationship as friends was reimagined to lovers.

Something must've possessed me to blurt out the stupid crush I had on them, and I thank whatever drove me to do that. As awkward as I was it doesn't compare to the skip of my heartbeat when they accepted my feelings.

It's been almost a year since I met them, yet I still feel hot whenever they hold my hand, and flush red at every compliment they whisper. I still find myself stuttering sometimes whenever they're showing me a new outfit they've styled.

I love the way they smile, the creases of joy that adorn the outer corner of their eyes, and how they squint with glee and the sweet, melodious laughter that accompanies it; how breathless they sound whilst laughing. The expression they wear when deep in thought fascinates me, even if it's midway through an exam or them simply observing a video Bachira sent them. I adore their late night thoughts they text me at 3 am, the fatigue itching my eyes seem to evaporate when I notice their name on the notification. I treasure the notes we've scrawled on spare sheets of paper, they're still in between the pages of my books.

Even now, they're sleeping soundly in my bed, arms wrapped around the plush I bought them; I keep getting distracted by the sight of them so relaxed, chest rising up and down with each breath.

I would die for them. Because now I don't need to pretend to be invested on my phone to look less lonely. Now, I don't need to put my bag on the seat next to me to make it look like I sit alone by choice. I don't have to persuade the teacher to let me do group projects alone, or have to observe others with jealousy. Someone defends me from disparaging comments.

Because now, I'm not alone.

7:15 am

THE ENTRY COMES TO AN END, AND EMBARASSMENT DUSTS Rin's face a faint tint of pink. His eyes avoid contact with yours— as he waits for your input his latest piece.

"Well? What do you think?"

You're not sure where to start. You've always known about his strained relationship with his older brother, and how his friendship with his teammates wasn't the same in the beginning. But he never explained it in detail; you wouldn't've guessed that he had some sort of chionophobia, or even cried because he felt so secluded from others. The thought of him concealing his tears and pain from the rest of the world made your eyes prickle and sends your heart racing miserably.

"Doesn't matter—" He reaches for the notebook, closing it and tossing it onto his desk. "Forget it, you didn't see anything." He plops backwards again, head hitting the pillow and groaning as he covers his face with his forearm. "It was shit anyways, I'll rip it out and toss it later."

"It wasn't."

Rin stays silent.

You lie down, mimicking his current position and cup his cheeks with your hand. "You'll never be alone again—, I promise you that." Your voice falters ever so slightly, the thought of his pain makes you feel weak in the knees and sick to the stomach. "You're more than enough, you always have and always will be. You don't need anyone's validation to be beautiful, you never did."

Rin sighs, "I'm only like that because of you." Yet something seems to throb in his heart, the small but overpowering part of him that insists he requires another's approval to be important— someone finally proving that wrong.

"That's not true."

"Yes it is, our classmates still loathe me, so do people who barely see or speak to me." There was no lie in that; but it wasn't Rin's fault. "Yoichi and the others only spend time with me because of you."

"I was only the push for them to speak to you, you know they've always cared, they were just too nervous to speak to you. As competitive as he gets, Yoichi really admires you, to the point he gets so heated and ends up rambling about your skills." That's a secret that was supposed to remain in your private messages, but Yoichi doesn't need to know.

Satisfaction momentarily appears on Rin's face at the thought of his rival's great respect, though it doesn't last very long.

"He's my teammate so it's expected... everyone I speak to at school seems to have something against me, even our English teacher." The mistreatment at school is undeniable, it's not exactly bullying but there's no respect or human decency in how people behave towards him.

"Rin, love, you've done nothing wrong, hate isn't always rational. There will always be people who can't stand seeing others more successful, and that's not your fault."

"Really?" His eyes light up; despite having a sophisticated and cold demeanour all the time, he looks like a child again, hope dances in his wide eyes.

"Really." Your fingers take advantage of the opportunity and pinch his cheeks gently. "Don't listen to all those stupid rumours and assumptions, idiot. I'd fight anyone who tries to hurt you and win every time."

When your fingers let go he immediately kisses you, and it leaves you breathless; the way he pulls you in flexes his well toned biceps and his hand supports your head.

"Thank you." Rin whispers, pulling away a bit. "Thank you for appreciating me. Thank you for everything." It's a rare occurrence for him to sound so frail, same goes for the tremble of his bottom lip.

"Of course, I love you more than anything."

"I love you too." It's escorted by a peck on your nose, and a soft expression sculpted on his face.

Before Rin can throw a blanket over the two of you again, you interrupt.

"You shouldn't throw that entry away." You still haven't forgotten his initial intention with it. "I don't get why you think it's shit."

"It's rushed. And it's just me waffling on about my feelings and the past. There's no proofreading, and it's rushed. It's not even complete either."

"That's the whole point of writing, no? It's the expression of our words and thoughts." You reach towards his desk to pick up the notebook. "Not everything has to be written in one sitting, too."

Rin doesn't bother stopping you from looking through the notebook at this point. "It's still stupid. It's just that I had the urge and motivation to write in the dead of night."

"Well. I like it."

Rin's stoic expression crumbles, revealing the bashful side he keeps concealed from the world. "Then that's good enough for me." The red on his cheeks tell you that you've won the argument.

You turn back to the entry page, impressed with his barely legible yet pretty handwriting. "You should've slept instead."

"I don't get tired anyways." He's quickly betrayed by the yawn clawing out of his throat.

"Liar. Why would you stay up writing so late... your sleep is important you know?"

"Because you are love itself. I won't get a wink of sleep if it means I can think and write about you instead." Rin's pulls you in again, tossing his notebook elsewhere as he leans in. "I promise I'll finish that entry, no— I'll write a book about you one day."

"Writing this, writing that, sleep first dumbass." A smile tugs at your lips as you pull Rin back into the position you were cuddling in a few hours ago. Even though you were the one who slept a lot more, fatigue itched your eyes, and a yawn spilled out too.

In response, Rin tosses a blanket over the two of you, whispering good night as you begin to nod off a bit. He should rest too, he has training tomorrow and has to go to the gym as well.

The Itoshi Rin from before would've slept immediately. In fact, he wouldn't've stayed up in the first place, let alone date someone. But the Itoshi Rin now instead stares at you, admiring each and every feature of yours. You're his savior, the luminescent moon irradiating his world, guiding him away from the grasps of solitude and embracing him with love instead.

Tagging: @yuzurins (yumi you inspired this fic btw lol)

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[silverflqmes]

agszc with self care/slice of life comfort?

i've been feeling really down with myself for a bit now & i could use that extra push of feeling a bit better :,) perhaps some ideas could include like: maybe distracting the reader from a failed exam by going shopping together, grocery shopping and cooking a meal together at home, perhaps that one rp with noya where he was kissing insecurities away (hi yes its sky), maybe a pep talk to help with motivation, hmm what else ALSO U DONT HAVE TO DO THESE EXACT THINGS IM JUST GIVING IDEAS... i just want the boys there for me soBS (esp zack and cloud since yk favs.)

໒⦂ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐇𝐂𝐒.

notes. hey queen i did headcanons for this because it seemed better suited, i hope the post helps you feel better at least, you can do it<3

genre. comfort + crack

for @melukonova <3

ft. sephiroth, cloud strife, zack fair, genesis rhapsodos, angeal hewley

gender neutral! reader.

➫ 𝓢𝗘𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ for whatever reason that your day and mood has been sullied, sephiroth is already on it and is doing everything in his power to try and make you feel better.

⌗ he’s not the best with handling emotions, as he has difficulty with understanding his own, but wants to help — it hurts him to see you ache like this and to know he couldn’t prevent your suffering🙁

⌗ offers to masamune whoever brought your pain, even if it’s an inanimate object incapable of fighting back.. it’s sweet of him ( and it becomes difficult to suppress your smile )

⌗ just kidding ( not really. ), he comes to the conclusion that a self care day is likely the best approach to make you feel better — genesis had brought the idea up once before

⌗ sephiroth wasn’t exactly one for worrying for his well being, he didn’t have much time to sit down and do so anyway.. but he figured he might try that out with you

⌗ and so, after getting off work, he made a point to grab some supplies from the store, which included these super cute kitty headbands to push your hair back!!

⌗ self care portion of the day ensues and ends with takeout and some cuddling on the couch to some silly sitcoms. laughter cures the blues right? so that’s just what he’s going for to see you smile again<3

➫ 𝓒𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗗 𝓢𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗙𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ having a bad day? cloud’s been there and is ready to lend an ear to listen. he isn’t the most optimistic person and doesn’t have the best way with words, but he is willing to help!

⌗ he’s a bit awkward with the advice ( he might interest you in a sarcastic comment- kidding, maybe.. ) and words of consolation, but he’s doing his best and is determined to get his words across to you.

⌗ he offers to take you on a delivery with him, a drive can help sometimes with getting out of the house and just getting fresh air — or well.. as fresh as the air can be in midgar / edge..

⌗ part of him thought you would be reluctant and would argue on why and how you should continue to rot in your bed — but you were oddly willing ( maybe because you always have to ask to join.. )

⌗ either way, made his job a hundred times easier and he was glad to see you cooperating with him because he thought he would have needed to drag you by the ankles..

⌗ the drive goes nicely, you can feel yourself begin to calm down as you hold onto him and watch the scenery pass you by; it’s such a simple thing but it’s quelling your nerves and intrusive thoughts, thankfully

⌗ once the package is delivered, cloud spares a little of his time before your scheduled drive back home and takes you out for lunch along with a little stroll around the town🫶

➫ 𝓩𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝓕𝗔𝗜𝗥 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ zack is the definition and embodiment of an emotional support animal. whatever, or even whoever, decided to ruin the flow of your day, he’s there to provide comfort!

⌗ has a pretty good grasp on emotions, even if there are some things he might not fully get, but he wants to help in any way he can! seeing you sad is the worst thing ever, how dare, whatever hurt you, steal away that smile of yours??

⌗ his best course of action is to take you out and doodle up a list of activities for you to do to uplift your mood. distraction is temporary, of course, but it works its course and he was going to make it succeed!

⌗ said list includes visiting the arcade, a walk through the mall, buying you flowers, feeding and petting any strays with your leftovers from where you guys ate and maybe even karaoke while the night is still young..

⌗ should the karaoke go as planned, it would be a mission to get zack out of there LMAO he wants to do cheesy romantic duets with you and boyband songs..

⌗ despite your whines and protests, they do not fail to make you grin and wash away whatever ickiness you had felt earlier.

⌗ it’s a full day that ends up getting you tired by the final activity, but it was all part of the plan!!! distraction and getting a good nights sleep! perfect, right?

➫ 𝓖𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗦 𝓡𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗦 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ how dare someone or something sour your mood and evening! genesis is completely distraught and is prepared to do whatever means necessary to exact his revenge..

⌗ fires will be set ( not really but it sounds like a really good idea at the moment ESPECIALLY BECAUSE TUMBLR DIDNT SAVE MY SHIT AND I HAVE TO REWRITE THIS — im sorry.. um moving on.. )

⌗ in the end, fires were not set.. he opts for taking you out to dinner and bringing you to loveless avenue because it just works, and he wants to spoil you with gifts<3

⌗ dinner was lovely and like a fairytale — i mean being with genesis in general was like a fairytale, but he somehow always seemed to exceed your expectations..

⌗ you’re feeling slightly better as you exit the vicinity, taking an idle walk down sector eight since he insisted on a stroll — not because he wanted to check the loveless merch, definitely not. of course not.

⌗ he ends up buying you something your gaze lingered on a little longer than you had planned for, which you protested on at first.. but then you gave in, because it was genesis — aaand he also bought it regardless of what you said..

⌗ he walks with you hand in hand on your way home and proposes his idea of setting fires if you were still upset. you of course, say no.. i mean, psh a fire??? yeah, right..

➫ 𝓐𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗔𝗟 𝓗𝗘𝗪𝗟𝗘𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ bad mood? rough day in general? angeal is prepared to do whatever is necessary to help you through your mood — anything to return your happiness to you rather than this funk you’re in.

⌗ his best course of action was to take you to the market to buy the necessary ingredients to prepare your favorite meal! they say food cures any blues, perhaps that applies here as well?

⌗ unwilling as you were to leave the comfort of your bedroom, he managed to get you out with the promise of pushing you in the cart..

⌗ yes you wanted to be pushed in the shopping cart, who wouldn’t want to be pushed in a shopping cart after a shit day?

⌗ the small joyride seems to lift your mood a little and he even bought you some of your favorite snacks to have after the meal he’s preparing<3 what a guy🥰

⌗ arriving home, he immediately gets to work on dinner, and after a few back hugs from you along with a brief sway while he waited on the food to finish, it was finally time to set the table!

⌗ nothing too fancy but you appreciated it nonetheless, as you could taste the love and care in each bite you took. truly angeal was the gift of the goddess!!!

notes. okay uh this is not the best quality because stupid tumblr did not save ( GET AN AUTOSAVE FEATURE PLS I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE ) — but i hope you liked it and that you feel better mami<3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[booksandabeer]

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy) (E | 150 K)

To celebrate the completion of the fourth & final part Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) in this wonderful series by dorian_burberrycanary.

Author's summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

Follow Steve and Bucky on their Great American Road Trip as they drive and eat their way across the country and beyond. From the beaches of the Jersey Shore to the graveyards of Savannah, from the cragged horizons of Mexico to deserts with (small) volcanoes, from college campuses to earthship settlements, from the mountains of Colorado to the monumental emptiness of the Great Plains and on and on and on…there is always more road ahead.

A Man Takes... is a miracle of a series that works with what should be an unworkable premise: Steve really did leave to go live in the past. He returned a few months later, yes, but he still made that choice. Knowingly. So, how can any author, any story, rectify such a colossal mistake, and how can it be reconciled with a believable, satisfying romance that short-changes neither Steve nor Bucky? Like this. With patience, and care, and often painful honesty. Just like Steve, this story slowly digs itself out from under the burden of that terrible decision.

I know that some people are very reluctant or even outright refuse to read EG-compliant fics and I understand why this might be a tough sell for them. Believe me, I do. But this series manages to neither let Steve off the hook for his choices nor does it punish him excessively. Instead, Steve and the readers are repeatedly confronted with the fact that there are no magical solutions here, no take-backs—it’s a fix-it, yes, and very much a Stucky fic through and through, but it’s not a fix-it fantasy where in the end everything turns out to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding after all. What's done is done and the only way out is through. But. even if you usually prefer to ignore anything that happened post-[insert preferred point of canon divergence here], please, please try to give this absolute marvel of a series a chance. It is genuinely one of the most rewarding and satisfying works I've ever read in this fandom. It's catharsis in slow motion.

You will find descriptive writing here that is so incredibly beautiful that it will bring you to your knees in awe. This series transcends fanfiction in many ways, as it stands out for the remarkable quality of the prose and the nuance, subtlety, and precision with which it explores both the emotional landscapes of its protagonists and a fictionalized, yet very recognizable post-Snap America. At the same time, it could only ever work as fanfiction because it stays so close to the characters and is so deeply rooted in and filtered through Steve’s inner life and perspective. Just like the real Steve Rogers, this story is smart and curious, and deeply empathetic towards its characters and the world they inhabit.

Every detail is imbued with meaning. The food Steve and Bucky eat. The clothes they wear. The art they look at. The books they read. The music they listen to. The places they stay at. The landscapes they drive through and the objects they carry with them or acquire along the way. One doesn't need to understand or even notice all of the references, allusions, or ambiguities to enjoy the series, but it makes for such a rewarding reading experience to really dig deep into the many, many layers the author has so expertly assembled into this phenomenally rich text. More often than not in this fic, the curtains aren’t just blue. Or rather, Bucky’s sweatpants aren’t just gray.

At some point amidst this sprawling, reflective journey, a bittersweet realization sets in: There simply is no compensation for the time and life lost, for the pain suffered. No money, no medals or statues, no hagiographies, and certainly no delusional pipe dreams forcibly made real, will ever make up for all that loss. You can't outrun your past, but that doesn't mean you should bury yourself in it. And maybe, solace can be found in mutual understanding, not just between these two men, but in interactions, in shared community—however fleeting—with ordinary people doing ordinary things in their ordinary lives. And in the beauty of the mundane and the relief that there still is a world in which such beauty can exist, even though it is so often a cruel and unjust place. Steve Rogers finally allows himself to feel his feelings: his grief and his shame, but also his joy and—even though he’s already so very tired—his hunger for more: more time, more life, more Bucky.

This series is a wonderful tribute to Steven Grant Rogers—an honest and affectionate portrayal of this compelling and lovable, if at times difficult, character. It is also a gorgeous, intricate love letter to the miracle of a man that is James Buchanan Barnes. As you can probably tell by now, I love it a totally not normal amount.

A most heartfelt thank you to @burberrycanary for taking us all along on Steve and Bucky's long journey across America and (back) to each other. Thank you for letting us sit in the back seat and watch as they learn to love and live with each other in old and new ways, finally find some measure of well-deserved rest and peace, and, together, face their greatest challenge, their longest fight, the eternal question:

How to live with all this survival?

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | four

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - smut, a lil dirty talk over text, titwank, lil spit, lil degradation, lots of praise <3, handjob, showers, vaginal sex, (1) reference to you up?, jungkook cums 3 times in this one, the oc.... does not. CURIOUS. jaykay is soooo smitten :( Busan is proposed!! oh how our throttle couple luv busan <3, the angst is about to go from a 2 to a 6, jk is the pied piper, jk and cc play the desperation olympics, and they both lose!! namjoon is the worst (calls the oc a sket (twice!))

word count - 10.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

"Look what the cat dragged in," you smile, all big and bashful as soon as you see him.

It's been a little while; too long, you think. Different schedules and busy personal lives have kept you apart - but none of the distance ever matters. It always melts away with one flash of his pearly smile, which he often tries (and fails) to contain around you. 

"I wish," he groans, flopping onto your sofa. You're on the floor, typing away on your laptop, indifferent to the way he just lets himself into your apartment. It's been this way for a while now. "Haven't been near pussy in ages."

You gag, as if he's your brother or something. "Shut the fuck up, Yoongi."

He's dressed down in a pair of jeans and a shirt two sizes too big for him, but you can smell his laundry detergent from where you're sat. He's made an effort.

"You started it," he snorts, eyes not on you, but on your television. It's playing some muted drama that neither of you care for. He knows this, even when he asks you, "Whatcha watching?"

"Dunno," you hum, as predicted. "Just had it on for company."

Yoongi nods, understanding the desire.

He does it too; leaves the television running just so that he doesn't have to be alone with his thoughts.

Things are better these days. He's not as scared as he once was. It's been a couple of weeks, and after all, time heals. Eases. Pacifies.

Yoongi asks what you're doing, and pretends to be shocked when you tell him you're stalking. 

"Who is it this time?"

"Just a guy."

"It's never 'just a guy'."

It's morbid, the curiosity that Yoongi forces himself to endure. It's like your nails have a grasp around his heart, and with every beat of it, they sink further into the muscle. The more attached he becomes, the deeper the pain runs.

You don't realise quite how profoundly his blood turns green. He's good at feigning indifference; good at pretending like it is just a crush.

And so he asks questions because he wants to hurt himself a little bit more. Wants his heart to ache. Wants to feel the discomfort he so closely associates with love. It's reached a point where he thinks love has to hurt, otherwise, it's not real.

"Since when has a guy ever been more than just a guy," you toy back. None of your past lovers have ever lasted too long. You doubt Jungkook will, either. Just the way the cookie crumbles.

"Since you fall in love at the drop of a hat," Yoongi smiles. His eyes are slightly clouded, the sombre vapour of burnt-out desire smoking in them.

"I've never been in love," you retort a little too quickly.

It's not a lie, but it makes way for the admittance of something else instead:  you just love the attention that comes with men fawning after you.

And so you let Yoongi think that you have the capacity within you to love, because you fear that the love he has for you is conditional; transactional.

You just have to trust that the intentions behind acts of love are pure. You have to trust.

This issue with trust is that it's earned, not owed; and nobody has ever earned your trust. Never. Serpents lie beneath roses, and you'll be damned if you pick one either way, 'cause if it ain't a fang, it's a thorn that'll get you instead. 

"Anyways," you hum, not wanting to dwell on the topic. All of your searches of Jungkook's name have garnered minimal results, nothing of which you can be sure relates to him. Now, you need a distraction and Yoongi is as good as any. Your knees click as you stretch out, and Yoongi winces at the sound, before you plonk yourself down on the sofa next to him. "What shall we order for dinner?"

There's a howl of wind sneaking between the cracks in your window panes; a stark reminder that winter is still here, and it's still as bitter as ever. Like the river you walk across on a near-daily basis, your heart will take a while to thaw.

But as with all seasons, winter will mollify; and perhaps so will the ice chains that wrap themselves around your warmest muscle. Maybe. The way Jungkook hugs around your chest when he takes you from behind already has the ice weeping in the dark of night. You think it's just some kind of placebo effect. Best not to get carried away with sensation. 

Yoongi says something, but you're not listening. All you can hear is the soft splatter of water dripping from the ice; right down onto the chime that's oscillating in your stomach again. Fuck.

Across the street from your apartment complex sits a black SsangYong. It lurks in the shadows; silent, sinister, stalking.

A curt snap echoes through the car, as Namjoon breaks a Pepero stick in half, much to Jungkook's annoyance. 

That's literally not how you eat them, he seethes internally. His nostrils are a little flared, and his eyes are hard as they stare out the window and across to the stairs that lead up to your entryway. It has a plain end for a reason.

Namjoon knows this, obviously. Doesn't care. Can sense the way it's getting under Jungkook's skin, so he does it again.

"No point in us being here," Jungkook eventually huffs, channelling his disdain into something - anything - that isn't how fucking annoying Namjoon is. It's been nearly an hour.

"Whoever owns that heap of shit has to come out, soon," Namjoon says of the Mini parked outside of your apartment block. He mutters under his breath for what must be the millionth time, "Fuckin' Ajumma's car."

"It's a John Cooper Works," Jungkook says a little flippantly. He's not impressed, not by any means, but he knows it isn't something to turn his nose up at. Might look like the kind of thing his mother would have loved, but it packs a punch. Limited edition, factory-grade. One of only two thousand. A mean little beast that'd give his Pony a run for its money, even with the mods.

"Okay? Tell Mr John Cooper that it's still an Ajumma's car," Namjoon shrugs. He doesn't give a shit about imports. They're all weak in comparison to the homegrown beauties he likes to drive. Jungkook could argue for days that he's wrong, but Namjoon simply wouldn't bother to listen - so what was the point? "Anyways," he continues, snapping another chocolate coated stick. It's about now that Jungkook wishes Peperos would have sharp ends so that he could stick them in his ears. "Either the fucker who drives it comes out now, or he says inside and carries on railing the sket until the sun comes up. Doesn't matter which. We've got a car to keep tabs on."

"You don't know he's fucking her-"

"We've both seen her," Namjoon scoffs, mouth half full, a little biscuit dust puffing out from his plump lips. "He's screwing the absolute fuck out of her."

"What does that even mean?" Jungkook's nose really is upturned, now. "You're just being vulgar for the sake-"

"Oh, give over. What was the first thing you said about her?"

"I-"

"Prissy bitch," Namjoon imitates. "Stick up her ass - pretty good ass though."

It almost makes Jungkook laugh, because while his former self isn't wrong (he thinks your ass is a gift from the Gods), he knows that it's your tits he could worship all day long. 

If it were him in your apartment, he knows he'd be doing just that. Praising you; Worshipping, devoting, revering. He's never believed in God, not really. Never prays, never looks to the sky and mumbles words of desperation; but when he's beneath you, he finds himself beseeching. Imploring the man in the sky to let him feel the way that he feels when he's inside of you forever. Sometimes he wonders if you must be what heaven feels like. Knows he'd sacrafice himself for it. For you.

In theory, at least. Fears if he tells Namjoon this, he'll have to experience it in practise. He's not ready to, not yet. Just in case he's wrong, and he really does lose the closest thing to heaven that he's ever known.

"I just think we're going to an awful lot of effort for this," he deflects. "The more we know about this girl, the more variables we have to consider, and the less likely it is that we can actually get this shit done."

"We knew less last time," Namjoon says without skipping a beat. He knows this game better than most. Knows that it's imperative that they resolve the mess they made in the gas station as quickly as possible. "And look at where that got us - beating up some fuckin' dude who didn't have a clue what was going on."

"You didn't have to go so hard on him."

"I did. You know I did."

Silence resumes, and remains that way until Namjoon whacks Jungkook on his chest with the back of his hand a few hours later. His attention is diverted from his phone, which drops to his laps as his neck almost snaps to look in the direction of your apartment.

You're laughing as you walk down the stairs from your entryway. Jungkook thinks he can hear you. 

He can't. He just remembers. Know the way it almost sounds like you're hiccuping when you start struggling to draw more air into your lungs, too happy to focus on keeping yourself alive.

Your body leans into the guy you're with, and there's an ease to the way you are together, one that has Jungkook feeling all uneasy. He adjusts in his seat - earns himself a hiss from Namjoon for being 'distracting' - and tries to focus on anything but the way you pull the guy in for a hug. It's not necessarily anything more than platonic, but it's not the hug of a stranger, either.

"It's him," Namjoon's voice is low, barely a vibration between his lips. "Guy from the gas station. Sket is shitting where she eats." He laughs. "Un-fucking-believable."

Jungkook says nothing. It's a little hard to speak with the weight of the world crashing down on your lungs, though.

Instead he simply nods, and reaches for his phone.

꾹: i gotta see you.

꾹: think i'm going crazy without you.

You don't reply until you're inside, clearing up the remains of the food you'd shared with Yoongi.

You: i'm not a therapist :/

꾹: please.

You: my place or yours?

꾹: mine.

When Namjoon asks who Jungkook is texting, he lies. 

"Just Jin. Says if we have a visual on the driver, we're good to go."

"Good to go?" The question is asked an octave or so higher than Namjoon's usual deep drawl, surprised at such an instruction. "Thought we had to tail?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Change of plan. Says Kang ain't around to report to, so it doesn't matter what we do."

His lies will catch up with him eventually, but not today. 

Today, Jungkook gets to pretend like everything is okay for just a little while longer. He's lucky that Jin trusts him enough to get the job done. He won't ask questions, will just know that whatever reason Jungkook had to lie will be worth it in the long run. He's a good worker, part of the team. He'd never intentionally sabotage them.

Or at least, he was a good worker. Was part of the team. Was never one to sabotage. Was one to play by the rules, and always win.

But Jungkook is playing games with trick dice, now. Rolling doubles every single time. He's gonna be the first to reach the exit line, but he's gonna reach it alone.

"Alright," Namjoon sighs, starting the engine up. The lights from his headlamps flare in front of the vehicle, flooding the desolate road. It's always quiet around these parts after it hits midnight.

A little off the beaten track, your place is on the backstreets; somewhere inconspicuous. Somewhere easily hidden. Concealed. The daughter of a politician disguised in breadline poverty. 

Jungkook kind of hates that he knows where you live.

Not because he doesn't want to know, but because you haven't shown him. You've always gone back to his. He wouldn't suggest anything else, for fear of being caught without reason down around your side of town. There are only so many times he can lie about late-night boxing sessions without someone catching on.

"What a waste of an evening," Namjoon huffs a little more. He's a smart guy, smarter than Jungkook and probably every other fucker who congregates at Old Kang's place, but he's credulous to an absolute fault when it comes to the fuckers he runs the streets with. Would never betray a single one of them - not even Jungkook.

"It was past your bedtime, like, three hours ago. Consider yourself lucky that you got to stay out and play for this long," Jungkook ribs. 

See, Namjoon's partner doesn't like him staying out so late. They worry. Blow up his phone, not to control, but out of concern. They've seen the dark side of the business that the boys are caught up in, and don't want that darkness to stain the colours of the man they love. 

It's a mean jibe, and between close friends, it would have been funny -but the pair of them haven't laughed together in weeks.

Not since Jungkook fucked Namjoon's younger sister.

He hadn't meant for it to go as far as it had, but she was keen and he was horny. What's a boy to do?

They'd been in the same year group at school, so it's not like it was the most absurd pairing in the world. Never been friends, not really, but knew each other well enough that they always managed to strike up a conversation after a few drinks.

She was always hanging around the bars the boy went to, and Jungkook had been letting his hair down; one last night of freedom before he had to knuckle down and start the job Kang was assigning them.

He'll never admit it, but your assumptions about him on the first night you met were right. The KNJ on his phone was a FWB turned far too clingy: Kim Naejeon.

Needless to say, Namjoon hasn't exactly been Jungkook's biggest fan since he found out. Such is life.

Jungkook's phone buzzes in his lap, and he's relieved to see two little c's on the screen where the message ID is.

You: time?

꾹: just on my way home.

꾹: lemme send a taxi to yours.

Sat on your floor again, laptop open with your last search - jungkook, daegu, pony - on screen, you find yourself deafened by the chime in your stomach. It rings like the theme to a studio ghibli film, all pompous and ridiculous, and warm and lovely. 

You sound like a banshee, squeaking with badly handled excitement. The shrill noise that escapes your lips as you throw your phone onto the sofa is borderline psychotic.

You never get like this over a boy.

You don't actually think you've ever squealed over a boy before, but one small act of chivalry - the bare minimum - has you doing somersaults.

It's funny, because it's not like he's the first guy to ever suggest sending a taxi your way. Unlike all of Yoongi's offers, though, you accept. You play it all cool and coy by simply sending him through your address, not like he needs it.

꾹: on its way.

꾹: i can't wait to see you.

You're not really sure how to deal with such a declaration. It's needy and pathetic and if it were any other boy, it would have you throwing up in your mouth - but it's not just any boy. It's him. 

You:  someone's a little desperate.

You don't have it in you to play nice, even if your grin is wider than the river behind your apartment block. Jungkook doesn't expect any less. In fact, he smiles when the message comes through - and quickly stiffens his cheeks again, not wanting Namjoon to make a comment.

꾹: desperate? 

꾹: i'm not sure this is a game you want to play, CC.

Oh, how wrong he is.

You:  i love games.

The double-entendre isn't lost on him, but any ability to not let you affect him is. Blood pumps around his body faster. Harder. It rushes, almost, with a single destination in mind. Makes him adjust ever so slightly in his seat, his spare hand coming to rest between his legs. He used to think he had self-control, but you're constantly surprising him. 

He's learnt more about himself since he met you than he has in years. Realised that he isn't maybe who he thinks he is. Doesn't dwell on it, though, 'cause he enjoys the way it feels when the crotch of his trousers gets tighter.

꾹: i only like them when i win.

You:  i only ever win.

꾹:we'll see about that tonight.

You: oh?

꾹: see who really is the desperate one.

You:  its you :) x

The taxi arrives far faster than you expect, but Jungkook is pleased when he checks the app and sees the car en-route to his. He takes a note of the number plate and the registered driver. Doesn't trust the drivers around here. They're too fast without enough skill, he always thinks. Has lost count of the number of busses he's seen rear-end asshole taxi drivers. Luckily the roads are dead at this time of night, but he'll be damned if anything happens to you.

꾹: sure about that?

꾹: i know a few ways to get you a little desperate.

You:  you don't know shit.

꾹: i know you get a little desperate when my hand is round your throat.

You: bullshit.

꾹: i know you get incredibly desperate when my fingers are in your mouth.

You:  your fingers have never been in my mouth.

It's a lie. Of course it is. It's kinda become rare for the two of you to fuck without them being in your mouth at some point or another, whether it's to clean them off or just to give him a visual of just how devoted you look when he does it. He loves it and so do you.

꾹: no?

Jungkook almost ignores Namjoon as he asks, "what are you smiling at?", only to tell him that it's none of his business, lowering the brightness of his screen and clicking through into his camera roll.

He's a visual guy. Likes the things he can see. Tangible stuff. The photo that comes through to your phone has you flustered.

It's just the lower half of your face, and Jungkook's distinctive, tattooed hands in your mouth. There's a sheen to your lips. His fingers, too.

It's alarming how quickly you've become so comfortable with him. You barely know the guy. Shame that the alarm bells are always muted by the chime in your stomach.

You: must be some other girl ;)

꾹: told you already, CC.

꾹: i'm not interested in any other girls.

꾹: i only wanna see you.

When a picture of your legs, crossed and poised prettily in the back of the taxi, comes through to his phone, he's pleased. You're wearing tights. It's one of his favourite things a girl can wear - though he's not really sure why. He just loves how soft they are, how smooth they feel against his skin. Has him thinking about running his hands up and down them, and the way he knows you'll be looking all smug when he does so.

You:  i'll see u soon x

You:  desperate ;)

Jungkook thinks about locking his phone. Thinks about leaving you hanging. Thinks about the fact it will probably put you on edge a little if he doesn't reply - but he's weak. Knows that not replying will just put him on edge instead.

꾹: will it make you feel better if i admit it?

You:  yes.

꾹: fine.

꾹: been thinking about you since the moment you left my apartment last.

꾹: impossible not to when my fucking pillows smell like you.

꾹: think about you when i smell gasoline at kangs.

꾹: think about you when i stop at red lights.

꾹: also think about how fucking wet you were the last time we stopped at one.

꾹: i'm at a red light right now.

꾹: god, i gotta fuck you.

You:  told you you were desperate :) 

꾹: i am.

You:  how do you want me tonight?

꾹: naked.

You:  that goes without saying, no?

꾹: naked and begging.

You:  i don't beg.

You: not for any man.

꾹: c'mon, CC. a little reciprocation goes a long way.

꾹: you got me on my metaphorical knees.

꾹: be nice of you to get on yours.

You roll your eyes as the taxi rolls to a stop downtown, just by Jungkooks place. It parks on the wrong side of the street, but you pay it no notice. Chalk it up to a GPS error on the app.

You:  i'm pulling up to yours now. you home yet?

꾹: not yet. be about 5. let yourself in. code is 0901.

There's a casual intimacy to the way in which Jungkook trusts you with his door code. It's an act of convenience, not anything to read too much into, but you're a creature of habit. Assumptions are your bread and butter. If there are conclusions to be jumped to, you're getting your pole vault out. Setting a new PB. Going for the world record.

So no, it doesn't have to mean anything. You know it probably doesn't - but you indulge in the 'what if' just for the hell of it.

His apartment is cold, the ondol off, one of the windows cracked open ever so slightly to let the air out. Winters are dry round these parts, and Jungkook has an odd paranoia around developing black mould in his apartment. It's not unwarranted - he's pretty sure his last place made him sick because of it. Knows for certain that it made his mother weaker before she passed. Refuses to let history ever repeat itself.

You're unaware of this, though, and slide the window shut. It's the height of winter, and he knows damn well if he's gonna get lucky tonight that it's gotta be a little bit warmer in his apartment.

You take a moment to refamiliarise yourself with his place. There's not much. A little furniture, some prints you recognise from the market downtown up on his wall. There are no personal artifacts, though. No more clues as to who Jungkook really is. You'll have him naked tonight, granted, but you won't have him naked. He won't be vulnerable; laid bare.

But you're not exactly gonna complain when you have him bare in the other sense.

In fact, you think you much prefer it this way. It'll be easier to let him go when the time inevitably comes.

You toss your coat on his desk chair and your shoes are kicked beneath it, not caring much for neatness. The rest of your clothes follow suit, and then you're waiting, all desperate and pliant, just like he asked for. 

Though you're not one to beg, you're aware of how nicely he had requested - and how hot and bothered he had gotten you en-route to his place.

There's a thrum in your chest, and it beats to the same harmonious melody that the chime in your stomach produces.

Back straight, feathers smoothed, you're a songbird waiting for someone to hear your call. It only takes a few moments, the beep of Jungkook's keypad echoing through the door as he punches in the code adding a new layer to your song.

"Hey," he calls through, his voice muffled slightly through the sliding partition doors. The glass is frosted, but you can make out his silhouette as he kicks his shoes off by the door. "Just been on a job. Emergency at an office building downtown. Some bad wires. Tripped."

The lies roll off his tongue like butter in a hot pan. They sizzle. Spit. Burn you and scar you with the portrayal of a man who isn't who he pretends to be.

Thing is, Jungkook is exactly who he pretends to be.

He really does get too hot in the night, and genuinely does find videos of kids falling over far funnier than he knows he should. His hair sticks up on end when he wakes up, and he loves his car more than life itself. The way he winces after taking shots, and his dimples, which form in moments of contemplation beneath his cheeks, are entirely natural to him.

None of it - none of him - is a lie. At his core, Jungkook is the idea in your head; the yellow of midafternoon sun before it sets.

He's the amber light that flashes before fading into red. 

That's his issue, though. Inevitably, he will always, unavoidably, turn red.

Jungkook likes to tell himself he's not a bad person. He just does bad things, occasionally. But don't we all?

Yeah, the voice in his head would rationalise. But bad things are sneakily not paying for plastic carrier bags at supermarket self-checkouts, or failing to tell a friend they have food stuck in their teeth. Not petty violent crimes and conspiracy to-

"Took your time," you flirt.

It takes him longer than he'd like to get from his kitchen and to where you are, his laces proving to be a bit of a bitch when he's in a hurry. He's dressed down, a pair of light wash jeans clinging to his thighs for dear life, a baggy grey sweater hiding that itty bitty waist of his.

You find yourself smiling, his presence bringing more than just the promise of satisfied desire.

It's dangerous how you can't hear anything other than the chime in your stomach whenever you see him. Might deafen you one day. Or maybe you'll hear it so often that it will just fade into white noise. Not a favourable outcome, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Holy fuckin' shit."

You tilt your head and feign confusion, as if you don't know why he's salivating like a dog being offered a bone. You're on your knees, as requested, palms flat on the tops of your thighs; not naked, but you may as well be. A lace red set leaves little to the imagination, one of his flannel shirts draped over your shoulders to keep you warm - but also 'cause he seems like the kind of guy to eat that shit up.

So while you're right where he wanted you, as he struggles to form a coherent sentence, he's exactly where you wanted him.

Finally, he finds a few words.

"Desperation looks good on you, CC."

Arrogant son of a bitch, you think, but there's a grin on your lips that you just can't hide. 

"Mmm," you flirt, not caring to drag things out. You want him so badly that hard to get seems like a dumb idea. "Maybe - but I think you'll find I look better on your dick."

His shoulders pull up towards his ears, head dropping as a small laugh vibrates in his throat at the boldness of such a statement.

"You're not wrong - but I like this," he says, closing the space between you. His voice is soft, as one of his hands cups your cheek and angles your jaw upwards so that you're looking directly at him. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and - almost like you've been conditioned - your lips part for it to rest on your tongue. "I like this a lot."

Your lips close around it, tongue massaging his thumb as you slowly suck on it.

It's gentle, and warm, and - fuck - he's spent so long thinking about the way your mouth feels but it never compares to actually experiencing it. Your lips vibrate as you hum, satisfied with the effect you seem to be having on him.

His lips are parted, eyes void of all thoughts, as if you've bewitched him. Maybe you have. He wouldn't put it past you. There's something dark behind your eyes, something he doesn't quite understand. Something he knows better than to let himself study for too long.

Jungkook's room is dark, the glow of his fairy lights dousing him in soft reservoirs of gold. The light from his kitchen pours in behind him, his back to the clouded screen door, a halo circling around his darling blonde waves. Your eyes must be betraying you, you think, 'cause there's no way a man this heavenly exists. It's impossible.

"Bet you're wet, aren't you?" he toys, voice low, a teasing grin on those pretty pink lips of his. He may look like an angel, but there's a pair of horns hidden beneath his curls.

There's no hesitation as you nod, vocalisations cut short thanks to his thumb remaining snug between your lips. Why lie? He wants you desperate, so he's getting exactly that. You think he deserves it. Think he always makes you feel good, so why not indulge him in this little fantasy? You can play desperate, if he really wants.

"Show me," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper; almost as if he doesn't believe he's asking you to do such a thing for him. It's not like it would be the most outlandish exchange the pair of you have had together, but the vulnerability is never easy. 

Never easy to ask for, never easy to give. Especially not when Jungkook is harbouring secrets that he knows would shatter the fortress walls he's built up around the pair of you. 

You're unaware of this as your hand creeps between your thighs, to where a mess is pooling in your panties. 

It annoys you just how eager you are for him. You wish you weren't; wish he had to work for it. The tips of your fingers push against your entrance, but it's all just for show - you've been wet since the moment he first messaged you that evening. 

You let your eyes fall to his crotch. It's strained, the pale denim doing an awful job at hiding how hard he is. He's been plump the entire journey home, but now that he's here - now that you're looking like that - he's solid.

He watches you, the way you move, the slight heave of your chest, and knows that you're down just as bad as he is. You wouldn't be on your knees if you weren't. In fact, you wouldn't be here, full stop.

You reach for his belt and set about getting to work immediately. His jeans are pushed to midway down his thighs, boxers following suit. The way his cock springs out of them, all fat and proud, has you salivating.

And so it's only fair that you take it in your mouth as soon as you can.

He reaches behind you and tweaks at the clasp of your bra. It loosens almost instantly, and you hum in approval of how easily he managed to do that. You let the straps slide down your arms, his cock still in your mouth as you toss it to the side.

"Between them," he instructs.

It's tempting to just do as he says. Irresistible, almost. You want him between your tits just as much as he wants to be there, but you want him more vocal. Want him begging. It's his own fault for getting you into such a submissive position. It's a flaw, the way you need to level the playing field, but one that he never fails to deliver on.

"C'mon, CC," he whispers, voice dulcet, trapped in his throat as he suppresses a moan. "Put my cock between your tits."

Your hands fall from the backs of his thighs to play with your breasts, your nipples hard and eager for him. Vibrating around his mouth as you moan, you're pleased with the grip he has on your hair. It tightens, and when he speaks, you're convinced his voice could make you cum alone, "I'm not gonna ask you again."

His cock takes a few more strokes of your hot mouth before you withdraw, stiff and flushed in front of you. He encourages you up so that you're sat on your knees, ass up instead of resting on your ankles as it had been. There's a string of your slick running from your heels to your pussy, the mess desperately seeping from you. Jungkook can't see it, isn't aware of it, so before you do anything, you dip two of your fingers between your folds to gather it up. He watches with laboured breaths.

You don't drop contact with his eyes, not even when they're trained on your fingers. He watches as you hold them up, glittering from the reflection of his fairy lights, before your tongue licks them clean. His cock jerks, the visual stimulation building his need to come undone by tenfold.

There's a little bit of your slickness still on your fingers when you pump his cock, once, twice, three times. 

"Sorry, baby," you toy with the term of endearment, the groan he exhales when you say it confirming that you need to call him sweet nothings more often. "Where did you want your cock, again?"

He's been avoiding touching your chest, not wanting to take control of the situation, but your shoulders roll back just a little, your soft mounds his for the taking. His grip drops from your hair, the tips of his fingers ghosting your chest. He runs them delicately across your stiff nipples, his touch so minimal that you feel yourself leak, pussy throbbing, desperate for more.

Resting perfectly between his index finger and thumb, your nipples are pulled ever so slightly, before he finally indulges himself and cups your tits like he so desperately wants to. He holds them together and wobbles them, obsessed with how soft they are. He edges closer, the tip of his cock nudging against your cleavage. There's a small trail of precum leaking from his tip, the sheen now coating your skin. "Right there."

Spit gathers and pools in your mouth, lips pouting as you let it drip onto your tits. Jungkook groans, his hips pushing his cock further onto your chest. You hold your tits apart, his leaking crown kissing your sternum before you angle him upwards. The soft, pillowy cushions press around his thick shaft, keeping him firmly in place.

"That's it, baby," he mewls as you spit again, this time onto the head of his cock. You drop your gaze and lower your head, tongue flat as it licks the tip, spreading your spit. His hips are jerking against you, his foreskin nestled in place, cock tugging against itself.

"Look at me," he says quietly, as dulcet as the atmosphere in his room. Your eyes meet his, as your hands firmly jiggle your cleavage. His mouth hangs ajar, brows knotted in such a way you think he looks like his mind is all tangled up. You're not wrong - he can't think straight like this. All he can think about is how much he wants to fuck you in every single capacity he can. "That's it."

You grin, but try to hide it. "You like my tits, huh?"

Jungkook wants to roll his eyes, and almost does - but then you spit again, the pace of your jiggling hands quickening, and he finds himself doubling over. 

"Fuck," he whines, completely undignified. Any strong, stable demeanour he has feigned is lost as his cock gets slippery, covered in your spit, being massaged by your tits. "Spit."

The momentum is retained, but it's getting sloppier. There's limited friction, your spit acting as the perfect lube for him to fuck your tits. He doesn't really know what to do with himself, how to withhold himself from spilling onto your chest, but he's all hot and bothered. He isn't gonna last long.

"Bed," he husks, pulling away from you, not even registering the fact he's helping you up. He just kind of does it, his mind entirely on where he wants to be. "On your back."

You do as you're told, your bare back hitting his freshly laundered duvet as your head nestles into his mountain of pillows. His legs straddle either side of your chest, movements frantic as he traps his cock between your tits once more. He's in control, the pace entirely set by him, his large hands gripping the flesh of your chest like he normally does your waist. 

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuckin' love your tits."

Your hands grip his ass, encouraging his movements, before one of them roams to toy with your clit. The change in your moans is noticed by Jungkook, who glances back to check you're doing what he thinks you are. Suspicions confirmed, he laughs. "Dirty bitch," he keens. "Love being owned by my cock, don't you?"

You pause, and Jungkook notices a look in your eyes. It's one he knows well; one he enjoys. Nonetheless, one that panics him when he's in such a compromising position, because it looks like you've just been challenged.

With a pathetic, pouty mewl, you push your fingers into yourself. It's quick, your fingers pumping frantically to build enough slickness on them to wipe the smirk off Jungkooks face.

The hand that's still on his ass squeezes, your nails indenting him ever so slightly. He hisses, a lopsided grin on his lips as he continues to fuck your chest - until the feeling of your soaked fingers stroking his taint has him stuttering.

You apply a little pressure, the pump of his cock slow between your tits. His breaths are laboured. It almost sounds like he gasping for air, unable to concentrate on anything but the sensation of you.

Brows furrowed, eyes wide, you pout. "Thought I was being owned by your cock, baby?" You tease him, and are met with him cursing you out, a saccharine smile on his lips.

"Fucking hate you," he laughs, abs shuddering as your fingers trails further up. They're stroking, caressing, toying - and they don't stop. Not until they reach the tight muscle of his that you're just dying to penetrate. He's silent now. Doesn't want to tell you that he wants it, but fuck it, he does. He pulls back, eyes on yours. There's a hint of a nod, but you're not gonna do anything too daring unless he explicitly asks for it.

Your soaked finger presses against him, cautious not to take it too far. You're still learning each other; what you both like, and you aren't sure where his limits lie.

"Yes? No?" you question, eyes earnest. His ass has never been explicitly discussed between the pair of you, but he also never ruled it out, either.

He's quiet, but smiles when he shakes his head. "Not yet, C. Another time, though."

"I'll hold you to that," you tease, curious about his desires. You wanna know all the ways you can get him off, and you think you'll be willing to do almost anything. In fact, you know you will. All he has to do is say the word, and your tongue will be wherever he wants it.

His eyes roll back, and so do his hips. "And I'll hold you to the offer."

It's a rarity, he's found, for girls to be so bold. He's always had to be the one to initiate his own pleasure, or to just finish quicker than he'd like because his partner was already done. He likes this about you. Likes that you like to fuck. Likes that you apparently, for whatever reason, seem to especially like fucking him.

It's thoughts like these - something about luck, fate - that plague his mind as he pushes his cock between your tits again. It's fast, and it's sloppy, and it's wet, and soon enough, he isn't thinking at all. All he can do is feel - your warmth, your softness - and then all he can feel is how fucking good it is to be with you.

When he comes, he comes hard. It hits your throat, coating you in everything he is. A moan catches in his throat, eyes closed, hands pushing your tits so tight together that it fucking hurts - but he's shaking, and you know that his orgasm has him unable to realise just how strong his grip is. 

It's not till he looks down at you, all breathless and blushed that he realises. There's a sheen on your chest, and he knows better than to dirty you all over again - but he's a creature of habit. His grip loosens, chest heaving as his hands begin to stroke at your tits. They fill his palms, overspill blooming between his spread fingers as he gently remedies them of his strength. It's unintentional, though not minded, how he spreads his cum as he does so. 

You try and keep a straight face, but it's impossible, and then you're both laughing. It echoes around his room like the missing instrument to the song in your stomach. You aren't really sure why you're laughing. Nor is he. You're just happy. The pair of you remain this way for a moment or so, casually enamoured with how easy things are; how easy they could be.

"C'mon, CC," he speaks fondly, but spanks your titty for the fun of it regardless. "Let's get you cleaned up."

There's a tender nature to the way Jungkook moves your body. So docile, he's a world away from the version of himself that you'd just had in his bed.

This Jungkook - the one gently pulling your hair back so it doesn't get too wet while you wait for the shower to fully heat up - is so well mannered that you couldn't imagine him cursing, let alone calling you a bitch during sex.

Something about it, about him, has you feeling far more infatuated than you should be at this stage.

You're not ready for all this. Not prepared for the way you're feeling. It scares you. Gets you wanting to grab the towel and make a swift exit - but then he kisses your neck, hands on your hips, chest pressed into your back, and you realise that there's no place you'd rather be.

He reaches out to check the temperature of the water that's steaming into his bathroom, and decides it's just right. It's not that the water is particularly hot, just that his bathroom is bloody freezing. 

Your reflection in his mirror is a vision of beauty; eyes trained on him, skin tainted by what would have been his legacy. Part of him doesn't want to wash it away. Just wants to marvel at you. Study the way your skin dimples and bumps when you're cold; then remembers that you can't cum when you're cold, so you probably aren't enjoying this as much as he is. He lifts the showerhead from its holder, and lets the water pour over you, and you alone.

The warmth has your shoulders easing almost instantly, and Jungkook feels a little guilty for having kept you cold so selfishly.

He's quiet as he rinses himself from you, contemplative dimples perching themselves beneath his cheeks. He barely utters a word for the entire shower; just peppers your shoulders in kisses.

It's not till you turn to face him, taking the showerhead from his hand and begin rinsing his body that he finally speaks up.

He takes a moment to study you first; watch the way your eyes glaze over his body, following the trajectory of the water, making sure you don't miss a single inch of his skin. Your lashes are dark, hiding your eyes from him, and he doesn't like it. Instinctively, his hands cup your jaw, bringing your eyes to his.

"Thank you."

His lips are on yours, soft, no pressure - and then they're not. They're trailing down your neck instead, as if he can't decide which part of you he wants to devour.

'All of you' is the correct answer, but he eats for pleasure, not for sustenance.

Easily, he could have you for everything that you are within a few seconds - but he wants to savour you. Wants to hear the way your breath hitches as his tongue flicks against your earlobe; feel your fingers dig into his scalp as he paws at your round ass. He wants the memory of your body in his hands, 'cause he fears you're like sand, and that his grasp won't be able to keep hold of you forever.

His bathroom is cramped, more like a wetroom, and the same grey tiles are on the walls that are on the floor. Shower attached to the sink, it's the standard for one-room apartments around these parts.

Yours is the same - but you do have the added luxury of boujie conditioners and loofas to soften the blow.

Jungkook has a 2-in-1 body wash and shampoo combo, and doesn't see the point in fancy scrubs when the labour of his job leaves his hands all rough anyway.

In your right mind, you'd moan about it. Tell him that he's such a boy, or that next time, he's coming to yours for a shower - but you're distracted by the hardness of his cock against your stomach and his hands cupping at your chest while he kisses you. The stream of water makes it borderline impossible to open your eyes, so you revel in the way it feels to be overwhelmed by everything he is.

"Again?" You mumble into his lips, to which you're met with a nod.

You slip your rings off and hear them clink against the porcelain of his sink, praying that your aim is correct and they won't end up down the drain. He hums a small purr of confusion, questioning your actions, and then groans an 'oh' into your mouth when your hand clasps around the base of his cock.

"Gentle," he reminds you, still sensitive but desperate for you once more.

His lips leave yours, head tilting back as he revels in your touch. Neither of you speak, but there's really not much to say. You'd just be making noise for the sake of it.

Regardless, there's a weight in your chest, clamping down on your lungs, that makes talking seem impossible. Might be trepidation. Might be nothing at all - but it sure does feel like something.

You marvel at the column of his thick neck as it stretches back, and think how pretty it would look covered in purple and pink, the bruise of your intimacy staining his skin just like it has done your heart.

Your movements pause when you realise you're thinking about your fucking heart. You're not sappy. You don't attribute sex to love, and the idea of even falling in love has you wanting to run for the hills.

It's been said before that the heart is just a muscle. It has no real bearing on your emotions, nor your amatory exploits.

But when the thoughts of your feelings cloud your mind with dainty pink vapours, all sparkly and strawberry scented, you can't help but feel like you're in danger.

In your chest, you can feel your heart ache.

So yeah, it is just a muscle, but muscles get worn out.

Jungkook notices your hesitation. He casts his eyes down to check you're okay. His crown rests against the wet tiles, water-saturated hair stuck to his face, lashes damp and lips all pouty. The man is a vision. Naked, bare, vulnerable. Yours for the taking, or so it seems. His eyes are heavy-lidded, deep brown; sweet as chocolate, sinful as straight whisky.

"You good?" He asks quietly, only for you to nod and pick the pace up again. His eyes stay on yours as a laboured grunt escapes his lips, brows pinching together. The way you feel around him is so good. Not too tight, just the way he likes it. Fingers all dainty, nails painted red, it's a sight he thinks about when he's alone more than he cares to admit. He's thick and hot in your grasp, working his foreskin up and down his shaft.

There are goosebumps on your skin, body positioned just out of the shower stream because you wanted to look at him; watch as you wound him up, just to make him unravel again. He pulls you closer, hands cupping your jaw as he kisses you, until you're beneath the water again.

His tongue is in your mouth as his hand drops to meet yours. So much larger than your own, his fingers clasp around yours and joins the effort, speeding up. He doesn't say anything else, but he's struggling to kiss you, now. His lips are ajar, resting against yours, little purrs of satisfaction finding a home on your tongue.

"Yeah?" You encourage a little breathlessly, as if you're the one moments away from ruin. "That's it, Kook."

He nods, as the hand that isn't on yours tangles in the back of your hair to keep you close. His hand works to increase the pace, making it a little rougher. There's a wetness between your legs that isn't from the shower, but you're too focused on him - on making him feel good, on being what he needs - to bother doing anything about it. He'll return the favour later, you're sure. He always does.

His grip on your hand loosens, leaving it up to you to finish the job. It only takes a second or two, and then you're milking him, thick white cum desecrating your hand and spurting into your stomach. There's not much, most of it spent on your chest earlier. He shudders, one of his legs a little more so than the other, his moans lost in the pitter-patter of the shower until they become nothing more than hot, heavy breaths.

And then, because quite frankly he doesn't know how to articulate how good, how fucking precious, how god damn infuriatingly beautiful you are, he kisses you again. Though his tongue is soft as it strokes against yours, his piercing is hard - much like his cock which is still firm against your stomach. He encourages your arms up and around his neck, hugging tightly. Your chest presses to his, nipples hard, tits pillowy and soft, and Jungkook swears he'll risk it all for you.

Thinks it would be worth it.

He'd do this wherever with you; in his crappy apartment, in a hotel he'll pay far too much for, in a derelict motel that hides you both when it inevitably becomes time to run.

Thing is, he knows you now. Knows you'll never run with him. Knows that when you find out, he'll never get to do this ever again. It makes him want to cry. Makes him wanna get on his knees and beg for forgiveness before you even know you're mad at him.

You don't forgive. You don't forget, either. You wouldn't be working in a shitty GS25 if you did. He knows this. Knows that as soon as the truth is out, so is he.

And so Jungkook lies. "Come to Busan with me."

Your noses are nestled together, and you can feel his words against your lips. The shower keeps on pouring, but it won't cleanse him of his sins. The water still runs red, even if you can't see it. 

"Busan?"

He nods, steals a kiss, and begins to build upon the weak foundations he's formed. "I gotta go visit home. Been putting it off. Think it'll be more bearable with you there."

You kiss him back. Partially because you want to, but mainly because you don't know what the fuck to say. Your heart rate has doubled. Trebled. In fact, you're not sure it's beating anymore.

Family isn't a subject either of you has divulged in, not really. You fear that him opening up requires reciprocation, and that's just not something you're willing to give. Not to him, nor anyone else for that matter.

"When?" You finally murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling away to slip your rings back onto your fingers.

He doesn't want you to meet his family. Doesn't want you anywhere near them - but when the time comes, he needs you to know why he ended up here. Needs you to know that everything he's done, rightfully or wrongfully, has been for them.

Doing right by them means doing wrong by you, but he didn't know you when all this started.

Didn't know that you're the type to point out every trash cat you see, or that you make up little songs to soundtrack almost everything you do (regardless of the fact you're tone-deaf). He didn't know that you drank peach tea like it's water, or that you'd somehow taste a little bit like it too. He didn't know that you'd become his favourite flavour, or that the scent of your perfume would have him hugging his fucking pillows for days after you slept over. 

He didn't know. 

Didn't fuckin' know.

And now he does. And it's tearing him apart.

He's a good liar, though, so you don't notice just how cut up he is when he shrugs and twists the shower tap off. He reaches around for the towel and begins to wrap you up when he says, "Next weekend?"

When he's like this - voice soft, skin bare, tucking the top of the towel over against your chest - it's like you've got the upper hand. There's no battle being fought between the pair of you, and yet you don't feel like equals. Feels like the balls in your court. You just don't realise you're playing different games.

There's pitter-patter beneath your feet and a chime in your stomach. You shuffle between his feet, his arms wrapped around you, lips pressing a kiss against your hair.

"I'll have to check the rota," you say, but you know you'll just ask Yoongi to swap shifts if you are scheduled on. "But I haven't been to Busan in a while. I'd like to come."

His eyes are hot as he presses them shut, chin resting on your head. You think the stutter in his chest is just a hiccup, so you smile. Without the sound of the shower, he can hear his phone buzzing, vibrating on his desk in the next room over.

"Gotta get that," he says, squeezing you before loosening his grip and reaching for a small towel that barely covers his ass. The air is cold against his skin as he opens the bathroom door. Steam gushes out of the room, and so does the hazy, cum-drunk atmosphere the pair of you had created. You miss it the second your skin begins to pebble, goosebumps chilling you, the hair on your arms stood up on end. Almost like someone's walking over your grave.

Maybe just leading you to an early one. Either, or.

You hear him as he mumbles on the phone - "Jin. Yeah? What's up? Cool, can do." - but ignore it. Steam has fogged up the mirror, creating a cloudy canvas for you to do your worst upon. It's childish, yes, but nothing stops you from drawing a little something on there to remind him of you next time he showers.

An uneasy weight sits on your chest when you look at what you've done. It's nothing bad, but part of you thinks you'll regret it - but that part of you is silent when he calls through for you. 

When you emerge a few moments later, you're casual as you ask him who was on the other end of the line. He says 'a friend,' and then clarifies that it's 'one of the boys' because he doesn't want you to think the worst. It's an answer you accept.

Dropping the towel, you're unbothered by his eyes as you spend a few moments naked. You're just reaching for his shirt, but the way you move, how your muscles flex above your bones, but the soft flesh of your curves moves without your control has him feeling all kinds of fucked up. He's never wanted anyone more; never known that it was possible to feel such a way. 

He tells himself it's just hormones. He's fucking empty, entirely spent on you. That's gotta be the reason. Some kind of primal desire type thing. 

Even he's shocked when he begins to talk.

"You can't ever leave."

It's barely a whisper, his voice small, though the weight of his words is so incredibly large. 

"Need you here forever."

It's the way that Jungkook talks in such certain terms that has the chime in your stomach ringing again. 

You're sure he must have broken a thousand hearts with words like that. You wonder if there are still girls across the city pining after him, thinking about the way his breath feels on their skin as he fucks himself into them. Wonder if the fondness in his eyes is because of you, or because he's just riding a post-climax endorphin high.

"You don't mean that," you tell him, because you don't believe he does.

He shakes his head. Senses the challenge in your voice, and smiles. "You think I'm lying?"

"Think you haven't reached post-nut clarity, yet."

"You'll have to fuck me again, then. Third time lucky."

The third time comes in the morning. 

It's still dark outside, Jungkook waking you with dainty kisses along your shoulders, his hands pawing at your tits.

"Morning," he husks into your neck when your hand goes to join his on your chest. "Dreamt about you."

"You are so full of shit," you laugh.

Truth be told, he didn't really sleep. Looked at you for far too long. It's borderline creepy, he thinks, how utterly obsessed he is. Part of him doesn't understand it, but the rest of him does. 

You're forbidden. 

He can't help but want you. 

Jungkook may be Adam, but you're no Eve. You're that damn snake. Or maybe you're the fruit. He doesn't know at this point; just knows that he's eaten it, and he's pretty sure it's poisonous.

"Am not," he grins, riding that poison high. "What did you dream about?"

He's repulsed he's even asking such a thing.

"Can't remember," you pout, turning to face him. Dreams always elude you. It's frustrating, but at least you're not having nightmares. "What about you? What were we doing? Where did we go?"

Just like him, the fact you're asking him questions like that has you wanting to die.

"Busan."

It's not a lie this time. He isn't looking at you, though, so you half think it is. 

He's just focused on the hand of his that's toying with your hair, pushing strands away from your face. The only reason he isn't looking at you is because he's embarrassed. 

"Busan?" You ask, reminded of his proposition from the night before.

"Mhmm," he nods, his hair no doubt tangling against the pillow. "You 'n' me."

Again, you don't know if it's a lie, but oh what a beautiful one it would be.

"We were on the beach," he continues. "Not really doing much. Just sort of existing."  

You laugh, eyes fond but away from his. You're looking at his hair now, too, playing with it. Mirroring his actions. Reciprocating. "Existing?"

"Existing," he says, refusing to clarify. You're distracted when you notice the way his smile brightens. No longer contemplative, he's got a dimple that only comes out when he's beaming all big and bashfully. "I like existing with you."

And so exist you do, in his bed for the next hour and a half. There's no talk of any substance and yet you're chattering for the entire time. He barely even kisses you. Just wants to hear you talk. Wants to hear your perspective on the world, and all the assumptions you make about it.

Jungkook's duvet is shitty quality. The heat it traps is minimal, but you'd take a morning beneath his sheets in the height of winter over being back at your place any day. 

It's thoughts like these that make your feet itchy. Makes you wanna run. Bolt. Head for the hills and never look back - but you're locked in place by his arm over your torso. Faint light pours in through the clouded glass of his window panes, curtains apparently too much of a luxury despite the holes in the wall where a rail once sat, and you study the dark ink marking his skin. 

There's a story to be told from reading his arms, but you haven't figured that out yet. No google search of his name could ever match the lore embedded in his skin. The tips of your glossy red nails trace the lines in awe, wondering how many people have had this luxury before you.

You wonder who sat by his side during the tattoo appointments, and who laughed with fondness as he winced in pain. Whose hand did he hold? Whose suggestions did he listen to for placements? It plagues your mind like a disease, turning the rubies in your veins to emeralds. 

Who are you, you think to yourself. And why am I feeling like this?

It's only a matter of a time - a few languid movements and a couple affirmations later - until he's fucking himself into you again. Predictable, really. Money would be wasted on a fortune teller, and yet you want to go and see one anyway just to confirm whether or not you get to keep him forever. 

Lazy and slow, the sex is just an accompaniment to the way he's kissing you. His cock is thick and deep as it fills you, but his hips are sluggish and tepid.

It's almost laughable that the sex is an afterthought. 

By its basic definition Jungkook is fucking you - but he's fucked you enough times for you to know how likes to conduct his lays. Quick, fast, to the point. Finish line in his sights.

This doesn't feel like that. 

It doesn't feel like that at all.

Even the way his kisses you as his cock stiffens and pulses, unloading itself into you isn't familiar. It's short, his stamina not back up to his usual performance, but it's so deep you think it might be fatal. Any chance you had of getting your heart out of this alive? Yeah. Good luck.

He groans into your mouth, tells you how good you feel, and presses his lips so tightly shut that it's almost as if he's scared he'll never kiss you again.

It's interesting, the way that Jungkook doesn't make you cum. Sure, the sex is good. You've enjoyed it all - but you're currently on 3-0. You chalk it up to a lack of realisation. Innocent inconsideration. 

See, his words may betray him, but he's trying to be better. Trying not to drag you further into the web of lies he's woven around the pair of you. Issue is, you've mistaken it for silk. You're comfortable. Enjoy where you are.

He thinks it doesn't count; thinks that if he's the only one who finishes, then you won't be falling for him in the way that he hears girls do. Jimin had ribbed him for it after he'd fucked Naejeon; told him that the reason she was so into him was to do with the oxytocin cocktail that had flooded her bloodstream. It's not like it was news to Jungkook. He'd always known it was a thing, he'd just never really seen the impact of it quite so severely.

The way he see's it, the less you cum, the less you care. It's flawed logic, and it leaves him feeling guilty, which is why he blurts out dumb shit about wanting you around forever. Might be true, might not be. Maybe he's the one confusing hormones for heartfelt honesty. 

But as you watch him tear himself away from the bed and head towards the shower, you realise that none of it matters. 

You've been hearing bells since the moment you met him.

They're so loud they drown out the bullshit.

"You coming, C?" He calls through, as the shower begins to splutter into action in the next room over. He appears in the doorway, a tattooed hand cupping his balls and covering his modesty. His eyes are soft, grin lopsided as the sun rises. 

It's beyond your choice as you move towards the sound of his voice, like he's some kind of pied piper.

You know he's taken over you. 

Yet still, you follow the sound of the pipe.

And whether you like it or not, you know you'll let him drag you to the river, just for him to watch you drown.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

[gabessquishytum]

For all the trans headcanons and au's I've seen, I don't think I've ever seen anyone talking about trans!Hob getting bottom surgery, so here I am to fix this

Hob was rather lucky in that it wasn't too difficult for him to pass, he was rather tall for when he was born (in the modern age he'd be considered average leaning short though). He was strong and made sure that no one ever questioned his gender, if they did, Hob would make sure that they'd regret it.

Hob was one of the first trans men to start T, obviously since he was immortal he was just like "what's the worst that can happen" maybe there was some trial and error involved in getting to a decent level of T, but eventually he manages to get his body to a point where he's happier with it than he had ever been.

Now he has wanted bottom surgery for a while, but he also did not want to go through with having to stay at a hospital. Just the odds of his immortality being discovered was just too high for him to take the risk. He had already been drowned once, and he's certain that the result of his secret being found out would only be worse in the modern age.

But then Morpheus escapes. He comes back and admits he's Hob's friend. He introduces himself to Hob as Morpheus and agrees to meet with Hob on a more regular basis. The more they meet up, the more Hob is falling for Morpheus. Eventually Hob decides to come out to Morpheus as trans, to which Morpheus blinks at him and is like "I know?"

Hob: You knew? Since when? How?

Morpheus: I thought it was well established that I know most things about most people

Hob: Okay... fair. So you see me as a man?

Morpheus: You have always been a man in your dreams

Hob, almost crying now because most of his life he's had to hide this fact about himself for his own safety and even when he doesn't have to hide, it always felt like that most people would question his identity: So you've always known? And you've never once questioned that I'm a man?

Morpheus: What was there to question? Dreams are just as real as the waking world, often they are more truthful than the waking world. You are a man in your dreams, why should I, who am all dreams. question that

Hob stares at Morpheus in a stunned silence for a few moments before he gives into the temptation to give him the biggest hug he's capable of.

Morpheus was not expecting that reaction, but it wasn't unwelcome, so he returns the hug as best he can, it's a bit awkward because Morpheus isn't used to physical contact, but he's doing his best to comfort his friend.

Morpheus: Did... did I say something wrong?

Hob with tears in his eyes: I love you

Maybe Morpheus freaks out after that, but somehow they get their shit together and start dating.

At some point Hob mentions that he really wants bottom surgery, but that he really doesn't want his immortality to be discovered and hospitals always make him really nervous. So Morpheus, probably after a dream in which Hob experiences all the joys of having a dick and gets to top without using a strap, promises that if Hob wants to go through with bottom surgery, that he'll be there every step of the way and make sure that his immortality is not discovered.

So immediately upon waking, Hob schedules an appointment with a doctor.

As promised, Morpheus is there with him through every tedious doctors appointment and through his boring and painful stay at the hospital after his operation is over. Luckily for Hob, since he's immortal, he heals much quicker than would be average, but he still needs help with lots of things in the weeks after his surgery. So Morpheus is there to make sure he eats and to help him with everything (Dream's siblings are watching in shock as Morpheus is happily waiting on Hob hand and foot and helping him in every way he can in his own quiet way, they've never seen him like this)(Desire has bets on how long this relationship will last, Death has cast her bet that this relationship will last much longer than any of his previous ones.)

Eventually they get to have sex in the waking world again. Morpheus gets to help Hob figure out what he likes again now that he has a dick. Hob is immensely pleased with the fact that he can now top without having to use a strap. Morpheus just loves watching Hob rediscover what he likes now that his body more accurately reflects himself.

Anyway, I just want to see more trans people who want bottom surgery in fics, I almost never see that and it's really a shame

is 🪐taken?

This is such a lovely little ficlet, thank you 🪐!! I always love it when Hob comes out the Dream in fics, and Dream always responds with such kindness. I firmly believe that Dream would always see Hob as a man from the very beginning, and would just innately be able to view him as he dreams/imagines/fantasises himself to be. In a way its more natural for Dream to look at Hob like that, than it is to see his physical "real" form.

I also love Hob’s phobia of hospitals here. It's natural for him to fear them as an immortal, but I think there's also subtext here about being queer (trans in particular) and dealing with medical situations. There's a really sweet allegory within Hob being initially too fearful to go and have the procedure but then being able to do it with Dream’s support. It's not just that Dream can keep the secret of his immortality safe, he will also protect and advocate for Hob while he's vulnerable. I'm very soft about that.

And of course Hob getting to have a dick is wonderful and delicious and it's so perfect that Dream is the one who gets to teach him how to use it. It's Hob’s favourite step in their journey together so far, and although he plans to be with Dream for thousands of years, he's sure that he'll always remember the moment in which he got to sheath himself in his lover for the first time. He can't wait to practise every day until he knows exactly what they both like best, and exactly how to make Dream come apart on his cock.

It's just the best thing in the world to wake up from a dream and know that his dick is still there - and he'll never stop thanking Dream, for making it all real.

[halsteadlover]

Eye For An Eye

*Gif not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested by anon: Hi. I dont know if you have seen Greys Anatomy, but my request is if you could write Jay and the reader in the season 6 finale of Greys. With the reader being in Dereks place(she can be a surgeon) and Jay in Merediths. He doesnt have a gun on him when it happens, so he cant protect them. And instead of Christina, Its Will who does the surgery on Y/N. So I dont know if you have seen it, or if you are completly confused, but if you have, it would mean alot😊

• Warnings: blood, curse words, gunshots

• Word count: 7138.

• A/N: I think this is the longest piece I've ever written and as always it's shitty 💀 I'm sorry for how this turned out but I hope you'll like it. Let me know what do you think, like, comment and reblog if you want 💞 Love you all and thank you for your support.

Each person has a different way of doing, of thinking, of acting. Each situation is different from another and for each one there is a different way of reacting. When you’re happy there are those people who jump of joy, there are those who cry, those who cannot stop laughing or clapping their hands. When you are sad there are people who withdraw into themselves, those who prefer the company of some friends or their partner, those who don’t let themselves be discouraged.

But when you lose a loved one, this is a very broad discourse, difficult to enclose in just few lines, but even in this case each person has their own reaction, their own way of dealing with pain. There are those who cry desperately, those who scream since the pain of the loss is so strong because this is a kind of pain that tears inside you, tears your heart out; there are those who seem impassive, just because they need to metabolize, they don’t cry, they don’t scream, don’t despair, they remain there sitting in a corner to mull over what happened, what was going on.

During your career as a surgeon you had – unfortunately you'd dare to say – the opportunity to witness all kinds of reactions from a family member to the loss of their loved one. You were always understanding, ready to do anything to try and ease the pain those people were feeling even though you knew they hated you at the time since you were the person who gave them the worst news of their life. You thought you had seen everything but, damn it, how wrong you were, how wrong you were in having taken the arrogance of being able to think you knew the human being in its complicated and absurd interest. As already mentioned, every person has his own type of reaction in relation to a certain situation but never in your life, not even for a second, you would’ve thought the death of a patient could also have been the cause of yours.

“Doctor Y/LN, the patient is in atrial fibrillation,” a nurse had warned. You were in the midst of a brain operation on a woman, Ellen Hopkins, a 50-year-old lady who had a meningioma, a benign brain tumor but which, given its location and size, was quite dangerous to remove and carried high risks.

“The patient has her skull open, a wrong movement and I could make her paralyzed for life” you replied, the forceps and the electric scalpel in your hands while you were concentrating on the patient’s brain. “Two milligrams of Amiodarone, fast!”.

“The fibrillation persists,” you commented, lifting your eyes for a moment and placing them on the monitor the patient was connected to. “Damn it!” you exclaimed, putting down the surgical instruments and approaching the patient’s chest “Let’s carry out a cardioversion!”

“Charge at 200!”

Nothing.

“250!”

Still nothing, the fibrillation persisted as the patient’s values plummeted dramatically.

“350! And call cardiology!”

Not being able to use defibrillation again, you continued with the cardiac massage while waiting for a cardiothoracic surgeon to arrive in the operating room.

But Mrs. Ellen died on that operating table before someone even arrived.

“Damn it,” you cursed, taking a deep sigh and looking at the clock “Time of death, 16:33.”

Informing relatives was never an easy thing to do, you never got used to it, and that didn’t change even when you had to inform Mrs. Ellen Hopkins’ husband, Bill. You explained to him how the surgery had gone, you answered his questions, you told him you did everything possible to save his wife but that, unfortunately, she hadn’t made it.

Bill was petrified, speechless. Not a single sound came out of his mouth, not a single word, not a single tear came out of his eyes. He remained impassive, unable to process the information he had just been given. He just looked at you, straight in the eye, for a few moments before turning his gaze and walking away.

You watched him go and it was in vain to try to call his name and speak to him. You sighed deeply, running your hands over your face in frustration, blaming yourself for just ruining that man’s life. You couldn’t even imagine how he must feel at that moment, so you didn’t blame his reaction, as already mentioned, everyone had their own way of reacting to such devastating news.

As you used to do after surgery, you holed up in the doctors’ ward, ignoring everything and everyone and continuing to reflect on that surgery and what you could’ve done differently to save that woman.

And you stayed there all afternoon, until the evening, until your shift was over. They all tried to cheer you up, Connor, Will, April, to tell you it wasn’t your fault but right now you didn’t even want to hear those words, at least not from them. You just wanted Jay and one of his hugs.

Jay had been your boyfriend for almost four and a half years now and given your hectic lifestyles, being you a surgeon and him a cop, it was sometimes difficult for you to even see each other even if you were living together.

That evening it was enough for him to see you come out of the hospital doors to understand there was something wrong with you. He understood it from the way you walked at a slow pace, from the way you had your head down and your eyes on the ground.

“My love,” he began, getting up from his car on which he was leaning and walking towards you. When he finished his shift early, he always used to pick you up at the hospital or wait there until your shift ended too.

A small smile rose on your lips when you saw him, beautiful as the sun. The instant relief you felt when you saw him was something magnificent, it was amazing how even just that was enough to make you feel better.

“Hi baby,” you greeted him, immediately wrapping your arms around his chest and hugging him tightly. His arms encircled your shoulders and he too squeezed you tightly, knowing right away that you needed it right now.

“Baby are you okay? What happened?” he immediately asked in a worried tone as his hand gently stroked your head.

“Can we talk about this later? I just want to go home and forget about this day.”

Jay understood but didn't insist any further, leaving your space and knowing that when you were ready you’d tell him everything.

He slightly broke away from that embrace and with his hands he cupped your face, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. Without saying anything he kissed you, a chaste, sweet and delicate kiss you didn't even realize you needed until then.

“Has anyone dared to bother my princess? Do I have to beat the shit out of someone?” Jay asked in a menacing tone and expression, in an attempt to cheer you up. He smiled when you giggled, knowing he had succeeded and that, in reality, he was serious about this, as he wouldn’t hesitate even for a second to punch anyone who really dared to hurt you.

“No baby, no one has dares to do this wickedness,” you replied with a joking tone.

“It'll be better for them,” Jay joked, stamping a sweet kiss on your forehead that made your stomach lightly explode like fireworks. God, how much you loved that little gesture. “What do you say to go home and forget about this bad day? We can order something and watch a movie if you like.”

You nodded enthusiastically, looking forward to taking a shower and throwing yourself on the bed.

You and Jay were lying on the sofa, having dinner and watching a movie in the background that neither of you was really following. Your head was resting on his chest, your arm instead encircling his chest as he hugged you tightly, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead from time to time.

“I missed you so much today,” Jay said, making you smile even though he couldn't even see you right now.

“I missed you so much too baby, I really needed this.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, almost in a whisper. You let out a sigh, almost involuntarily, “You don't have to tough if you don't want to, I don't want to put pressure on you.”

“No sorry it’s just…” you started talking, putting yourself in a sitting position so that you could look at Jay “It's just... Surgery gone wrong, a woman died on the operating table.”

“Oh. I'm so sorry my love,” Jay replied, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly. “You don't think it's your fault, do you?”

“And who else could it be? I was the surgeon,” you blurted out “It was an operation that presented complications but it had 95% of possibilities to be a success, I promised her, her husband...”

“Baby, baby, stop,” Jay stopped you, letting go of your hand and grabbing your face with his hands and making you stop talking. “It’s. Not. Your. Fault. I wasn't there and I don't know how things went but I'm 100% sure you did everything in your power to save her and if there was a chance to do anything to keep her alive you’d do it. Complications happen, they happen, the surgery had a 95% chance of success but unfortunately that 5% is always there, it's hard, but it's always there and it's nobody's fault, much less yours. Don’t blame yourself for this baby, you are one of the most talented surgeons in the entire hospital…”

“Why can't I help but feel like shit then? Maybe I didn't consider some variables, I was too sure and a patient died,” you said, your voice almost broken by trying to hold back the tears. But from the way Jay wiped one, you could tell the attempt was completely in vain.

“Because we are human, it's in our nature to blame ourselves when something doesn’t go as planned and we always need to have an answer to the things that happen but the truth is that not everything has an answer, the universe operates in a mysterious way and I know for sure, I’d bet on it, there was nothing you could’ve done that you haven't already done.”

You sighed, then resting your head on his chest as he hugged you in an attempt to console you.

“I'm here for you baby, cry and let it go as long as you want, I won't let you go,” he continued to whisper, occasionally leaving sweet and delicate kisses on your forehead. He continued to hug you indefinitely, whispering words of comfort to you until you calmed down and stopped crying. You didn't know how to express your gratitude for having such a fantastic man like Jay by your side, you’d never have known how to do it without him. He was your rock, your backbone, what put you back together when your world fell apart.

-

In the next two days nothing special happened, you and Jay went on normally with your jobs, you operated, he arrested criminals.

It was Friday and it was now late morning while you were in the operating room after finishing an operation on a man with spinal problems. As usual, you washed your hands and left the operating room before going to write everything down on the patient's medical record.

Everything seemed to go on normally, lunchtime came quickly and as usual, Jay came to the hospital to pick you up and go eat something together. You were still busy in the last morning visits and Jay took the opportunity to exchange a few words with his brother Will, who was at the reception.

“Look who’s bere, I thought you died,” Will commented, jokingly.

“Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't show up but work has been killing me lately, it's like the criminals have all woken up at the same time,”Jay explained “How is everything going?”.

“It's okay. I’m fine, Maya is back in town tomorrow and I can't wait to see her again, work is going pretty well, in short, I have nothing to complain about and I can finally exchange few words with my little brother.”

Jay chuckled and was about to answer when a man's voice interrupted him.

“Excuse me,” the man said, getting attention “I'm looking for doctor Y/N Y/LN, where can I find her?”.

Jay immediately turned to the man after hearing your name being mentioned and looked him up and down, studying his appearance and making sure he wasn't some ex or, worse, a shady guy. He was a man who couldn’t exceed fifty-five, tall, slender physique, balding. He had his hands tucked into the pocket of his visibly ruined pants and his gaze totally absent.

“She’s finishing her last visits, you can wait in the waiting room and I will call you,” Will replied cordially.

“No, it's pretty urgent. I'm here for my wife and the doctor made an appointment for me today and at this time,” said the man, so calmly, a behavior that was not expected of someone who had a loved one hospitalized.

“I’m sure you can wait here too, the doctor will come down immediately and see you,” Jay continued, but the man insisted that the matter was urgent and he needed to see her right away.

“If the doctor told you that, you can go now,” Will said, going on to explain where to find you.

The man thanked him and started walking towards the elevator. By now he had memorized the way to your ward, which was only on the first floor.

Slowly, the man approached the ward where, however, a nurse stopped him.

“Sir, visiting hours are over, you can't stay here.”

“I'm looking for Doctor Y/LN,” he replied, completely ignoring the nurse's words.

“You can come back here at three in the afternoon, when visiting hours start again.”

Soon the situation plunged completely into the abyss, in a whirlwind of chaos and despair.

The man pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and without any sign of remorse or hesitation, shot that nurse, making his body fall to the ground, lifeless.

The sound of the shot echoed throughout the entire floor and the terrified screams of doctors, nurses and the patients themselves began to spread. They all started running away at the speed of light fearing for their lives. There were, however, those who couldn’t even get out of bed, asleep patients who were unable to save themselves.

When suddenly Jay saw a wave of people running from the elevator, terrified, he knew immediately that something was wrong. He and Will quickly exchanged a worried look and Jay immediately tried to stop someone to ask for an explanation.

“Hey! Hey! What the hell is going on?!” he exclaimed aloud, but everyone ignored him, continuing to run away. He stopped a man, who in terror stammered a few words.

“A… A man… He has a… He shot… He has a gun.”

Jay’s heart stopped beating for a moment as he heard those words. His mind immediately understood what was happening, who was the aggressor and his first thought was you. That man had targeted you, he wanted you.

A feeling of panic took over him and his brain went completely blackout. His first instinct was to run to the elevator and try to find you before that man found you but Will stopped him.

“Where the hell are you going?!”

“What do you mean where the hell am I going? That man is looking for Y/N I have to find her!”

“Jay you need backup!”

“You get as many people out as possible, I call the rest of the team and look for Y/N,” Jay had replied and before Will could even answer, he run for the elevators. After quickly making the call and making sure the team and SWAT were coming soon, he put his cell phone in his pocket and reached for his gun.

At that precise moment a shiver went through his body as he realized he didn’t have his gun with him and that he had left it in the dashboard of his car.

“Fuck!” he whispered angrily to himself. That didn’t stop Jay, however, determined to find you before the madman did. He began to wander the corridors of that floor, constantly looking around. He felt the sweat tinge his forehead and his heartbeat greatly accelerated, not so much because of the situation but because he knew your life was in danger. He kept praying with every fiber of his being you were okay, that you were able to hide somewhere.

The anxiety and worry he was feeling at that moment were feelings he had felt a few times in his life and knowing that you, the love of his life, were in danger and, above all, he couldn’t do anything to help you, it destroyed him. Deep down he couldn’t even formulate a single coherent and rational thought.

The last thing you expected that day – and to be honest, you didn’t expect at all – was to find yourself face to face with an armed man pointing his gun at you.

“Mr. Hopkins…” you whispered, short of breath and heart pounding. Mrs. Ellen Hopkins’s husband, the lady who had passed away on your operating table a few days earlier, stood in front of you, with an absent look, and with the gun pointing straight at you.

“You killed my wife,” he said, his voice cold, aloof, as if a robot had taken possession of him.

“I… Mr. Hopkins I don’t…” you stammered, having no idea how to get out of that situation.

“You killed my wife!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, showing some emotion for the first time. His sudden change of tone made you jump with fear, and in pure instinct you raised your hands up, visibly trembling.

“Mr. Hopkins, please… Lower that gun, there is no need, I promise you I will answer any of your question.”

“Shut up!” he yelled again “There is no question you can answer! You killed my wife! The love of my life! You took her away from me and today you will die like her!”.

Your eyes filled with tears, but you tried in vain not to cry.

Fuck no, you didn’t want to die, not that day, not like that.

“Mr. Hopkins… I ask you please, let me explain how things went, I’m sure you will want to know why. I know this won’t bring your wife back and I’m terribly sorry about that, I know how much you loved her and how much she loved you, but I can help you find answers if you wants.”

“And what could fix this? She died!” he exclaimed, waving his gun at you and making you jump again.

Oh God please.

“Nothing, I know it won’t bring her back to life, but it might help you find some peace, I’m sure, in fact, I’m 100% sure Ellen would like you to be at peace, she doesn’t want you pining for her death.”

“I don’t want to hear you talk!” Bill continued, now taken by anger and resentment “I hate you! I hate you so much! You were the one who had to heal my wife, make her feel better and not kill her! ”.

Your heart tightened in a vise and you couldn’t not feel guilty. You rationally knew it wasn’t your fault but, subconsciously, you couldn’t help but think so.

“Okay, okay, but please Mr. Hopkins, this thing is just between me and you alright? No one else has to suffer from this tragedy, no family has to mourn their loved one, if you want to blame me that’s fine but leave the other innocent people alone.”

“I don’t care a damn about the others, they were just accidents along the way. I wanted you Dr. Y/LN, you ended my wife’s life and I will end yours.”

Your blood froze in your veins, your brain working hard to try to invent a way to escape from that situation.

At that moment your thought was only one, only Jay, and how much you wished him to appear through that door and take you away from there. You couldn’t stop thinking how that morning could’ve been the last time you saw him, how you wanted nothing more than to take refuge in his arms.

Bill clicked the safety of his gun and a feeling of panic took hold of you completely, fearing that these would be your last moments in life.

“Bill… Please listen to me,” you begged him “I know you aren’t a bad person, I know you are grieving terribly for the loss of your wife and I am so sorry, there has not been a moment when I have not thought of her and I don’t even dare imagine your suffering, damn it, I don’t even know how I would’ve reacted in such a situation. I know it’s just the sadness and anger that are talking now, and you are right to be angry with me, with the world, with whoever is up there who took Ellen away from you and I don’t blame you for that. I know I was the person you trusted most to save her life and I betrayed this trust and I will forever apologize for that, because I wanted Ellen to recover as much as you did. I am not a perfect being, I am human too and as such I can make mistakes but I am ready to pay the consequences,” you spoke, and noticing that he was listening to you you continued “I did my best and believe me when I tell you that if there was a single minimal thing I could’ve done to save her, I would’ve done it but I know you don’t see it that way now. Bill... I… I have a family too, I’m somebody’s daughter, sister, niece, girlfriend and like I said I know you’re not a bad person, I know you never want any family to go through what you are going through right now.”

“You’re wrong Dr. Y/LN,” he replied, suddenly calm, as if all the anger he felt until recently had magically vanished. “I want everyone to feel exactly what I’m feeling.”

The sound of a gunshot boomed throughout your office room as it kept repeating in your mind. Suddenly the whole world around you fell into total silence, there was only a subspecies of hum that you could clearly hear with your ears.

You didn’t realize it right away. It took you a few moments to do it.

You didn’t realize right away he actually shot you. It was only when you looked down and watched the blood splatter spread across your uniform that you really realized he had shot you.

Your body fell into a trance state and you didn’t immediately feel pain, due to the adrenaline flowing through your veins.

You fell to the ground, without strength, the blood expanding rapidly under your body and soiling all your clothes. You had no idea what was going on, you didn’t know if you were dead, if you were still alive, if your attacker was still there, if it was all a terrible nightmare.

Your mouth was completely dry, your jaws so dehydrated as if you had just run a marathon. Your heart was beating madly as your chest rose and fell quickly even though each breath was like receiving a stab, one was more painful than the other.

At that point the pain slowly began to be excruciating, so persistent as to be almost paralyzing. It felt as if millions of needles were penetrating your skin with extreme and devastating agony.

Jay was right there, he had witnessed that frightening and horrible scene from afar, given the open door of your office. He had seen how that man shot you in cold blood and without the slightest doubt or hesitation.

It was Will who literally held him back by force, or he would’ve come to you, or he would’ve tried to save you. He would’ve even taken that bullet for you, he would’ve fought to try to save you, but he couldn’t have done it and now you were probably even dead.

It didn’t do any good to wriggle with all the strength he had in his body, try to escape Will’s grip, yell at him to let him go.

“Fuck Will, let me go!” Jay kept screaming, trying to run away, in despair he had never been in his life. His stomach was in a vise and a lump in his throat had formed.

But when that shot rang out within the walls of that hospital, Jay was completely paralyzed for a few seconds, as if for a moment he had feared he had an auditory hallucination.

He stood still as his mind processed what was really going on.

“No!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, freeing himself from Will and running at lightning speed to your office. He didn't have anything else in mind but you at that moment and he didn't even care that bastard had vanished, he just wanted to see you.

Seeing you poured into a pool of your own blood was an image that would never leave his mind again.

“Baby! Baby! Please wake up, don't leave me!” Jay exclaimed, immediately leaning over your body, not caring in the least he was soiled with blood. He took your face in his hands, breathing a sigh of relief when he noticed you were still alive, trying to mumble something.

“Shhh my love, don't talk, keep your strength okay? I'm here now, I won't let you go, please hold on tight” Jay begged, “Will!” his eyes blurred with tears and only then he realized he was crying “Please don't play tricks on me, you have to stay with your eyes open okay?”.

“J-Jay…” you muttered, struggling to keep your eyes open “It hurts so much...”

Jay cried even more to hear those words, knowing you were in terribly much pain and there was nothing he could do to end that pain. He continued to caress your face, your hair, noticing the paleness of your skin. He knew very well how you felt, he knew how a shot could be terribly painful.

“I'm so sorry I didn't come earlier baby, please don't leave me okay? I love you so much, I can't live without you…” he cried “Try to hold on for me, you'll be fine I promise...”

“I... I want to sleep Jay...”

“No, no, no, no,” he replied, panic in his voice. “Don't fall asleep, okay? You have to keep these beautiful eyes of yours open, can you do this for me my love? I know it's difficult but you are so strong, you are the strongest person I know... Don't do this to me, don't leave me baby…”

But at that moment you weren't strong at all, you weren't a fighter and you didn't have the energy and strength to fight. You just wanted to let yourself go and get some sleep, just for a little while.

The room slowly began to fade as black splotches appeared before your eyes and at that point you could no longer fight to keep your eyes open and found yourself sucked into a whirlwind of darkness.

“Will!” Jay yelled in utter despair again.

Will immediately walked into your office after rushing to get a stretcher and an emergency kit, and seeing the blood and you unconscious in Jay's arms he knew immediately that the situation was dire.

“I’m sorry I was finding these. We need to get her to the OR immediately. Jay help me put her on the stretcher,” Will ordered, trying to stay as cool and lucid as possible even though it was hard for him to see you like that too. You weren't just his brother's girlfriend, you were also his colleague and a very dear friend.

“Take her by the shoulders, I’ll take her by the legs. At three we raise her, okay?”.

Jay nodded, trying to wipe away his tears quickly and did what Will said.

“One. Two. Three.”

They placed you on the stretcher and all three of you immediately left the office, trying to go as quickly as possible to the operating room. It was a race against time, and both Will and Jay knew it, there was no room for mistakes, there was no room for hesitation.

“Will,” Jay called his brother, before seeing him enter the OR.

Will turned and immediately understood the words Jay was about to say.

“I can't be without her, save her please.”

Will's heart squeezed in a vise and never as in that moment he felt a huge weight on his shoulders because he knew if things went wrong he wouldn’t only lose you, a friend, a colleague, an exceptional doctor, but he would also lose his little brother.

He nodded before turning and walking into the operating room.

Jay didn't know what to do with himself. He never felt so helpless and at the same time cutting out from the world.

He didn't know the rest of his team had arrived there in the hospital, that the man was immediately found and arrested after killing that nurse and seriously injuring you and two other people but Jay didn't even care.

He didn't care where he was, he didn't care if he suddenly appeared behind him or even if he went around the hospital. He knew this wasn’t correct, his motto was to protect and serve but he didn’t give a fuck, he wanted nothing more than to know you were alive, safe and sound, that you were okay.

When it came to you, there was no criminal, job or any other matter that had a priority over you, there was nothing he wouldn’t have abandoned just to know that you were happy, that you were well and healthy. You had always been the center of his world since he met you and he didn’t even care how absurd it seemed, but it was the truth, you were his everything, all that was most important to him and knowing he had done nothing to avoid hurting you was killing him, devouring him inside.

The thought there was only a wall to divide you physically but an abyss mentally, was something that Jay just couldn’t understand and in the hours when Will operated on you, he thought he literally died a thousand times.

For the first time in his life he had understood the real meaning of fear and it was a feeling he never wanted to try again. It was horrible, devastating, debilitating, feeling that damned fear, that paralyzing and visceral feeling of anxiety that twisted his stomach in a tight grip. He was afraid of losing you, of never seeing you again.

How could he live without you?

How could he only think of living in a world where you were not there?

He wasn’t ready. He would never be.

This option had never even touched his head since you became a part of his world. He wanted to be with you forever, until his last breath and that was not even enough, because he knew that even in the afterlife your souls would be reunited and you would be together again.

What would he do if he never saw you again? What if he could no longer talk to you, hear you laugh at his sleazy jokes, hear you romp when you were happy, see you smile, hug you when you were sad and wipe your tears when you lost some patient on the operating table? What would he have done without your immense clumsiness, so much that he didn’t even know how you were a surgeon sometimes, without your disastrous cooking, without your hair ties thrown all over the place, without your obsessive way of disinfecting everything? What would he have done without your kisses, your hugs, your way of making him feel so pampered and loved, always, every day and every second?

“Fuck no, no, no, no,” Jay muttered to himself, as if to banish those horrible thoughts from his mind, “God please, please, save her, let her come back to me…”

After about an hour in which you were in the operating room, the rest of the intelligence reached Jay and in vain his friends tried to calm him down.

It was only when he saw Will come out the door of that damned operating room that he came back to breathe a bit and at the same time die of heartbreak and anxiety.

“So? How did it go? Is she fine? Please tell me she’s okay,” Jay spat out, immediately approaching his brother. He studied the expression on his face in the smallest details and a modicum of hope lit up when he didn’t see that typical expression you had when you had to communicate the death of a loved one, he didn’t seem sad, on the contrary.

“The surgery was a succes, I am 99% sure she will recover completely. The bullet had pierced the stomach but fortunately there was no major damage. Now I’m taking her to ICU and we’ll have to wait for her to wake up,” Will explained and couldn’t even explain the transformation Jay underwent. He noticed the precise moment when that veil of anxiety and worry finally disappeared, replaced instead by joy and happiness.

In a rush of happiness Jay hugged his brother, squeezing him like he had never done before. “Thank you Will, thank you so much.”

Will returned that hug, smiling. “You don’t have to thank me, she is very strong.”

“Yeah, she really is,” Jay replied through tears, only then realizing he was crying. “When can I see her?”.

“In a while don’t worry.”

Seeing you lying on that hospital bed was an image Jay would never have thought of seeing in his life, it was literally a blow to his heart. You had oxygen goggles inserted in your nostrils, your face was terribly pale but despite that you were still the most beautiful creature Jay had ever seen.

He stood next to you and he never took his eyes off you for not even for a second. His hand gently stroked your hair, as he used to do when you slept. It had now become a habit, stroking your hair and watching you sleep. Sometimes it happened that you smiled even in your sleep, snuggling closer to him, but this time it didn’t happen.

Your skin was cold under his fingers, as he stroked your cheeks and, God, he would’ve given anything to be in your place, so as not to see you hurt even for a minute.

Jay leaned over and gave a kiss on your forehead, as he kept caressing your face and hair.

“Do you have any idea how much I fucking love you? How do you make me feel? How important you are to me?” Jay began to speak, remembering the words you said to him once and that talking to patients asleep can have a positive effect on their awakening. He left another kiss on your forehead. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me today my baby? God, I've never felt so scared as I did today, not even while I was overseas. Seeing that son of a bitch...” Jay stopped, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he remembered the moment you were shot “I'm so sorry I couldn't stop him, I don't want to imagine how scared you were, I’ll never be able to forgive myself, I was there, a few meters from you, I have always sworn to protect you and keep you safe but I have failed and I am so sorry.”

“Please wake up baby, don't you dare leave me here alone okay? I can't be in this fucking world without you. I swear to you, I'll never leave you alone again, but now you just have to open your beautiful eyes alright? Can you do it for me? Show me those beautiful eyes that made me madly fall in love with you?”.

Jay stood there at your bedside indefinitely, watching you sleep and hoping that sooner or later you would finally open your eyes. Will spent nearly every twenty minutes visiting you and it was in vain for him to try to get Jay to go and rest.

It was when he felt your fingers move slightly, after almost twelve years, that he feared he was truly hallucinating.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he literally jumped up from his chair, holding your hands as he looked at you “Baby, can you hear me? Please answer me, give me a sign. Please, please, please.”

He felt your fingers move slowly again and at that point he made sure it really happened, it wasn't a joke his mind was playing on him.

It took you some time to understand what was happening, where you were.

Your head was pounding terribly as if you were being hammered, your vision was blurred and you had to blink several times to focus.

The first thing you saw were the artificial lights coming from the ceiling, which at the time were terribly annoying.

“Where am I?” you grumbled with difficulty, feeling weak and completely without strength.

“You're in the hospital, love,” replied a voice you recognized immediately. It was Jay, your Jay. “No, no, stay still, don't get up.”

Your eyes met Jay's and the joy he felt at seeing you awake was something that was minimally comparable.

“You finally woke up,” he said, almost in a whisper, as if he hardly believed it. He stroked your hair, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

Suddenly images of what had happened flooded your mind, the exact scene in which you were shot seemed to repeat itself in a loop in your head.

“Has... Has any other person been hurt?" you asked.

Jay nodded his head, sadly. “But they’re all fine. He was caught soon after, he surrendered without opposition.”

“And you? How are you?”.

He chuckled, taking your hand with his and letting a kiss on it. “You're the one on a hospital bed.”

You let out a faint laugh but it results in a painful twinge. “I guess I deserved it.”

Jay's face immediately turned serious and his heart tightened in his chest as he heard these words. “You can't really believe such thing. You don't deserve to be here baby, it's not your fault what happened, please, get it out of your pretty little head.”

“His wife is dead and I had to save her,” you whispered, your gaze fixed on the ceiling as you tried in vain to hold back the tears.

“His wife died of a complication, every surgery has it, you always tell me, and you did everything possible to save her. You don't have to pay for something you are not to blame for, please stop thinking this okay?”.

You were silent for a moment and you then returned your eyes to Jay.

“Baby... Are you crying?” you asked, alarmed. He shook his head slightly, wiping away his tears quickly and avoiding looking at you.

“No, I'm not,” he muttered but let go when you started stroking his face. He lowered his head and let himself go in a liberating cry, venting the frustration, the anger, the sadness but above all, the relief.

“Oh baby, it's okay, it's okay,” you tried to console him as best you could given your position.

“I was so fucking scared to lose you Y/N…” he whispered.

“I know, love, I know, I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize, on the contrary, I’m sorry, I should be the one to console you,” he said, wiping his tears and then looking at you. Your heart skipped a beat to see his beautiful green eyes shine so bright, still shiny from crying.

“You don't have to apologize Jay, there was nothing you could’ve done to stop it and you don’t have to blame yourself for not being able to stop this from happening,” you spoke up, realizing you were crying too.

“What about we both stop to blame ourselves?”.

“We have a deal,” you faintly smiled “Do you have any idea how much I fucking love you too?”.

Jay let out a laugh, knowing you had actually heard his words as he spoke to you. He stood up again and leaned towards you before grabbing your face and pressing his lips against yours. There were no words to describe what he felt, what that contact caused within him, the relief to know he still had another chance to be with you, he still had he chance to kiss and hug you forever.

“Can you get close to me?” you asked.

“But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, please baby, I need you now.”

“God, how can I say no to this beautiful face?” he said and you giggled, trying to ignore the pain that this entailed. Slowly and carefully, you tried to move in the bed, so you could make room for Jay and not make the stitches fit.

“Be careful baby,” Jay warned, helping you.

Jay positioned himself beside you, trying to be careful not to make any sudden movements, and he put his arm under your head. He printed so many kisses on your face and forehead, still unable to believe the luck of still having you there with him.

“I swear to god I’ll never let you leave the house again, I can’t risk someone taking you away from me.”

You giggled again. “Don’t make me laugh please, it hurts.”

“It’s not my fault you have such a funny boyfriend, it’s something you’ll have to live with.”

You hit him with that bit of strength you had, aching from the wound. “Can you stop it?”.

“Sure my love,” he kissed you on the forehead again. “Now try to rest, okay? You need to regain strength so I’ll get you home as soon as possible. I will always be here beside you, I won’t let you go.”

And with those words of comfort, you slowly slipped into a deep sleep, into the arms of the man you loved and with the hope, sooner or later, everything would be fine, everything would return back to normality.

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[shayyprasad]

we are okay | peter parker

tw: minor angst... kinda? self-deprecation, cursing... but there's always cursing-

summary: peter's been hiding something, and you've gotten into a fight about it. when he leaves before it's been resolved, you give up on this. on him. until...

as you marched up the long set of stairs, you cursed the gods that the elevator was broken. tears were staining your cheeks and blurring your eyes, and you took note of the fact that aunt may's car hadn't been in the parking lot.

good.

curling your hand into a fist, as you'd finally made it up to his level, you angrily pounded on the door. granted, there were better ways to confront your pretentious douchebag of a boyfriend, it was decided by your heart (which in this case was the illogical one) that this was the way.

did you look crazy at 10:00pm banging on someone's door?

yes.

were there people staring?

yes.

did that stop you?

no.

a messy haired brunette peeked out of the door, and his eyes widened the moment he took note of who was there.

"oh, no," he murmured quietly as he pulled you gently inside.

"parker, we past 'oh, no' territory! we are in 'oh, fuck' territory, and i expect you to act like it!" peter winced at that, you never, never, never called him by his last name unless you were furious, and it was quite obvious that you were even past that.

"y/n, angel, i-" you melted at his pet name for you, and for a second you wanted to instantly forgive and forget everything that'd happened.

but you snapped out of that for the sake of yourself, "peter, please. this is the 6th time this week you've either last minute canceled or stood me up! i was waiting for two and a half hours for you! and god, you promised you'd be there this time! you promised, peter, you promised. you- you don't get to do that to me," your voice dropped to a painful whisper, and this heart ached.

"do you know how patient i've been with you? i have no idea what you go out and do, and i'm trying to trust that... you have a good reason, i am, really, but you- you're making it hard. you don't do any of the things that most boyfriends do, and i'm not setting some stupid high expectations or anything, i just want the bare minimum."

he didn't say anything, so you repeated yourself, "the bare mini- minimum, my love. isn't it fair that i at least get that? o-or just tell me what's going on. i promise i won't be mad or anything, please peter, give me something. anything. i won't judge, a-and," you were trying to take deep breaths and calm yourself down, but nothing seemed to be working, and now that you had started, all your thoughts, feelings, and emotions were flooding out.

"you know, at first i didn't even care. i didn't care that you canceled dates, or stood me up, or made stupid, unbelievable excuse, b-because i had you. you were mine, and that was all i needed. but this isn't healthy, peter. this relationship? no, it's not. i-it's not right, not- not to me or to you. tell me peter, tell me w-what's going on," you begged again, sobbing.

but how could he just tell you? it seemed so easy, but actually doing it was so much more different. his head snapped up at the vulnerability in your voice. looking at you turned out to be a mistake. peter's chest squeezed at the sight of your face and the hurt swimming in those beautiful eyes of yours.

his dread mixed with a strange exhilaration at being alone with you like this, and it took all of his willpower not to sweep you up in his arms and never let go. to hold you in his arms and whisper sweet nothings. to kiss you until the two of you were breathless, and to soak in your loving scent that easily brought a smile to his face. to leave everything and everyone behind, just for you.

and the worst part? he couldn't. and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to again. peter begged you silently to not leave. to hold him in your arms instead, for you to whisper sweet nothings to him, and for you to kiss him. for you to just know. to just understand, and that way, it would be so much easier. he wouldn't have to worry about putting words together and making them sound literate, because you would just know.

but you didn't.

and back to square one, he didn't know how to tell you. back to square one, stuck in something more painful than his own webs. back to square one, heartbroken again.

so peter looked back down at the floor, hoping that it would just swallow him up and it'd all be over. he had his spider-man suit under, and the extra layer of clothes he had on top were certainly not helping the sudden heat.

"say something," you urged, "say something to make me stay. tell me you love me, and that you care about us, what we are- or what we were. o-or say that i'm important to you, that you don't want me to go, because if you don't, i'm leaving... and... i'm- i'm not coming back. but get one thing straight, i. am. not. leaving. without. an. answer. i don't care what you say, but you have to say something," you felt so pathetic and stupid as you stood there, right in the middle of his room, waiting for him to say something that would define the fate of your relationship with him. because, utimately, he was the deciding factor.

you knew you wanted this, because peter parker, you'd decided, was the most important this to you. he was above everyone else, including yourself. and if a boy was that important you, but you meant nothing to him, then really, you were pathetic.

he racked his brain, trying to find something to say that would mend everything, make it all better. but in that moment, there was nothing.

"i'm-" he started, trying to string together words as he went along, "i'm, um, i can- explain," peter was crying too now, tears rolling down his soft skin.

and the, with what had to be the worst timing, he felt the hairs on his neck and arms raise, "i- i have to go!"

"yeah, you- wait, what? are you fucking kidding me? right now? gods, peter-"

"i'msosorrywecantalkwhenigetbackandifyoudon'twannastayyoucanletyourselfouti'msosorryiloveyoubutthisisurgent," peter said, barfing out a pool of incoherent words.

and then he left you all alone in his apartment.

so you stood there for a bit, shocked. you walked over to his desk, part of you not wanting to leave. this felt like the only way you could be close to him. after all, you did promise to not leave without an answer, and you owed it to yourself to at least be that petty. taking a seat in his rolling chair, you buried you face into your hands.

no, you weren't the most popular girl in school, not the prettiest, and definitely incomparable to liz, but you weren't eric with glasses who tried to flirt with everyone and instead give them secondhand embarrassment. the kid tried out for swim team... and by some fate of god, he got in.

you sniffled.

maybe if i was prettier, or curvier, or confident. then peter would like me more, right? because who wants to ditch someone like that? he'd never do that to liz. should i have grown out my hair? i'm not skinny enough. i should be skinnier. if i'm skinny, he'll stay.

you dropped your head down onto the table with a thunk. you winced in pain as it hit something hard. sniffling once more and tilting your head slightly you glanced down onto the table. the first thing you noticed were blueprints. many, many blueprints. the were all blue and had the same thing in the bottom corner, the emblem of stark industries.

it probably wasn't right to look through his things, you thought, but whatever.

the one on top looked like a figure. no, a costume. squinting harder, you realized it was a suit... for spider-man. that made sense, he worked for tony, well, interned, so it made sense to have blueprints. although peter had always said that he didn't get "involved" with the avenger at all. he had claimed to do "smaller things," like coffee runs and sometimes programming.

and there was another paper under, a blue print of a small... box? scrawled in what you knew was peter's handwriting, was web cartridges. for spider-guy? there were formulas written under, ones you'd never be smart enough to understand. moving the sheets, you saw the same little box- er, web cartridge.

you picked it up and examined it, noting that it was light-weight. there was a small divot near the edge, and you pressed down on it and pulled it back. there were some wires around it, but other than that, it was empty.

huh. "not involved" my ass, pete.

and then it hit you. the idea weighed heavy on your mind, and it wasn't one you had ever thought of before, but looking at it now, the pieces seemed to latch themselves together. shock burst through you like something of electricity, and it made your head spin.

peter was spider-man.

no, no, he would tell me if he was. because- because we don't keep secrets, right?

but it made so much sense, and looking back on it, you felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. you took in a shaky breath. it all match up, and now that the thought was in your mind, nothing else made sense. you pulled your phone out of your pocket and clicked on the app for live news. and guess what was there?

a live report of spider-man at a robbery, one that had started about 15 minutes ago.

the same time he'd rushed out.

so peter really was spider-man.

and then?

guilt.

it was crushing, and it felt as if it was pounding on your lungs, stopping your breathing. you had yelled at him... for saving people. you were the worst girlfriend ever. the love of your life was out fighting bad guys and you just screamed at him. you made him cry.

well, that made you cry. terrible, ugly, sobs wracked your body and you did nothing to stop them. with that, you left his apartment, feeling shitty. you wanted nothing more to take it all back, because if you'd just kept your mouth shut, there wouldn't have been an argument. it was pitch black as you walked the dark streets of new york.

this was an empty part of town, and the streets were bare.

there was a fine chance that you could die, but in that moment, you couldn't care less. maybe that'd be good. maybe you deserved it. you heard a small thud behind you and froze, feeling a chill pass you.

it was a familiar face, one laced in red and blue.

"y-you shouldn't be walking alone at night, it's-... it's not safe," his voice was timid and hesitant. peter had tried to give himself a small accent, but it didn't do much for him, as you could see right through it.

the same guilt coursed through you again, and you simply could stop the sob that slipped your lips. "i- i'm so sorry, i shouldn't have- i didn't- i didn't know, i'm such a terrible girlfriend, i know, you deserve better, and- and," you were full on crying now, ignoring the 7% that was doubtful of peter being behind mask as your knees felt weak.

"ma'am, i-" there was no point. you knew. he knew you knew. "oh, darling, i'm so sorry, i know i should have told you. please, don't apologize and don't blame youself... you- you didn't know."

"no, you don't under-"

"i do, i get it, but listen to me, you didn't know, you don't get to blame yourself. i didn't tell you and that's on me, got it?" he cried, enveloping you fully. his dark hues were glistening with tears and you looked up at them. " don't you dare say sorry, you understand? gods, i- i love you so much, y/n, so much. i didn't tell you... because i was scared, i thought it'd put you danger, but it doesn't matter, because there's no way in hel that i'm letting anyone touch you."

"i love you, too, peter. i... will we be okay?" you asked softly.

"we are okay."

how was it?? was it angsty enough?? i said minor angst, ik, but did you get the feels?? did you cry?? i'll be so happy if someone cried lmao (sounds bad ik) have a good day/night/evening/whatever/you get the point/okay i'll stop now

[tkachuktkaching]

Tkachuk to be full participant at start of Panthers training camp

Forward ‘feeling great’ after fracturing sternum during Stanley Cup Final

LAS VEGAS -- Matthew Tkachuk will be a full participant when the Florida Panthers begin training camp Sept. 21.

The forward said at the NHL North American Player Media Tour on Tuesday during an interview for a future episode of the "NHL @TheRink" podcast that he is healthy more than three months after sustaining a fractured sternum in the first period of Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Final against the Vegas Golden Knights on June 8.

"I am feeling great," Tkachuk said. "It's been a very short summer, the way I want it to be every year going forward. The worst timing for the injury, obviously, Stanley Cup Final, but in a weird way I had time after where I wasn't missing X amount of months of game action, so I had the summer to get ready. I definitely improved on some things. The injury allowed me to work on some parts of fitness and conditioning and that is in the best form right now possible, and I just improved on some strength, which was my goal."

Tkachuk returned in the third period of Game 3 and scored the tying goal with 2:13 remaining. The Panthers won 3-2 in overtime.

He said he was given permission by team doctors to play through the pain in Game 4. He skated 16:40 and had four shots on goal in a 3-2 loss that put Florida down 3-1 in the best-of-7 series. Tkachuk did not play Game 5, which Vegas won 9-3 to win the Stanley Cup.

"I think I realized I was in the most pain when we won that Game 3," Tkachuk said. "I missed a big portion of it, came back and we won it in overtime. After the game, I'm walking around and normally you have the high spirits after a win, especially in the playoffs. It doesn't matter what you're going through, you're on top of the world. And I was pumped, but I still knew that half of my body felt like it was [in pain]. I knew something wasn't right.

“I didn't know what it was at the time. We did all my tests the next day, then I came back and basically with doctor's orders was given the opportunity to do everything I could to play just one game. [I] did it. I would have done it all over again if I had the chance."

Tkachuk said he wasn't worried about long-term effects of the break in his sternum, knowing that would heal, but there were some internal issues that that led to some scary moments.

"I'll try to keep it short, but there's all the blood vessels and stuff and that was the scary part at the time and that was the most concerning part in my health at the time," Tkachuk said. "But right now, it's good."

He was able to play Game 4 despite not even being able to get out of bed without assistance from his brother, Ottawa Senators forward Brady Tkachuk.

"I'm not going to lie, that was the craziest thing I've ever kind of been a part of," Brady said Tuesday, also for a future episode of the "NHL @TheRink" podcast. "I just flew in for the game because I wanted to see a Stanley Cup Final game and he came back from the rink in the morning and just looked awful. He was like, 'I’ve got to go take a nap.' And then he calls me at 3:30 and I'm downstairs. He says, 'Can you come up here?' We were just mucking it up and then he's like, 'Alright, I need you to help me up.' I'm like, 'You're joking.' He's like, 'No, I legit can't get up. I just sneezed and I thought I died.'

“He was going through some serious pain and just to see him be able to find a way to just play in that game and have the mindset of treating this as my last game, do whatever it takes, try to get a win and put ourselves in a better position going into Game 5, I was so proud of him. The way he played, trying to work around it, not many people can do, especially at the pain level he was at."

Tkachuk finished last season tied for sixth in the NHL with 109 points (40 goals, 69 assists) in 79 games. He led the Panthers and was tied for third in the NHL in playoff scoring with 24 points (11 goals, 13 assists) in 20 games.

Florida is not expected to have defensemen Aaron Ekblad and Brandon Montour on the ice for the start of training camp; each has been rehabbing from offseason shoulder surgery. Tkachuk said they may not be back until around Christmas.

[chrismcleaneatspants]

General season 2 opinions. MASSIVE TDI 2023 season 2 spoilers ahead (as well as a huge wall of text.) You've been warned.

Ok, so here's everything I like about the season (I can count them on my fingers)

-There were some funny jokes

-MKulia was entertaining and it's now in my top 5 favorite ships, but it's not perfect, as I'll explain later

-Hockey dudes were a joy to watch I suppose

-Bowie stole the show as usual

-There are a lot of neat challenges (The canoe, slide, and dog challenges was a particular stand outs to me)

-MK herself was really funny

-MacArthur's cameo was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one, and she bounces off of Chris really well

-Duncney is still broken up lol

Honestly that's about it in terms of positives, cuz I have a million other negatives for this supposed sequel to (imo) the best written season of the show.

-The Relationships were the single worst aspect about this season full stop. Ripaxel and Praleb are probably the worst couples the show has ever subjected me to. For Ripaxel, they basically removed anything interesting Ripper had going on and Axel wasn't allowed to live up to any kind of hype she created because one lame ass poem turned her into Ripper's girlfriend for the remaining duration of her run, only for the both of them to be tossed aside in episode 7 in perhaps the worst double elimination in the entire show.

-Praleb started off ok. I thought it was gonna be a one-sided crush plot initially before Episode 6. They had a couple cute moments before episode 8, of which their screentime became suffocating because afterwards is was this painful back and forth where Caleb tried explaining himself and Priya would be mad at him, then ally with him, then be mad at him again like it was so tiresome. By the time they got together in the finale again, I was wishing they had just followed up on Pramien instead. Caleb by himself was funny in the first half of season 2 and Priya was great in season 1, but the two of them together were insufferable

-Speaking of Priya, she went from one of the best characters in season 1 to one of the worst in season 2. Why did she have to make it all the way to episode fucking 12 after winning season 1?? Just for some generic heterosexual romance? They also made her so dumb with shit like knowing Julia is manipulating her but then getting a surprise Pikachu face when Julia manipulated her??? You spent your entire life preparing for this show, how the fuck did you not see this coming???

-Segwayying into Julia, she's the worst antagonist full stop. I've never seen such an absolute downgrade of a character. She was a goat in season 1 who was aware of her situation and acted accordingly because the stakes were real. Here? Reality basically warps around her just to keep her in the game. She does things characters would never fall for in season 1 and they just go with it?? They insist on keeping her in the finale and do basically nothing interesting with her. She's not even as funny as Island Heather at the end of the day.

-I mentioned MKulia earlier, so I'll just get to it here: I like it in concept. Two evil sapphics causing chaos together is really fun. My main issue is that it was very sudden. They both were not fans of each other at the end of season 1 and now I'm supposed to just believe they became friends off screen? I mean, I guess, but it's kinda cheap. I would have really liked it if it was straight up enemies to lovers ngl. Also the fact MK had very little agency outside of being Julia's lackey doesn't help either. I want to point to the fake contract thing, for instance. Why did Julia do that? That sounds like an MK thing to do.

-Time to dive into other characters: Damien is an absolute fucking tragedy. At the end of season 1, Damien had one ambition: win next season. They kinda did that, sure, but they regressed Damien into being a complete coward to do so, not to mention he didn't even go all the way either. Damien didn't get a W until episode 6 and tbh that was his only W. By the end of his tenure, I was left confused on what the point of his run was. (I'll come back to this later.)

-What was the point of Nichelle? Like seriously, what did she contribute to the season at all? They didn't do the ironic underdog story with her, and considering she was getting all egotistical and aggressive, i thought she was gonna be the antagonist for sure...until Julia got rid of her in episode 5 in a way that really shouldn't make sense cuz like Nichelle is an actual celebrity that stars in blockbuster movies, I'm pretty sure she could sniff a fake contract a mile away, right?

-Hockey dudes were great, but I felt like they were very dumbed down at times? Like they were just generic dumb dudes that just meandered around a lot of the time (Wayne in particular just straight up floated away from a challenge at one point)

-Bowie was alright too. His line delivery is great as usual, but let's not kid ourselves: In a well written season, he'd be going straight for Julia the next time his team lost. Bowraj was nice to see even if the season didn't really do a whole lot with it

-Am I the only one who thinks this season is a tad bit misogynistic? Like this is the shortest them phase the show as ever had (to the point where i'd argue teams don't really matter) and 4 of the 5 team phase boots were girls. Millie and Emma in particular were really bad. Like, you could make Millie a team phase boot without like shitting on her that hard. And Emma got like fuck all closure outside of breaking up with Chase off screen like wow, way to utilize such a high potential character, Fresh. And this is saying nothing about how the girls that did make it to the merge had plots basically dominated by romance and like nothing else. And then there's MKulia which is apparently intended to be a friendship but like is written like a romantic one at times. It gives me all-stars gwourtney vibes and (as a fan of gwourtney myself) not in a good way. At least MK and Julia were somewhat in character I guess, but they had their edges really sanded off and honestly as a friendship (situationship?) it's a complete downgrade from Millie and Priya in so many ways

-And another thing: who's the protagonist this season? Outside of Praleb, who am I supposed to care for? Who am I supposed to root for? By the halfway mark, the show doesn't really make any convincing arguments to root for like anyone there outside of maybe Damien? And he went gone in episode 10, so like, hockey dudes? No one has an interesting enough narrative for me to care.

-The immunity idol stinks as usual. Like, why did Damien do THE SAME FUCKING THING HEATHER DID IN ALL-STARS?? That actually pissed me off so much holy shit. The immunity idol as it stands in the show is basically a shitty plot device made to keep characters in as there's no real strategy revolved around it.

-Oh and another minor thing: Owen's cameo sucks, and that's entirely due to him not being physically aged up at all and just being a vehicle for the same dumb jokes they always make with him. so stupid

-Anyways, I spend an entire season with two shitass straight relationships taking up screentime, a whole multiude of potential plotlines from last season (pramien) and this season (scary girl's revenge, millie being the new ripper, damien's comeback, julia having internal conflict over her friendship (feelings?) for MK) being set up and just nothing being done with them, and characters in general just being nerfed or borderline out of character (Ripper) and what am I rewarded with?

-Soar Losers. The most boring nothing finale in the entire show. The choices for finalists suck, Wayne, while being the least bad option for a winner (and i do still like him a lot), is still a mid ass winner in the grand scheme of the entire show. And more praleb drama? fuck off I hate them so much. The challenge did not feel finale worthy at all, and honestly it was the worst challenge in the whole season. On top of being a bunch of nothing, the show decides to bring back the worst trope it ever had: losing hair as karma. I almost ragequit the episode on the spot that shit makes me so irrationally mad. I think it's even worse here because Julia still had hair after the fact, which makes it seem like they were aware it's not a popular TD trope but wanted to half commit to it anyways for the sake of tradition or something. Terrible finale to an already decently sized letdown of a season, but it has some ok MKulia moments I guess. The finale was just emblematic of the entire season, where things just happen and you're just expected to go along with everything. (Also side note how come Chase wasn't the one to jump off of the cart for pizza immediately?)

TL;DR reboot season 2 imo was a step down in every conceivable way from season 1 apart of i guess comedy and it's left a very sour taste in my mouth. I'm probably missing a few points that I'll add onto later but man it feels nice putting my opinion out there.