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#Fathers day 2021 wishes

oldpotatoe · 6 months

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"the first casualty, when war comes, is truth"

i wish i wasn't writing this.

i wish i didn't have to caveat this whole statement with "by the way, i strongly condemn the killing of innocent civilians in any circumstance whatsoever" because i am a muslim and obviously every muslim voice represents all 1.8 billion of us, right? but your faves can go on instagram and loudly proclaim there is no two sides to this - i stand with the apartheid state bombing and starving children! with no consequences whatsoever. right.

i wish i didn't have to filter every bit of information i saw because of rampant lies and misinformation boosted across social media, especially when it shrouds the actual atrocities happening. it's still unconfirmed whether 40 babies were murdered by hamas militants - if true, it is an awful, awful act done by the lowest of the low. but as we speak, 447 children have been confirmed to be killed - murdered - in gaza just in the last few days.

i wish i didn't see videos of those murders. i wish i could wipe away the horrific wailing of a father as he clawed his daughter's lifeless body out of rubble, falling to his knees as he cried for her to wake. i wish i didn't see mothers clutching small, bloodied bundles in their hands, screaming and screaming and screaming. i wish i could forget that i have been seeing iterations of these videos coming out of palestine from 2021, 2014, 2009, 2006 - oh, basically anytime israel decided to launch an offensive on gaza.

i wish children didn't make up 47% of gaza's 2 million population, of which 4 out of 5 were living with PTSD and depression as per a report from last year (aka before this latest shitstorm started), because living in an open air prison under constant threat of bombing really helps make those childhood memories extra special. i wish these children were considered as human as those across the border, their lives as important and meaningful.

i wish that literal war crimes were not taking place in gaza right now. this includes the war crimes by hamas of taking innocent hostages - hamas, may i remind the reader, is a palestinian terrorist organisation but not all palestinians are hamas - and also the war crimes of the israeli government by literally ordering a siege of gaza with "no electricity, no food, and no fuel." this is to ensure that the children who aren't already dead are well on their way, i guess.

i wish we weren't watching an ethnic cleansing literally taking place in front of our eyes.

i wish i didn't feel so helpless. i wish i could console my friends who are on the daily losing multitudes of relatives, and who now have no way of finding out who else they've lost until the electricity comes back on. i wish my words didn't feel so hollow.

i wish i could wave a palestinian flag in solidarity but i may get arrested for it here, in the uk, so better not.

i wish. i wish. i wish.

#palestine #free palestine #from the rivers to the sea.

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rudrjobdesk · 2 years

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Father's Day: दो-दो बच्चों के बिंदास पिता हैं Box Office पर धमाल मचाने वाले Tollywood के ये सुपरस्टार, जानिए

Father’s Day: दो-दो बच्चों के बिंदास पिता हैं Box Office पर धमाल मचाने वाले Tollywood के ये सुपरस्टार, जानिए

Father’s Day 2022: आज देश और दुनिया भर के लोग फादर्स डे सेलिब्रेट कर रहे हैं. इस खास दिन पर कोई अपने पिता के लिए सोशल मीडिया पर प्यार बयां करता है तो कोई उन्हें तोहफा देता है. ये बात हर कोई जानता है कि हर किसी के जीवन में पिता की क्या भूमिका होती है. बड़े होकर, वो हमारे जीवन में होने वाली हर घटना का साथी हैं. पिता का हाथ जिसके सिर पर होता है तो बचपन से ही एक शक्ति मिलती है और उसे लगता है कि उसके…

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4dango-the2nd · 9 months

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4Dango Comic Masterlist

These are mostly twitter links right now. I’ll slowly replace them with the tumblr posts as I upload the comics here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BIRTHDAYS Anthology

Bennett’s Birthday (twt 2022)

Childe’s Birthday (twt 2021) (2022)

Diluc’s Birthday (twt 2021)

Eula’s Birthday (twt 2021)

Jean’s Birthday (twt 2022)

Kaeya’s Birthday (twt 2020)

Kaveh's Birthday (2023)

Kokomi’s Birthday (2022)

Razor’s Birthday (twt 2021)

Rosaria’s Birthday (twt 2022)

Sara’s Birthday (2022)

Xiao’s Birthday (2021)

Zhongli’s Birthday (twt 2021)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CELEBRATION Anthology

Secret Santa (2020)

Father’s Day (twt 2021)

Christmas (2021)

New Year (2022)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONDSTADT Anthology

Albedo-centric:

Voices in Ice & Snow (Corrupted Albedo dj, Completed) [twitter] [webtoon]

Cold Tolerance & Homunculus Body (ft. Albedo, Aether)

My Sword (ft. Albedo, Aether, CW: GORE)

Ghost AU page test (ft. Albedo, Aether)

“Father” (ft. Albedo, Subject 2, Dainsleif)

Fleeting Shadow (ft. Albedo, Subject 2, Aether)

Teasing Huffman (ft. Albedo, Huffman)

Dawn Winery centric (Diluc, Kaeya, Adelinde):

Eye (ft. Diluc & Kaeya)

Badass Adelinde

Diluc’s Raw Strength (ft. Diluc, poor hilichurl)

Long Live The King (ft. Kaeya, Diluc, Kaeya’s father)

500 Years (ft. Kaeya, Kaeya’s father)

Rain Anthology flipbook animation

AUs:

LUPICAL (Modern AU) [webtoon]

Mondt Gala [twitter thread]

Others:

Klee’s Big Bang skill (animation)

Use Your Claws, Boy (ft. Razor, Rosaria)

If You Hurt Him (ft. Razor, Rosaria)

Shadows (ft. Diluc & Rosaria, crack ship)

Growing Up (ft. Razor, Klee) [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Ties (ft. Diluc, Razor)

Summer Event (ft. Razor, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Dvalin)

Viktor & Lily

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LIYUE Anthology

Ancient Liyue Collection

Burning Karmic Debt (Indarias’ death)

Farewell Harvia

Xiao’s Hobby

Qiqi’s Wish (Lantern Rite comic, ft. Qiqi, Xiao)

Resonant Wave zine entry (ft. Tartali, Childe/Zhongli)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

INAZUMA Anthology

Teppei’s Ambition (ft. Teppei, Aether, Scaramouche)

Familiar Fatui Recruit (ft. Aether, Childe, Chouji)

Grand Aspiration (ft. Kazuha, Kazuha’s Friend)

Orobashi & his Generals (character fandesigns)

Rui & Kanna Kapatcir (character fandesigns)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SCARAMOUCHE Anthology

KAGOME [Webtoon compilation]

Kabukimono's Tales of Tatarasuna

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

If Niwa, Katsuragi, & Nagamasa comes back to life (ft. Wanderer)

If Niwa comes back to life (ft. Wanderer, Kazuha, Niwa)

Kabukitty

Standalones not featured in my books:

Catharsis (ft. Wanderer, Dottore)

Wanderer animation (based on Deko’s illustration)

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SUMERU Anthology

Bug Talks (ft. Collei, Cyno)

Following Footsteps (ft. Cyno, Collei)

Caretaker & Protector (ft. Collei, Cyno, Tighnari)

Pay Attention, Or Else (ft. Collei, Cyno, Tighnari, Aether)

Do You Remember (ft. Nahida, Aether, Lumine)

Ashes & You (ft. Kaveh, Alhaitham)

Samsara (ft. Dottore, Nahida)

Flower for my most gallant knight (ft. Dehya, Dunyarzad)

Your Turn, Milady (ft. Dehya, Dunyarzad)

NPC-centric:

The Gilded Sand’s Lullaby (ft. Jeht, Jebrael)

Falcon’s Sunset (ft. Aether, Tadhla)

Child of Snow & Forest (ft. Alphonso, Rana, Arana)

Waiting Forever (ft. Alphonso, Aether, Iotham)

Zandik’s Dream (ft. Zandik/Dottore, Rukkhadevata)

Character Fandesigns

Professor Cyrus [grandpa energy] [fandesign]

Pari [part 1 twt] [part 2 twt]

Sheikh Zubayr (doodle)

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata (before cutscene release)

Nabu Malikata, Goddess of Flower

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Others

Rhinedottir fandesign

We Promised (ft. Aether, Lumine)

“I’m Just A Feeble Scholar” (commission, ft. Alhaitham/Aether)

Albedo vs Childe rough animatic

Abyss Memories [part 1, ft. Kazuha, Kazuha’s Friend] [part 2, ft. Lumine, Enjou, Kazuha’s Friend]

Missing You (ft Aether, Lumine, Albedo)

Humble Wish (ft. Lumine, Dainsleif, Aether)

Deception (ft. Aether, Venti, Zhongli)

#genshin #genshinimpact #genshin impact #4dango #4dango comic #4dango genshin comic #masterlist #im feeling a little insane

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soundlessroom · 8 days

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A can of worms of daring to exist

UPDATE, 122 people voted!

I seriously did not consider that option, it was literally thrown at me.

I made a vow out to the dark: "Please, let her live just one more day cause she is so much more than all her scars and if she doesn't have the will but it seems the whole world does, I'll stay, because I will be the man my father never was"

And what you see is not the dark It's just the gods upturning ink pots 'cause they know what you'll become

And to those gods, I will speak bluntly: "We've an accord, if you ever touch or harm him: Please, rest assured that you might not fear a man but to a woman, by the end, you'll kneel and plea 'cause I'm more than what my mum told me to be"

Inkpot Gods - The Amazing devil

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ceres #snowweave #galeres #gale #bg3 gale #fanart #my art #comic #cw: scars

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ruiniel · 1 year

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ok I just thought of this but Alucard x reader where the reader has been turned into a vampire (while he's away or something or during battle)and feeling like maybe he won't love them anymoreeee?

Ouch, anon!

This will be so angsty.

A Place to Hide

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Count: 1.5k

Rating: T

Tags/CW: Oneshot, Mutual pining, Angst, Context of battle, Mention of death, Alternate universe, Dark fantasy AU, Alucard POV, Vampirism, Longing, emotional hurt/comfort

Summary: This can be considered a follow-up of sorts set after 'To be free'. The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa. Trying to seek Adrian out after he left for battle was not a successful endeavor...

All characters depicted are 18+

"And you worry too much…"

Your words ricochet through his mind as he dismounts in haste along with the returning troops, the too-hindering armor singing mournfully with every movement, as it had done all those cold, cluttered days and nights he'd been away.

He crosses the barracks area built before the castle and ascends the stairs of his home, a bloodied letter crumpled in his right hand.

"Adrian!"

Like a ghost, a drop of crystal-clear water in a sea of blood, his mother runs towards him, sullying herself against his filthy form as she enfolds him in a fierce embrace. Her dainty fingers curl into his tattered cloak, and Lisa holds on to him with a frenzied relief after, he knows, weeks of fretting.

"You’re safe," Lisa murmurs, "You’re home," she shivers, drawing back to run swift, trembling fingers through his windswept hair.

"Mother," his eyes press shut, and he falls against her. She whispers to him, and all he wants is to drown in her arms and forget; the missive burns like hot coal, still crushed in his hand.

"Your father arrived ahead of you," Lisa says, holding him fast to her. "...they're still assessing status in the council chamber."

And Lisa, for her part, had been running the improvised hospice for their human allies. She looks as weary as he feels. "I know." He can barely speak. "Mother I… I received your letter; before the last skirmish."

They won. Careful tactical planning and losses included, there will be peace again in the borderlands without. For how long? None ever know.

He does not care. "... Where?"

Lisa releases him, slowly, holding him by the shoulders. "Adrian, will you not take the time to... to …"

"Where?" His voice cracks, his bones ache. He wishes he'd never welcomed you here, wishes he'd never met you, befriended you, loved you. He wishes, wishes, wishes as fools do.

"Why do you always push me away?"

Your voice, your face: enraged and so desperate. You needed him then, needed him and he was not here, and the closer he is now, the more the truth gains a near physical weight he pushes against with sisyphean misery.

"Adrian," his mother tries again, as he slowly pries her from him, shaking his head.

"Please."

She tells him. She tells him how you insisted on riding after him, two weeks or so prior, with a meager company through war-torn lands. How Lisa had done her utmost to deter you, but the influx of wounded human soldiers demanded most of her time and energy, day in, day out. She failed, and you would wait no longer. "Forgive me, forgive me..."

He brings Lisa close again, fervently kissing the top of her head, "Don’t. Please. Just... just tell me."

They stay embraced for another moment as the clamor of many rises up to the high, domed ceilings, and figures wade around them like wraiths. "The east tower," Lisa whispers, finally.

By the time he reaches the door, having carelessly stripped and cast off pieces of armor on the way, his vision is blurred. Memories of that day, that last day when you were angry with him but would not leave his side, had been a torturous comfort to his nights through each cut and healing wound, each enemy pierced, each slash of the sword; that day, when he awoke the evening of his departure with you in his bed and in his arms while the chamber's golden light caressed your bareness.

The hinges creak. The door opens, and darkness greets him.

"How am I to learn, Adrian, if you stand in my way?"

He calls to you. He seeks a heartbeat, but there is none; of course, there wouldn't be. The letter falls from his hand like a withered autumn leaf. He calls again, and again, stepping inside the room.

Darkness never posed a challenge to his sight, and as his eyes follow along the richly woven rug, he sees a bare foot, slowly retreating; a huddled shape, in one corner.

"Leave." A broken, barely audible voice.

Never again. Adrian nears and kneels by your side. "But I’ve only just arrived," he says through a forced, trembling smile.

A stir, a rise of hunched shoulders. "... you..."

"Yes, me," he says. "And I’ve missed you… so, so much."

A sigh his only answer, Adrian curls and uncurls his fists. "Will you look at me?"

"Why?" The shape stirs anew. He cannot tell what you might be feeling, not anymore. The signs are gone, but of course, it is you; wherever you are, whatever you are, he will always know.

"Because I… you went seeking for me, and I understand. A part of me... longed for you to do so, from dawn to dusk, every hour, every minute and second." He swallows. "Please," he begs even as a pair of glowing eyes meet his.

He reaches; cups your cheek and falls in dismay when you shun his touch, hiding your face away from him.

Your beautiful, determined face. His anger is boundless; he wants to know who, and make them pay. But you would tell no one of it, from what he learned, and it matters not at the moment. An interrogation is not what you need, nor does he.

"I am sorry. It should have been your choice, if it ever were to happen. I did not listen to you that night where... where I should have."

"Not your fault," he sees half of your face, eternal now, cut by a beam of moonlight. "I was impatient, wanted to reach you, to see you. I was—am, a selfish, selfish fool," you press your knuckles into your eyes "And now, look at me..."

Adrian carefully sits beside you. "No," he objects, poorly, but he's too exhausted, too weak; entranced by you being here, so close, alive despite the shadow imbuing your essence.

"You cannot hear it anymore, can you?"

Adrian shakes his head.

"It is gone."

"But you are not." He reaches, tentatively, and takes your hand, massaging into the knuckles.

"You're so... so warm..." you whisper, close to tears. "I never noticed before, but now, now..." Your words are as cold as your skin. "... what you knew is gone."

He is exhausted, you are hurting. It is over, it should’ve been over, he’d barely convinced you to stay behind back then, to keep safe and continue your work; but here you are anyway. Adrian tenderly pries your other hand away from your chest. He remembers the texture of your skin so well, remembers it soothing his face, his chest, gripping his hips with earnest abandon. Now, it barely returns the slightest pressure. He brings it to his forehead, breathes in deeply and raggedly before pressing the hand to his dry lips.

What can he say? That he regrets not being there? That it eats him from the inside like rot? That he’s never felt such longing nor such pain, and unless you demand it, he will never let you go again?

"I've not slept in days."

Adrian nods slowly, bringing a tentative arm around your shoulders. "It will be so for a while, from what I know." The freezing nightly air glides through an open window by your naked feet, but he realizes it has long ceased to be an issue for you.

"I hear everything around me; every beat of wings, every sigh of wind or flutter of a living heart. The darkness in all things speaks to me in a language I understand, and yet do not."

Unable to resist any longer, Adrian brings and cradles your head to his chest. "There are other changes, yet to come. It is fresh, and you will… you will hurt for a while longer. But... but I am here now, and, if you'll have me, will... I can help."

You're shaking against him, and he knows, if you had tears to shed, they'd be blood. "Adrian, I regret what I said to you that night, how I pushed you, how—"

"I do not." He tips your chin up, rubs his thumb over your lip. "You spoke your... our truth. And for that, you were much braver than I," he follows. "I missed you," he repeats, like a craven.

You melt against his side. "You are warm, I am cold."

"You will take from my warmth."

"I've lost… I’ve lost myself, my very being, my humanity, all my doing," you murmur, spent.

"No," he shakes his head, "Humanity consists of much, much more than a beating heart, you know this."

You smile sadly against the black canvas of the room. "So many out there who would beg to differ."

"... and none of them will ever lay a finger on you in this life, or any other."

Adrian dares to bring you more into him, a hand pressing into your back. You feel the same, he feels whole again. Will you see it? Will you understand?

"I hunger," you speak, the word coated with shame as you melt into him. "I hunger, but I refuse to… to…"

"You must drink to live, now. That is the way of things."

Your fingers claw at his chest. You are strong, so very strong. "My creed is to save lives, not take them."

Adrian draws you into his lap as you finally meet his gaze fully, a peek of fang between your lips. "And so it will stay," he tells you, soothingly but with conviction, pressing you closer as his hand cups the back of your head, as he reaches and unfastens the collar of his tunic. "... I promise."

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

#alucard castlevania x reader #castlevania fanfiction #adrian tepes x reader #x reader #alucard x reader #castlevania x reader #alucard x you #ruiniel:fanfiction #finally finished another ask #castlevania imagine #adrian tepes x you #castlevania x you #second person POV

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boobo13cambridge · 10 months

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Drifting Apart I | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: Angst, physical violence (Y/N slaps him)

Summary: Y/N and Kylian’s relationship is crumbling as they navigate the most difficult moments of their lives. Will they stay or fall apart due to the pressure?

A/N: Hello, everyone! This is the first time I’ve ever written angst, so I really hope you guys give it much love. As always don’t forget to like, comment, and repost! Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

Tired.

Exhausted.

Drained.

Three words that fully encompassed her emotions as she finally put the triplets to sleep after a long day of cleaning up dirty diapers and writing a thesis. Y/N felt close to tears as she felt overwhelming guilt for being worn out at taking care of her babies when she loved them with all her heart. To make matters worse, she and Kylian had been getting into a lot of arguments lately. She knew how important and stressful this year was for him, and in the back of her mind, she wished that they had waited a bit more before having kids.

After getting married in the summer of 2021, the young couple wanted to enjoy a few years together before starting a family. Getting married so young, at the ripe age of 20 and 22, came as quite a shock to some (which in her eyes didn't make sense because a lot of footballers had kids even younger), but they were in love, and despite their parents' skepticism, they tied the knot on July 12, 2021.

Fast forward a year, and Y/N found herself staring at the two dark lines indicating that she's pregnant. Getting pregnant a few months before the 2022 World Cup was definitely not part of the plan, but with the support of their families, they made it through somehow. Throughout her whole pregnancy, Kylian was the best husband any woman could ever ask for, always so attentive and understanding of her every need. When they found out they were having triplets, and all boys at that, Y/N almost had a mental breakdown because she could never in a million years understand how she could ever be a mom to one kid, let alone three. It took Kylian, her mom, and two nurses and a doctor to calm her down.

And needless to say, the triplets, or as Kylian loves to call them 'his perfect hat-trick,' were born on December 4, 2022, right when Kylian had scored two goals to qualify France for the quarter-finals. In all honesty, she really wished she could have just given birth in Doha, but she was under strict surveillance and wasn't allowed to travel. Needless to say, in the moment, she was quite happy that she was having a c-section instead of a normal birth but regretted that soon after as it took way longer to recover. Kylian was definitely devastated to have missed his sons' birth and was this close to booking a flight back to Paris. It took Marcus and Ousmane to calm him down and talk him out of it.

A couple of days after that, France lost the World Cup, which absolutely broke her heart, but she was happy that her husband would be by her side. Post-World Cup, Kylian Mbappé was a very attentive father and husband, but she knew how much the loss had affected him and tried her best to cheer him up. She was secretly glad he had injured himself because he would finally get a break from playing with such a shitty team. Now, back to the present, May 28th, 2024, Post-Transfer Kylian Mbappé was moody and had a frown permanently etched on his forehead.

Once again, she tried to understand, knowing he had so much pressure on his shoulders from transferring to Real Madrid. He was Kylian Mbappé, the current greatest footballer, and people never gave him a break, always demanding perfection every match. He had a huge burden to carry, with the fans pointing out every little mistake he made on the pitch. The Madridistas had long anticipated his transfer, and they were out for blood. If the fans were demanding, then Kylian was even more demanding of himself. It was like living with the shadow of her husband. Gone was the sweet man who would make her breakfast in bed and massage her feet. In his place was someone who only had one thing on his mind: winning everything.

La Liga, Copa del Rey, Supercopa de España, UEFA Champions League, Euros, Summer Olympic Games.

She was going crazy just thinking about it. Lately, it was as if the only thing on his mind was trophies, and she couldn't stand it. The day before the La Liga final, which was held at the Bernabeu just two days ago, Kylian had once again started an argument just because she told him that she was tired of putting his dirty clothes in the laundry and that he should do it himself. The argument was so bad that she didn't even want to be there at the last match of the La Liga season, but on the day of the match, Kylian had profusely apologized and begged, so she forgave him and came to see him lift the trophy. This morning, Kylian had woken up in a foul mood and just seemed to want to be an absolute dickhead. He nitpicked at everything she did before leaving for practice, loudly complaining that she had put too much protein powder in his shake.

The whole day, she tried to text him and call him, but he was ignoring her calls. She had had enough; she couldn't deal with it anymore. Time and time again, she had tried to be understanding, swallowing and smiling through every single complaint and whine he let out. So what if he had his first Champions League final with his new club in three days? She didn't deserve to be treated like such a nuisance.

As she went to the kitchen to grab something to drink, she broke down into sobs. It was too much. She hated feeling like she wasn't enough. Kylian hadn't kissed her, much less said, "I love you," before storming out. For months, all he did was complain, complain, and complain.

The young woman heard the door open and close, instantly recognizing her lover's footsteps. She tried to muffle her sobs so he wouldn't hear, but she forgot that the kitchen lights were on.

Kylian walked right through the archway leading to the kitchen and stopped in his tracks when he saw her teary face, instantly feeling guilty. He knew he had been treating her horribly these past few months and that he should stop, but he had been so stressed with everything that he took it all out on the love of his life and the mother of his children.

"Bébé, are you okay?" he asked slowly, approaching her and trying to wipe her tears, but she moved back. Her action pained him because he realized how much of a jerk he had been.

"What do you think? Do I look like I'm okay?" she snapped at him, wiping the tears with the back of her hand, her voice filled with frustration.

"I'm sorry, my love. I've been such an ass-" he said apologetically.

"Yes, you have! You have no idea what I've been going through because of you!" she replied angrily, her tone laced with resentment.

"Bébé, you have no idea how sor-" he tried to explain, but she cut him off.

"Save your fucking apologies, Kylian! I don't fucking care anymore. You've made me feel like the biggest piece of shit these past few months," she spat out, her words filled with bitterness.

"You know how stressed I've been with the transfer and-" he started to defend himself, but she interrupted him.

"AND SO YOU DECIDED TO TAKE IT OUT ON ME WHEN I-" she yelled, her tone conveying a mixture of anger and hurt.

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'VE BEEN GOING THROUGH WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE PUSHING THEIR EXPECTATIONS ON ME WHILE YOU SIT AT HOME-" he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration.

"SIT AT HOME? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN DO THE WHOLE DAY EXCEPT KICK A FUCKING BALL AROUND WHILE I TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS, CLEAN THE HOUSE, COOK FOOD, WRITE MY FUCKING THESIS, WHICH YOU NEVER EVEN BOTHER ASKING ABOUT BECAUSE OF COURSE THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD TURNS AROUND MR. HOTSHOT HIMSELF!"

"KICK A BALL AROUND ALL DAY? ME DOING THAT IS THE ONLY REASON WHY YOU SPEND THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS BUYING USELESS SHIT-"

"I USE MY OWN MONEY TO BUY SHIT, YOU DICKHEAD! AND THE ONLY USELESS SHIT I BUY WITH YOUR MONEY IS CLOTHES AND FOOD FOR THE CHILDREN YOU KNOCKED ME UP RIGHT AFTER I GRADUATED! I'VE SACRIFICED SO MUCH FOR YOU-"

"SACRIFICED?! WHAT HAVE YOU SACRIFICED FOR ME, HUH? STOP ACTING LIKE I KNOCKED YOU UP WHEN YOU WERE MORE THAN WILLING TO SPREAD YOUR LEGS FOR ME!"

SLAP.

The sound reverberated through the kitchen, accompanied by a sharp sting on Kylian's cheek. Pain radiated through his face, mingling with the shock that coursed through his veins. His hand instinctively reached up to cradle his burning cheek, his eyes widening in disbelief. The room seemed to spin as he struggled to comprehend what had just transpired.

Y/N's expression mirrored his own disbelief, her eyes wide with horror at the consequences of her actions. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the remorse that consumed her. She trembled, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she had done. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the line between love and anger blurred into a haze of anguish.

"Kylian, I'm so sorry," she choked out, her voice quivering with remorse. Each word dripped with the weight of her regret, desperate to erase the irreversible damage she had caused.

His throat tightened, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within him. The pain on his cheek competed with the anger that burned in his chest. He fought to find his voice, to process the torrent of thoughts that assailed his mind. The apology hung in the air, suspended between them, as he grappled with conflicting impulses.

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Kylian felt the anger surge within him, fueled by his own frustrations and insecurities. The relentless stress, anxiety, and guilt that had plagued him clawed their way to the surface, intertwining with the raw ache on his cheek. It was a toxic concoction that threatened to consume him, driving him to respond with his own fury.

But beneath the anger, a part of him acknowledged his own culpability. He was not blameless in this dance of discord. The weight of his actions pressed upon his conscience, intertwining with the pain on his cheek. The realization of his own flaws clashed with the indignation that simmered in his veins.

In that moment, Kylian made a choice. A choice to channel the anger, the hurt, and the guilt into something different. Instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of self-control. The anger flickered in his eyes, but he suppressed it, focusing on the vulnerability before him.

He approached Y/N slowly, his steps cautious and deliberate. His hand reached out, hesitantly, aiming to wipe away her tears, but she flinched, pulling back as if his touch were a reminder of her own transgressions. The ache in his heart matched the pain on his cheek, the longing to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

Words hung unspoken, heavy with unexpressed emotions. They both knew that apologies alone were not enough to heal the wounds they had inflicted upon each other. The room remained steeped in anguished silence, punctuated only by the echoes of their shattered love.

As the weight of the moment settled upon them, Kylian and Y/N stood at a crossroads. A crossroads where anger and remorse converged, where past mistakes collided with uncertain futures. The path forward was shrouded in shadows, their once-solid foundation crumbling beneath the weight of their anguished hearts.

Time seemed to stand still in the wake of their confrontation, the air heavy with unspoken words and shattered expectations. The kitchen, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and intimate conversations, now felt like a battlefield, scarred by the aftermath of their verbal warfare.

Kylian's gaze never wavered from Y/N, his eyes tracing the contours of her tear-streaked face. He longed to bridge the distance between them, to mend the rift that had widened with each bitter exchange. The ache in his heart intensified, a poignant reminder of the love that had once bound them together.

Y/N's body trembled with a mix of regret, fear, and a longing for reconciliation. The weight of her actions bore down on her, leaving her feeling small and vulnerable. She yearned for solace, for the reassurance that their love could withstand the tempestuous storm that raged within them.

With measured steps, Kylian closed the physical gap between them, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and determination. He reached out once again, his hand hovering in the space between them, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, caught in the crosscurrents of conflicting emotions. Her gaze met Kylian's, searching for a glimmer of the man she had fallen in love with—the man who had once cherished her and their family above all else. Slowly, tentatively, she extended her trembling hand, allowing their fingers to intertwine, a fragile connection in the face of their shattered trust.

In that delicate touch, an unspoken promise lingered. It whispered of their shared history, the moments of tenderness and joy that had been eclipsed by their recent turbulence. It spoke of a willingness to rebuild, to confront their flaws and the demons that haunted them.

The silence, once heavy with resentment, now became a sacred space for introspection and reflection. The unspoken words hung in the air, their weight acknowledged by both parties. It was a moment of surrender, a recognition that love could not thrive in the absence of vulnerability and forgiveness.

However, despite their fragile moment of reconciliation, the scars of their previous altercation still festered beneath the surface. The guilt and anger that plagued them now resided like smoldering embers, waiting for the slightest breeze to ignite their fury once more.

The following morning, the house was shrouded in an uneasy silence. Kylian moved cautiously, as if walking on eggshells, acutely aware of the tension that lingered in the air. Y/N, her face etched with traces of weariness and apprehension, busied herself in the kitchen, desperately trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass pierced the fragile peace. Kylian's hand trembled as he gazed at the broken fragments scattered across the floor, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of his mistake crashed down upon him, triggering a surge of self-loathing.

Before Kylian could even react, Y/N's voice lashed out, sharp and cutting. "Kylian, how many times have I told you to be careful? You never pay attention to anything!" Her words dripped with frustration, a reflection of her own mounting resentment.

His heart sank, a mixture of shame and frustration swirling within him. The bitterness that had consumed him since their previous argument threatened to overflow. He could no longer bear the weight of his guilt and his bruised pride.

The room seemed to close in on them as Kylian's retort hung heavily in the air, each word a dagger aimed at Y/N's wounded heart. "Oh, what now? Are you going to slap me again, Y/N?"

The accusation cut through the air, leaving a palpable silence in its wake. Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief and hurt, her body trembling with a mixture of shock and anger. The triplets, sensing the rising tension, began to cry, their innocent wails intermingling with the growing storm of emotions.

Y/N's voice quivered as she fought back tears, her voice heavy with a mixture of sorrow and indignation. "How dare you say that, Kylian? I never wanted to hurt you, and you know it!"

The room trembled with their voices, each word a dagger aimed to wound, tearing at the fabric of their fragile bond. Kylian's face contorted with anger, his voice laced with a bitterness he could no longer contain. "Of course you never wanted to hurt me, right? You've done such a fantastic job so far!" Kylian spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Complaining and nagging every fucking day like I don’t already have enough of that every time I open social media"

Y/N's eyes filled with tears, a mixture of pain and disbelief etched on her face. She struggled to find her voice, to make sense of the torrent of emotions crashing over her. "I'm trying, Kylian. I'm trying so hard to hold us together, to be there for you and the kids. But it feels like nothing I do is ever enough!"

He scoffed, the bitterness in his voice turning his words into venom. "You? Trying hard? Don't make me laugh! All you do is complain and criticize. You're so quick to point out my faults, but what about your own? Or do you think you're perfect?"

Y/N's voice trembled with a mix of anger and hurt. "I never claimed to be perfect, Kylian. But I've given up so much for you, for our family. I've sacrificed my dreams and aspirations to support you, only to be constantly belittled and dismissed!"

Kylian's eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenched at his sides. "Oh, so now it's all about your sacrifices, is it? What about mine? What about the pressure I face every single day, the weight of expectations on my shoulders?"

Their words collided in the air, their voices filled with resentment and unspoken pain. The triplets' cries grew louder, their innocence caught in the crossfire of their parents' anguish.

Unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, Kylian turned on his heels, his voice dripping with disdain. "I don't have time for this. I have a plane to catch, a team to lead. Maybe being away from you for a while will do us both some good."

As he stormed out of the house, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving Y/N standing in a sea of shattered hopes and shattered glass. The anguished cries of their children echoed through the empty rooms, a haunting reminder of the fractures in their once-unbreakable bond.

In that moment, as the gravity of their fight settled upon them, both Kylian and Y/N were left with a hollow ache in their hearts, each tormented by their own regrets and the uncertain path that lay before them.

378 notes · View notes

alphabetboyluvr · 9 months

Text

throttle - jjk | six

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

warnings - heavy on the angst, we finally learn jungkook's true motives, we learn about what happened to his mother, mentions of death, written before we knew jk's birth time so (1) inaccurate saturn placement, general smut, titty sucking, unprotected sex, very intense breeding thoughts from jk, it's angsty!! he dnf :( sad :(, hair dye, showering, fingering, jungkook's time runs out </3

throttle has 3 defined acts - this is the end of act 1

word count - 20k

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

It's warm when you wake.

Daylight pours in through the curtains, of which neither of you bothered to close last night, and it rudely intrudes on the intimacy you've fostered together - yet when the man beside you begins to stir, small squeaks signalling that he's now awake too, you don't seem to mind all that much.

His hair is tousled like the waves of Busan's shoreline, lapping against the sand, adding a soundtrack to the sound of his breathing. You love it when he looks like this; serene and secure in the sanctuary of your company.

Last night's tête-à-tête is a distant memory, chalked up to a misunderstanding between the minds of two lovers who aren't yet aligned, but are getting pretty close to it. Rome wasn't built in a day, and nor was any love worth withstanding the test of time.

You're still learning about one another. Prior to last night, you knew nothing of Jungkook's romantic past, and while part of you is smug to have your initial assumptions about him proven right, it also makes your chest feel all heavy, too. Melancholic, almost, but you think it sounds far too poetic.

When you're met with his drowsy morning gaze - all puffy and unable to open in the way his eyes typically do - you can't imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt him. The thought of his eyes turning black when he looks at you, instead of their usual deep chocolate brown, has the chime in your stomach ringing like an alarm bell. You never want that. Ever.

He yawns, and says good morning to you with a smile that seems almost surprised to still see you in the sheets with him. He pulls you a little closer, nestles his nose to the crown of your head and inhales. He'll never get sick of that scent. Sick of you.

You're like gasoline spilt in the forecourts before a spring shower. It'll wrangle with the puddles of rain, which will pour and pour and pour - but still, it'll remain. An iridescent rainbow that refuses to fade.

You'll never wash away, he thinks. Forevermore; eternal.

He knows, just like you predicted, that he'll think of you whenever he passes gasoline puddles. Five, ten, twenty years from now. It won't matter how distant the memory of your laughter becomes, nor if he even remembers the colour of your skin as it blushes after a few too many drinks.

What he will remember is how your hair always smelt like gasoline.

It's a gateway drug to everything you are. One sniff; he's hooked.

Though he doesn't wish for death often, he hopes that when he does go, it'll be in his car. Hopes that an oil slick on a wet road will be the reason why. He'll smile as he thinks of you for one final time.

You'll get your vengeance, love.

But why waste time thinking of the inevitable future, when he could just revel in the present?

He's the first to suggest sleeping in, staying together, for a little bit longer.

"I'll call my dad, see if we can switch to this afternoon instead. You cool to run your errands in the afternoon? I'll take you to that place I wanna show you this morning. Then you're free to do as you please with your day."

A nod grants permission for him to set about altering his plans, and you watch him with curious intrigue as he opens up his contacts and heads straight for his father. You don't even have your father's number, anymore.

It's oddly comforting to hear Jungkook on the phone with his dad. The call is short, more formalities than anything, but you can hear his father's voice vibrate through the speaker.

You're integrated into Jungkook's life, now, you think. You're a part of family affairs, his plans, without even so much as a second thought given.

'Thank you' seems like a strange thing to say, but you consider it.

His openness with you is rancid. So sweet, so sickly; enough sugar to rot even the most frigid of hearts.

It makes you wanna tell him everything; who your father is, and how you can't call him anymore. You think Jungkook would understand, or at least he'd try to - and that would be the most meaningful thing a man has done for you in quite some time (though you're sure Yoongi would disagree, and cite one of the many things he's done for you that have gone unnoticed).

The words you want to say to Jungkook are lost in the feather down quilt, expert seams flawlessly keeping the pair of you pristine. It's like a shield, in a way. The world can't hurt you when you're beneath it. The needlework is exquisite, the finest cotton - Egyptian, you assume, but know better than to ask.

Not because you don't want to know, but because Jungkook hates itches he can't scratch.

He wouldn't have a clue of the sheets origins, but you're almost positive he would ask the reception staff for clarification later that morning, just to be able to give you an answer.

You don't want to trouble his mind with such trivial things. Especially not if it's working as hard as yours seems to be right now. You're counting every thread - two, four, six, eight - just as a way to distract yourself from him.

He's playing with your hair, and asking about your dreams - you didn't have any - and it's getting pretty overwhelming just how much of your brain you seem to be willing to share with him.

Sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four; you're asking about his, too, and he doesn't hesitate to answer.

He's talking shit about a praying mantis that stalked him as he slept, and reaches for his phone so that you can google what it means together. He doesn't hide his screen, doesn't clear his notifications, doesn't check what he was last searching for to spare himself from embarrassment.

Not that it matters, but he'd been checking to see if Lotte World was open. It's endearing, the way he seems to want to experience life with you. Comforting. Snug.

You lose count of the threads, and you don't care to start again.

"Positive and negative," Jungkook muses over his dream as he scrolls, holding his phone up in front of you both.

His arm is looped around the back of your neck, and you're busy watching the tendons of his wrist flex beneath his skin as his thumb flicks up and down the screen.

There are Seven Natural Wonders of the World, but you think the adjudicators must have gotten it wrong.

They clearly hadn't met Jeon Jungkook.

He's brighter than the Northern Lights; gets you higher than the peak of Mount Everest. More breathtaking than the Grand Canyon, more fire in his heart than Paricutin. Gets you wetter than Victoria Falls, but that's not really what constitutes him as being one of the greatest natural wonders of the world (though it surely helps). He rivals the Great Barrier Reef, and Guanabara Bay; expansive, a facilitator of life, new beginnings.

But the Great Barrier Reef is dying, and Guanabara Bay is the product of erosion. Everest is a death trap, the Grand Canyon too, and Paricutin forced hundreds from their homes. Droughts around Victoria Falls are threatening its very existence, and soon, what once was could be no more.

The only wonder worthy of comparison to Jeon Jungkook is Aurora Borealis. They burn brighter than before, making their way through their eleven-year cycle undisturbed, undimmed. They're magic in the mundane, and so is he.

He hums, unaware of how you're romanticising him to be far more than what he is, and it sounds like he's frowning. You reach over, thoughts absent, and take his phone to continue reading for him.

"To dream of a praying mantis could mean many things," you recite mindlessly. "Firstly, it could indicate that you need to remain calm and assess situations before you dive right in. Be patient. Alternatively, it could indicate that you are preying on others. Have you been calculated recently? Devious? Perhaps reflection is due. There are positive indications associated with the insect, though. A baby praying mantis suggests a bright, wise future ahead. To dream of being attacked by a praying mantis suggests that you are faced with a test that you are strong enough to pass."

You ignore all the bad, because of course you do, pass him back his phone and say, "see? Nothing to worry about."

He locks his phone, and lets it drop down onto the bed. The hushed clunk of it hitting your sheets is drowned out by his voice, all dulcet and dreamy in your ear.

"Wasn't worried, baby. Got you here with me." His lips press against your temple. "I got you."

Hook, line and sinker. Yeah, he's got you good.

But within half an hour he's got you coming undone; got you mewling his name, got you gripping his neck as he fucks himself into you like he always does so well. He's got you where he wants you, got you in missionary 'cause of that one time you lied and said it was your favourite, got your nipples in his mouth 'cause there ain't no way he can have you naked and not indulge himself just a little bit.

Jungkook has you. Has his way with you.

But you have him, too; have him whispering how gorgeous you sound, how much he loves the way you feel.

You have him coming undone.

Perhaps, neither of you 'have' nor 'has' the other.

Perhaps, you aren't commodities to be owned.

If anyone was to own you, though, you think you'd quite like it to be him. You think he'd keep you forever. He once said he would, so it's not like it's a foolish thing to daydream about.

And so you do just that as he weaves through traffic in the hustle and bustle of Busan. You think he's mad for choosing to drive instead of just getting the subway, but Busan is spread out so far that it would have taken a handful of changes to get to where he's taking you.

He's still not told you where you're going. Even when you ask for a dress code, he simply says, "as you are, baby. You're perfect."

He calls you baby a lot lately.

It used to just be when you were naked, but he calls you baby when you're all wrapped up now, too. When he puts his hand on the small of your back, to guide you in whichever direction he wants, and when he pulls your hand to rest on the gear stick beneath his, it's 'baby' that he hums.

In fact, he calls you baby so much that CC has taken a backseat.

The radio drones through the speakers, neither of you connecting to the aux. It's all very grown-up, you think, listening to the traffic news, and whatever is currently charting. It doesn't hit in the same way that your playlists do, but it reminds you of driving to the coast with your parents as a kid. The memories are fond - cherished by you - and it's how you like to think of your family.

Or at least it is, until the disk jockey segues into the morning news. There's the usual mindless garbage, celebrity gossip, upcoming festivals and community events - and then there's politics.

"The Mayor of Daegu Metropoli-" is as far as the broadcaster gets before you change the station. Jungkook doesn't react initially. In fact, it takes him a few seconds to reply, and when he does, it's inconspicuous.

"Not into politics?"

"Not into politics."

You're sharp as you deliver the lie, and Jungkook can feel the blade of your tongue slice his heart. He's deserving of it, admittedly, but you aren't aware of that. Not yet.

He switches the radio back. "I am."

You want to be sick, but you put it down to the fact that Jungkook drives a little faster than he really should do, and that breakfast had been substituted for sex. "You are?"

"Uh-huh."

Silence resume as you listen to the broadcaster. It's an innocent report about cities linking for eco-initiatives. Apparently, Daddy dearest will be visiting Busan just as you're leaving. It's an odd thought. You've taken pride in not keeping tabs, and yet here you are, wondering if you'll pass his car on Monday morning as you leave the city and he enters it. Unlikely.

A possibility, but unlikely.

When you pull your hand back to your lap from beneath his, Jungkook lets you. It's a call for attention. You want to see what he does. Want him to pull it back, want him to question why you've pulled it away - but he doesn't.

Instead, he talks.

"I hate politics," he admits. There's a sternness to his face. An honesty. "I can't name you a single politician who actually seems to care about the communities they represent. They're bastards," his voice quietens. "The lot of 'em."

Only then does he reach for your hand, again. He's the one searching for comfort, now.

There's something about the way Jungkook doesn't look at you, but grips your hand far tighter than he had done before, that has you concerned. It's unlike him.

"I agree," you tell him. "S'why I don't care for it."

He nods, pulling his bottom lip beneath his teeth, as if he's trying to stop a secret from coming out.

You wouldn't mind if one did. You'd quite like to know his secrets - even the deep, dark, scary ones. Especially those ones, actually. His jaw rocks gently, the pillow of his lip being massaged by his teeth, eyes hard on the horizon line.

"Probably should have given you a little warning as to where we're going," he eventually divulges, pouting his lips and letting air squeak through them as he inhales a breath.

Your lift your brows and furrow them slightly. "Why's that?"

The question is answered as soon as he flicks his indicator on. You look to the sign above the highway, and that's when you realise you're going off the beaten track. There's only one destination listed on the reflective sheet of metal: a marine life conservation hub.

Something tells you that you're not headed towards the marine life conservation hub.

Something - or someone- by the name of Jeon Jungkook, and the way as soon as his indicator is flicked off, his hand is holding yours oh-so-tightly, again.

Your eyes follow the trajectory of the road, and the small row of parking spaces covered in fine gravel. You're partway up a short mountain, and you know exactly why you're here.

Mounds of earth rest neat and uniform on the mountainsides, clustered together, decades of tradition lacing the soil. There's a small path that stretches to the upper elevation, where a set of mounds lie perfectly still, small statues and floral arrangements decorating them in the most beautiful of ways.

You know hillsides like these. It's been a while since you last visited one, but the memories of places like this tend to haunt people.

He doesn't reply to your earlier question. He doesn't need to. You already know exactly where you are.

His name escapes your lips, voice quiet, but pacifying. You rub his thumb with yours, which only makes him squeeze your small hand even tighter.

He's silent, but he's hoping you know that he's sorry.

Sorry for a whole host of things. Too many to list. This - taking you to a fucking graveyard unannounced and non-consenting - is what he's currently apologising for in the guise of silent squeezes.

"Your mum?" You ask, as he pulls into a space on the gravel parking lot.

He's only mentioned her once, and the fact that she would have been 'rolling in her grave' at the thought of him being rude to you. You'd clocked it at the time, but had never dared ask since. Figured that when he was ready, he would tell you. Seems like he might just be ready.

Jungkook nods, and when he looks at you, he seems younger. Eyes wider, searching for refuge; finding it in you.

"Mum."

When he makes no attempt to move, seemingly a little frozen in place, it's you who starts to squeeze his hand right back. "You wanna go see her?"

And again, he nods. There's a bottle of soju in the back from one of his many GS25 trips, so you reach for it, knowing that there was no way the pair of you could visit somewhere of such importance without an offering of some kind. He whispers a thank you, as if you've done something of value. It's just soju, and it's his, regardless. You wish you would have known. You'd have insisted on picking up banchan, or something more substantial.

There's reluctance as he leads the pair of you, second-guessing his every step. It's important that he shows you this part of him, although, when he thinks about it, he's sure he could have just explained it. Over a coffee, or on a walk by the river. He didn't need to be so dramatic about it all. The past has happened, and he lives with the consequences.

But that's this thing - the past has happened, and Jungkook is still living with the weight of it like it was just yesterday. The consequences of it rule his daily life. He needs to show you, because simply telling you wouldn't have been justice enough.

His mother's grave is well-kept. Tended to. The flowers - large, white, and glorious, though you're not sure what kind - are wilting slightly, but are fresh enough to put the dead foliage of the winter mountain to shame. The mound above her is small, so you think that perhaps she was, too.

You just can't help yourself, can you? Another assumption made.

Your thoughts are cut short as he reaches for the bottle of soju from your hands, and nods towards the small ceramic dish that's been collecting rainwater. Supplies are low - the winter is incredibly dry, and had it not been for a storm that blew in a few days ago, it would be empty.

"Can you?" he asks, but doesn't finish. You let go of the soju bottle which is now secure in his hands, and head towards the direction of his nod, to rinse off the flat stone ready for offerings - though a cap full of soju doesn't feel like enough.

He walks further ahead, while you tend to the service stone, pouring soju into the bottle cap, and tossing it in the woodland as an offering to the mountain God; a thank you for watching over his mother. It's been too long since he last visited. Things have just gotten so busy, and he's under so much pressure. He can't think straight, let alone do anything that makes any sense and - oh God, the weight of it all - it's all just too much. He can't handle it. Refuses to. If he could scream right, he would - but nothing comes out.

His lungs are heavy in his chest, heart pounding. He doesn't know why he gets like this. He thinks it's the guilt; the fact that his mother would hate what he's become. She didn't raise him to be like this. Vengeance wasn't part of her vocabulary. She was kind, and she was considerate, and she cared so deeply about him.

In a lot of ways, you remind him of her. The acknowledgement of this only serves to make him feel worse.

When he finally turns to face you again, you're waiting by her grave, watching him with curiosity. You've been to many graves, but only ever those of your own family members. Never somebody else's. Traditions vary, and you don't wanna do anything that he wouldn't appreciate.

It had always been the same in your family; the eldest men bowed first, down through to the youngest, and the women watched on. The respect of women wasn't worth anything, you see.

As Jungkook comes to stand beside you, he takes your hand, positioning you directly next to him.

"Will you do it with me?" he asks so timidly that it almost doesn't sound like him. "Please?"

You're hesitant. It's a big ask, not because it's a difficult task, but because you know the first bows are always reserved for those closest to the deceased.

"I never normally do it alone," he adds, noticing your reluctance. "I'm normally with my brother. I just... I don't want to do it alone. I'm no good at shi-" he cuts himself off, not wanting to curse. "I'm no good at stuff like this."

It's a request you can't refuse. You follow his lead, getting to your knees, torso folding to the earth as a sign of utmost respect. He holds his bow for longer than you expect, but you match it second for second. He rises and repeats. You follow suit.

You think it's important that you don't overstep boundaries, not in a place so sacred to the boy beside you, so you let him take the lead. Not once do you move before him, but when he resumes to a seated position, you turn your body to face down the mountain.

It's not tradition, not really, but it feels like the best way to honour his mother; to provide her time with her son, but still offer support should he need it.

"I'm not doing recitals," Jungkook says tenderly, a pain in his chest pinching and soothing when he sees what you've done. "You don't have to face that way."

But you shake your head.

"I do," you reply with so much kindness in your voice that Jungkook thinks it's a wonder he hasn't melted and become at one with the earth, too. "Just pretend like I'm not here."

He wants to laugh at such an instruction. How the hell could he be expected to ignore you, when the way he feels about you burns brighter than the North Star whenever you're close by.

Instead, he just tells you that you're dumb, and sits beside you, facing his mother's grave. You hear him unscrew the cap of the bottle, metal cracking just how it always does upon its first few opens, followed by a small glug.

You twist your head, and catch him pouring soju into the bottle cap, before he places it in front of his mother. He nods towards her, as if she could actually see him once more, then brings his arms to hug around his knees, pulled tight to his chest. The bottle is still in his hand, so he takes a swig. There's a faint grimace as he swallows it back, and then he passes the bottle over his shoulder to you.

It's kindly received, and his actions are mirrored by you once more, a shot finding its home in your throat. The soju is lukewarm, the heat of his clammy hands altering the temperature.

The bottle is passed back and forth, Jungkook silent as he tries to muster the courage to speak up. There's so much he wishes he could say, but so little that feels safe to divulge. It's not until the bottle is halfway done that he seems to have the strength.

"It's been four years," Jungkook eventually says. You stay silent, the words you want to say threading through your lips like cotton through a needle, keeping your mouth shut. Nothing that could be said would make any of this any better for him. "Doesn't get any easier."

Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder. You're still looking down the mountain, and he's facing up towards the peak. His head rests against yours, and there's comfort to be found in his posture. The support he feels from you goes beyond that of physical.

"It was a long time coming, so we had time to prepare," he adds.

He brought you here because he wanted to share this part of himself with you, so he knows he needs to make the effort to actually speak up. Nothing cryptic. No half-truths.

"How can you prepare a kid for that, though? 'Hey Kook, mum's really sick'," he imitates the voice of his older brother. "'Probably won't make it through the winter'. She did, though. Make it through winter, that is. The hospital couldn't figure out what was wrong with her for the life of them. First, they said it was a pancreatic thing, then decided it was liver. Kidneys, bladder - you name it, they tried to pinpoint it as that. Round and round in fucking circles. So much time wasted. Years. I was 14 when she first got sick. 19 when she passed."

He lifts his head from yours and hugs his legs tighter into his chest. He hates this mountain. It's like he's got hayfever, even in winter, as his eyes start to warm a little. Realistically, he knows that it's perfectly apt to cry in such a place, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want his mum to think he's upset. Doesn't want you to think it, either.

Deep down - although really not that far down when he comes to think of it - he's still just that scared boy, knowing he's going to lose the person he loves the most in the world. Funny, how history likes to repeat itself, even if in a slightly different hue. The colours of grief are always the same.

"She ended up getting referred to a specialist in Daegu," he sighs, knowing that he's about to divulge far more than he should.

He's thought about this alot. Thought about what he'd say to you before he knew you - like, really knew you - and how he'd deliver the lines with such venom your throat would swell and you'd choke on the faux pars of your family, just like his mother had.

But none of this was your fault. You were still just a kid, like he was, when all of this transpired.

You had no jurisdiction over budget cuts or the shift patterns of overworked hospital staff. You weren't the one syphoning money out of the public health sector, and you weren't the one who followed orders to treat common symptoms with the same cheap medicine, regardless of the fact it could have been wrong for the patients.

You weren't the one who decided that those who benefitted from the specialist centre were expendable. You weren't the one who cauterised their funding. You weren't the one who ignored the pleas and cries for help from the families of those suffering.

You weren't the negligent medical staff who mistreated Jungkook's mother, and you weren't the man in charge of the budget who decided that her life didn't matter anymore.

But your father was.

And so Jungkook has thought about this moment a lot. He's thought about how he'd tell you that you deserved to lose just as much as he had. He's thought about how he wouldn't feel a damn thing except for satisfaction when your father got his just deserts.

Now that the time has come, however, all he can do is shrug.

"They were great. The staff at the centre in Daegu, I mean. Really fucking great. Genuinely wanted to help - but you know Daegu," is all he could really muster. "They don't have the money for shit like that. And nor did we."

Daegu's local government did, however, have the funds for a fucking waterpark installation, which opened three weeks after the clinic was shut down indefinitely. "We sacrifice the good of the few, for the good of the many," your father had once told you, and it makes you just as sick now as it did back then.

"Anyways," he tries to downplay it, as if the memories don't haunt him. "Funding got cut. Mum got sicker. It was..." he struggles to find the words to articulate just what he went through. "Dad was always a hard ass, yanno? Do your homework, go to school, you wanna end up with a shitty job? Drop out like me! That kind of stuff. It's only 'cause he wanted what was best for us, he just.... didn't really have a nurturing bone in his body. Just how he was built, I guess." He pauses. Gathers his thoughts. Shrugs. "Mum... Mum was soft. Do you need help with your homework? How's school? You can be whatever you want to be. Didn't have a clue what I wanted to be, just knew I wanted to be like her. Seeing her get sick..."

He stops talking. There's a heaviness that looms over him like a cloud blocking the sun in the height of summer. It's stuffy and claustrophobic, yet there's nothing that can be done to ease it.

"The specialist centre treated her for as long as they could, ran as many tests as they could afford, but-" He cuts himself off. "Well, I mean, we're at her grave, aren't we? Doesn't take a genius to work it out."

He doesn't mean to be so scathing with his tone, the words delivered with a snarl typically reserved for his boxing opponents (or Namjoon when he takes the lead in a drag race), it's just that he doesn't know how to articulate himself. Not when it comes to this topic. He's never shared it with anyone before. Never thought he would.

And especially not with you.

There are parts he leaves out. Just little tidbits. Anecdotes, like the way he spent the night his mother died just driving and driving and driving, only coming to a stop when his tank had exhausted the very last drop of gas - at which point he just sat, grief-stricken, cheeks wet until sunrise.

He didn't speak to anyone for weeks. Didn't do anything except fill his tank up, get out of town, and occasionally train at the club. The force of his fists against another person never helped, though. Even beating the shit out of Taehyung didn't lift his spirits.

How he quite ended up in his current predicament is a little more complicated.

It started the same as any other night he'd crawl through the streets, red tail lights leaving a trail that evaporated into nothingness, thanks to the winter fog. Eventually, he ended up in Daegu. It was a common occurrence.

The shadows seemed darker in Daegu; sinners glowing red in the haze of smog and winter frost. It felt like home in a way. Somewhere to hide when he no doubt sold his soul to the Devil.

Sometimes, he'd drive in circles around the affluent streets, just hoping, praying, to see the Mayor out for an evening stroll. Of course, it would be an accident when he put his foot to the floor, full throttle, wheels turning in the Mayor's direction. A freak mishap. A car fault.

And if he were to suffer the same fate as Jungkook's mother? Oh, well what a fucking shame that would have been.

He never did see the Mayor, though. Of course he didn't.

But he did, however, spot Kang's. The light had still been on, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He knew Kang's, thanks to his club in back in Busan, and he wanted to fight. Wanted to pummel any fucker who voted the Mayor into power. Wanted to break their nose; have them swallowing their teeth.

Of course, seeing a jumped up kid - who, as Namjoon put it, looked 'fresh out of nappies' - with a vendetta against the most powerful man in the city had the older boys amused. Truth be told, they laughed in his fucking face. Told him he was in the wrong place, 'cause there ain't no way any of them would be caught dead voting for that pompous fucking twat.

Jungkook learnt a lot that night; learnt that he wasn't alone in his fight, and that other people had lost unfathomable amounts of their lives, their livelihoods, and their loved ones, as a result of your father, and his wasteful, inhumane policies.

Though not a single one of those boys shared the same story, they all shared the same callous, complacent antagonist.

And they all wanted vengeance.

That wasn't the only thing he learnt that night, mind you. It was also the evening he learnt your name.

It'd be romantic, if the situation had been... well, anything but what it was, really.

He learnt who you were, what you meant to the Mayor, and just how you could be the winning ticket for their vengeance lottery. A plan was devised over a few too many Soju's, and before he knew it, he was playing the long game. They wouldn't initiate the plan for years. Sleeping dogs had to lie, dust had to settle.

There was another election; your father reinstated to his position. Only after then did you stop making public appearances with him, and the rest of your family. You didn't seem to be part of the in-crowd anymore. Didn't really matter to the boys. All that mattered was that you had fewer eyes on you, now. You faded into obscurity; Jungkook into obsession.

See, he's like you in a lot of ways. He makes assumptions, too. Had this whole idea of who you would be mapped out in his head. Pin by pin, you realigned his red string; tied it around his pinky and linked it with yours.

"Dad isn't who he used to be," Jungkook finally admits. His Mother's suffering may have ended with her passing, but his Father's seemed to only begin as hers ended. She passed a baton, Jungkook thinks, and his Dad is still running the race. "Doesn't really talk all that much. Loves to fucking gamble, though. All of her life insurance is gone. Half of my salary goes to the loan sharks that he owes from a bad spot he got himself in a few months ago. S'why I needed to come, had to check that everything was okay and that he hadn't got himself into too much trouble. Nasty fuckers, sharks are."

"How bad is it?" You ask, knowing that sharks are more like parasites. "The sharks, I mean."

"Um," he pauses, and shrugs. There's no way you'll be able to understand what it's like being in financial difficulty. Not a fucking chance. "Pretty bad. They were hounding him to the point where he just locked himself up in the house, wouldn't answer the door for weeks. My brother's just had a kid, he can't afford to help, so I'm stuck footing the bill for the interest Dad's having to pay. 'Bout half my salary. I'm gonna be paying them off till I'm six feet under. Bastards raise the interest whenever they fucking feel like it. I'll never be able to pay it all back, not all of it, and Dad's too fucking out of it to get himself a proper job. Whole situation is fucked."

That's a tiny little lie. Should everything go to plan, he'll have the money he needs to pay the sharks off within a week or two.

Should everything go to plan.

See, this isn't about vengence. Not now. Not anymore. This about surviving the sharks - but Jungkook has blood on his hands, and it makes him so much more tempting.

When you lean your head on his shoulder, comforting and reassuring all in one gesture, he swallows back a sob.

He's sharing all this because he wants - no, needs - you to understand why he made the choices that he did before he knew you. He needs you to know that the guy who is going to fuck you over next week isn't the guy who's been, well, just fucking you for the past couple of months.

He rests his head on yours, hair interlinking, silky and smooth, as if you're one.

The way that he feels about you oozes from him like the blood of a fresh wound; red and hot, sticky and sickening. Yet he knows that he'll never let the wound heal. He'll pick at it like it's a scab, because he'll never want to lose the feeling that the potential of a happy ever after with you gives him.

His body relaxes a little, spine curving, posture sloped. There's no need to remain poised; no need to be anything other than the imperfect version of himself that you seem to like so much.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you," you whisper, eyes closing to hide the foot of the mountain you're sitting on. It feels so wrong you being here. Feels like you're intruding; encroaching. Perhaps you're the parasite.

The weight that's lifted from Jungkooks shoulders presses itself against your sternum. It cracks your ribs and impales the snapped bones into your heart. It's quite aggresive, you think, for a secret.

They say a problem shared is a problem halved, so if this is only a mere fifty percent of the pain that he's endured, you don't even want to imagine his reality. Now is not a time for pitying yourself, or lamenting the fact that it was your father who ruined Jungkook's life by proxy. You're sure it wasn't your father's intention, but you also know that he wouldn't have cared had he known the impact that his choices would have.

So much is left unsaid. Nothing you can do nor say will erase the hurt caused by the man who provided for you. A private education, wanting for nothing, your heart's desires fulfilled all came at a cost. Jungkook is just one of the many receipts; ripped at the edges, ink faded, paper creased in such a fashion that it can never be undone.

The guilt will weigh on you for eternity.

There's a part of you that wants to tell him. Wants him to know who you are, where you come from, how you ended up here - but you're convinced as soon as he knows, he'll wash his hands of you. Especially now. It feels kinder to just stay silent.

And so you do. You let him process his grief, and follow his lead when he decides that enough time has been spent by his mother's side. There's little chatter as you make your way down the hillside, his hand outstretched whenever you come to a rocky patch, just in case. It seems he doesn't want you to fall.

He also doesn't mind the silence. In fact, he quite likes it. He knows you're probably uncomfortable. Burial sites aren't exactly on the itinerary list of many romantic getaways, and he's not deluding himself about your actual reason for staying silent.

You make assumptions. He knows this, and wonders if you just assume he knows who you are.

But if he tells you - for definite - that he knows, and that it's okay, and that it doesn't change a single thing about the way he feels for you, it'll be game over.

For him, for you, for God knows who else.

By keeping you in the dark, he thinks he's keeping you safe until he can figure a plan that really will ensure your safety.

The drive to the nearest subway station is silent, too. You lie about your errands, and tell him that catching a subway would be easiest, simply for the fact it is closer to you than any of the bus stops.

You just want to be out of the car.

It's not that you don't want to be with him; it's that you do. It feels wrong to lie to him, deceiving him.

Opposites attract, or so they say, but they're wrong. You're birds of a feather, apples that have fallen from the same tree, left to rot in the height of a Daegu summer.

Your day is spent without him, and yet you're utterly consumed. He's in every shop window, his laugh rattling in the exhaust pipe of every shitty car that drives past. There's no escaping Jeon Jungkook. He's not the kind of guy you can just forget.

In fact, you're so consumed by him that all you want to do is head back to your hotel and lay in wait for his return. You don't know when that will be, and refuse to text him when he's spending much needed time with those closest to him, but the idea is so tempting that you find yourself sprawled on the sheets for hours regardless.

Your day is wasted, but you think that days without him are wasted, anyway.

It's nearly seven by the time he gets home. There's a hum as a keycard is tapped outside your door, the metal of the lock grating against itself to bid the intruder of your heart a welcome entry. Your eyes move to the door, because of course they do. Watching the man you... enjoy spending time with come 'home' to you is something that you never realised you would enjoy so much.

You wonder if it's the highlight of his days, too.

The location never matters, for it's in his eyes that your find your home - though 'home' looks a little different when his eyes are all puffy and bloodshot, his dark irises acting like a curtain. The window is covered. He's hiding his soul from you.

Hard to notice, though, when his cheeks are wet, and you mistake that as his biggest vulnerability.

"Hey," you whisper, legs unfolding as you stand and walk towards him. The door shuts by itself, Jungkook not caring for it. He doesn't even toss his bag down; just kind of stands there. Sniffs. Shakes his head, goes to speak, but chokes on his words and how big they feel in his throat. "It's okay, it's okay," you reassure, a hand on his cheek, the other on his collarbone. "You're safe. What's up?"

He leans into your touch, jaw tense, eyes resting shut. It's been a long time coming, and he knows it. Wonders how the fuck he hasn't already broken. He wasn't made for shit like this; for lies and deceit, especially not when it's someone that he really cares for the will suffer the consequences of his actions.

All he wants, all ever seems to want, is to be in the shower with you. Doesn't even care about stripping bare. Wants to be saturated with the promise of purity; in the way he feels for you, how you feel for him, and how your life could be together.

There's nothing inherently sexual about his desire, though he knows he wouldn't be able to resist to the eroticism of having you naked and wet - it's just not his intention. He simply wants to be close to you. Wants to care for you. Wants to wash your hair and rinse you off; ease the burdens of everyday life.

He forgets that water isn't strong enough to cleanse him of his sins. It will run black, always, because of what he's done; what he will do. Like ink bleeding from his tattoos, he'll still be left with scratch marks of the choices he's made; scars in the place of his missteps.

No answer is given to your question. Instead, he sobs a little harder. Hugs you, now. Drops his bag to the floor and holds you so tight he's afraid you might break.

He'd rather this, though.

Rather his affections for you be the breaking point, and not his sheer cowardice that will no doubt shatter your perception of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, feet strained to the very tips of your toes, your hand in his hair. You've never been good with those who cry; never known how to comfort. It's not your fault. Just how you were raised. Nannys and au pairs were all well and good, but they never had a mother's touch. Your scrapes and scratches got bandaids and banana milk, but never any kisses better.

There's a curious softness to the way your hold Jungkook. There always has been. You've never really understood it; the need you feel to nurture him. Perhaps part of you always knew - could always tell - that the loss of his mother had been more profound than he could articulate.

You don't want to mother him. It's not your job. Maternal instincts aren't your thing - but the way you care for Jungkook is so pure, so unadulterated, that you find yourself wanting to ease him of all his pains.

And so even though it's not your job, you'll kiss his wounds better, just so that someone does. You'll fulfil his needs. Be everything he needs. Why would he ever want for another when he could simply just have you?

Your lips press against his temple, willing him to heal. Whatever's wrong is clearly bottled up inside, and a small part of you hopes that your lips could draw the venom from within. It's fruitless.

"Tell me what you need," you say softly. You're not a mind reader. Life would be much simpler if you were."What do you need?"

He thinks it's a stupid fucking question. Doesn't understand how you can be so oblivious to it all; but also doesn't realise how much of an impeccable liar he is. It's a learned trait. He wasn't born to be like this.

He was born to be soft, to be gentle, just like you. Under the bravado of your sarcasm and vulgar language, you're nothing more than a heart in search of its place. More fool you for thinking his ribcage would be a fitting dwelling for it.

And so Jungkook tries a little softness back.

"Need you," he finishes his sentence with a slight hiccup, his irregular breathing throwing everything out of whack. "Need to know you'll stay."

It's cruel, the way he makes you promise the idea of forevermore, when he knows full well that come next week, that heart of yours? The one sitting comfortably in his chest beside his own? Yeah, come next week it will be in his hands, blood coating his fingers as they dig into the muscle and tear it apart.

How beautifully unaware, you are.

"As long as you need," you whisper back. "I'll stay for as long as you need me, Kook. You don't need to ask. You know you don't."

And that's the kicker.

It's what has him in such a sorry fucking state.

Your hairband around his wrist, and the scrunchie on his gearstick, had been the catalyst to his tears; you're his demise.

There's a dusty footprint on the dash, right by the passenger seat glove compartment. It's yours, small and insubstantial, from the drive back from the beach the day before. Anyone else and he'd had tapped their legs, made them put their feet down.

In fact, he did with you, too. He'd tapped your leg, and was met with refusal, so instead he had just wrapped his hand around your ankle, and kept it there until he need to change gear down from fifth. He knocked it straight into third, and as soon as he was off the clutch, his hand eased off the stick and wrapped around your ankle once more.

It's gonna be you, it's gonna be you, it's gonna be you.

When he's cold and alone in the weeks to come, it's gonna be you he thinks of at night.

When he spills a couple drops of gas onto his clothes at the pump, it's gonna be you he thinks of when the scent of it makes him feel all lightheaded and nauseous.

When he gets into the ring at Kang's and is perishing just to feel a little rush, it's gonna be you that he thinks of.

It's gonna be you.

Far sooner than you realised, and for far longer than he can even imagine.

"Shit," he hisses, pulling away from you and heading towards the window. His back hunches as he leans on the ledge with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. He sniffs back the evidence of his upset and shakes his head. "Sorry. Just been a long day. That's all."

You perch on the side of the bed, understanding that space is needed. You're not good with comfort, but you are good with recognising the needs of others, at least.

"No bother," you shrug, not that he sees it. "We don't have to talk about it."

"Nothing to talk about," he says as he turns to face you. His features are all red and puffy, the friction of sleeves against his cheeks tarnishing them in flecks of crimson. A weak smile is plastered on his lips, and he knows it's not convincing. "I'm good."

And so you pretend that you are convinced, for the simple fact that he wants you to be. "I know. Was just saying. If you did wanna talk, you could. If not? We can do something else."

Jungkook's mind jumps to fucking away the upset. Seems like a good distraction.

But he also knows that if he fucks you right now, he'll cry. He won't mean to, but he'll feel the way you pulse around him, and he'll start thinking about your heart, and then his nose will be nestled in your hair, and he'll be thinking about all that he stands to lose, and then he'll break the fuck down; buried in your pussy, suffocated by the adoration he feels for you. It's a grave he's dug himself.

He pouts as he shakes his head, bottom lip protruding as if he doesn't give a fuck what you do. "Not fussed. What do you wanna do?"

You hold out your hand to encourage him to walk towards you, and he does it without a second thought. He kicks his shoes off by the foot of the bed and takes your hand, climbing onto the mattress with you.

"Not fussed, either," you hum all rather pleasantly, pushing a few strands of his hair back and out of his face. The blonde is growing out, and there's a warm band where the toner has faded. It doesn't look bad, but you also know there's nothing better than fresh hair to boost a mood. It's your classic hot girl in crisis mood. He might not be a girl, but he's hot as fuck, and seems to be in a crisis, so maybe it could help. "Why don't we dye your hair?"

There's a grin on his lips, his brows lifting as he pushes your hair behind your ear, too. "Dye my hair? You saying you hate it?"

"God, you're so dramatic," you laugh - and that's the exact reason why he's so bloody dramatic. He loves to hear you laugh.

"You do hate it?!" he cries, feigning pain. "You think I look like shit?"

"The shittiest," you confirm, though the way you're smiling at him says otherwise. If your smile was anything to go by, he'd think you love his hair.

He'd be right.

But maybe it just went with the territory; a byproduct of loving him for everything he is.

The thought of you loving him flashes in his mind like a weather warning: Storms ahead. Take cover.

It's replaced by mindless banter; you telling him how ugly you think he is, and him pretending like his feelings are hurt. There's a tussle between the pair of you, just for an excuse to be touching one another. It's inevitable that you end up on top of him, holding his hands above his head to stop him from tickling at your sides. He lets you take this role of dominance, even though he could overpower you if he really wanted to.

He wants you in charge; wants you calling the shots.

"Let's dye my hair," he agrees and seals the deal with a kiss. "You gotta do it too, though. Yin to my yang."

"Matching hair?" You raise a brow as your hair hangs delicately around your face, tickling at his.

"Matching hair," he nods, because fuck it. He's never gonna get to do the couple shit with you. Never gonna get you a matching pair of sneakers, never gonna switch the sim card ports in your phones. If this is his only chance, he's gonna take it. "You'll do mine, I'll do yours."

It's a fair trade. One you can't argue with - and so you simply smile. "Alright, fuck it. I'm in."

────────────

"Forgotten something?" you hum, as Jungkook makes a u-turn on your way out of the city. You're not really surprised, nor concerned about his change in direction. You trust him. Wherever he goes, you'll follow.

The blue of Busan's endless harbour darts past you, teasing you, mocking the freedom you think you have. You're shackled, cuffed to the armrest, a prisoner of the way your heart beats a little faster, a little harder, whenever you're inside his Pony. It never eases. It's just like that chime in your stomach, which only gets louder with every rev of his engine.

You're sad to leave the city. Had never cared much for Busan before. You care for him, though, and that's what makes the difference.

"No," he says with a small smile, one that he's trying to hide. There's excitement in his gaze, celestial entities sparking in his midnight eyes.

"Hotel's a little further up," you add.

"I know," he smiles again, simple and pure. You're a bad listener, he realises. Stubborn. Believe your own assumptions, even when presented with contradictory evidence. It's a flaw, yet he can't help but find it endearing. "We're not going there."

He glances over towards you and catches the way your face changes as you recognise the road you're heading down.

He loves that little thing you do with your brows; the way they furrow for just a second as you try to figure out what's happening. It's a common occurrence, brief confusion, and it only ever flashes over your features for a moment or so, but it's undeniably one of his favourite expressions of yours.

You're holding it now, brows still pushed together as a grin rests on your lips in disbelief. He flicks his indicator, and it's all but confirmed: you're heading towards your bucket list hotel, the one you've dreamt about for years but never fancied booking alone.

It's been mentioned between you once, maybe twice - and he remembered. Maybe it's the bare minimum. Maybe it isn't as much of a big deal as you think it is - but your heart swells like proofing dough in a baking tin, waiting for heat to transform it into its final form. Soft and warm, it'd be everything he needs to survive.

And yet the only thing you can articulate is, "fuck off."

He takes it all in good humour though, because he knows you, and he understands that you're overwhelmed with an abundance of delight. It trickles from every part of you, your happiness infecting him like some sort of disease. A glorious cause of death he thinks it would be, to perish from your pleasure.

"Can't," he grins. "The booking is under my name. You need me here, Little Miss Clutch Control."

The change in his tone from factual to flirty has you all hot and bothered. You didn't expect such a lame term of endearment to get you feeling like this, but something about hearing it in full glory really gets to you.

The car pulls to a stop, but neither of you get out. You continue talking, bantering, existing next to one another. You're prolonging it, the anticipation that makes your hands all clammy, feet tingly. He's the one to break from the cautious climate between the pair of you, when he says, "if you go check us in, I can bring our bags."

They say that you should never meet your idols; that the disappointment of them being just like any other human breaks the infatuation.

The same can be said for a hotel.

You've dreamt about this moment for so long. The room is gorgeous - not quite the top floor, but close enough - and it looks exactly how you always imagined it. White marble coats the floor, the walls, the ceiling, too. It's grand and demure, but it's cold. The bed is flush to the floor, and there's little else to look at other than the view which pours in. It's blue. Cerulean. Sky and sea, with nothing in between.

It's everything you expected, and everything you wanted.

But what you want isn't always what you need.

You find yourself missing the old hotel. Just a little bit. You miss the intimacy you felt in the previous room with Jungkook; the warmth, the limerence you shared. It's hardly surprising. That room saw your fledgling romance crash and burn, but it's also where you patched each other up and promised not to let it happen again. A lot was learnt beneath those sheets. On top of them, too.

Still, every inch of you - your face, your body, your posture - is draped in delight. You're radiant.

The hotel really doesn't matter. It's the effort that he's gone to which has you so enamoured. It's more than you think you deserve.

But most of all? You can't believe that he actually cares so much about your desires, your dreams, your wants, that he tries to turn them into realities.

"Gone to a lot of effort for 'just a friend from Daegu,'" you simper into his lips as he joins you by the window, watching a ship seep across the ocean.

He smiles. Pecks you once. Twice. Holds it a little longer. Withdraws. "My best fuckin' friend," he growls, a little frustrated with the way he knows you're gonna be using that against him for months (if you make it that far, that is). Pinkies beneath your jaw, thumbs on your cheeks, he kisses you again. "Stop saying shit like that, C."

"Or what?"

"Or," he laughs tenderly against your lips. "I'll be left with no choice but to show how much your... 'friendship' really means to me."

The worst part of it all is that Jungkook actually believes it. He really does think you're his best friend.

It's a shame. He always thought that once he found his best friend, then that would be it. He'd settle for life. Loyal like a dog, is Jungkook, yet he'd always anticipated his mating habits being like those of a wolf. After all, what's a soul mate if not your best friend?

Big, big shame.

For now, though, his focus is on the present. There's a future outside of these four walls, and he'd love for you to be it.

And so he behaves in such a way that he convinces himself you could be. You; his, eternal. No sharing. No take backs. In this shit together for life.

Comfort comes in the form of his smile, and the way he makes you feel so secure in yourself. He laughs at all your jokes, reciprocates humour that matches your own. Tells you tales of childhood, and has you thinking maybe one day you could have little terrors of your own. You ask him what he'd call his kids - and proceed to tell him that his hypothetical son, 'Manta Ray', would 100% hate him. He asks you what you'd call yours. You list your girls names. They're pretty. Standard. Nothing remarkable. For a son? You look at him, lashes low, smile saccharine, and simply say, "Manta Ray."

It's that statement which has Jungkook determined to fuck you raw tonight; fill you up, toy with the idea of what it could be like to get you pregnant. It's far too soon for any of that, but the thought of it gets his balls all tight, cock twitching in his sweats. He thinks about the way your body could change; all shapely and swollen because of the semen he's fucked into you. He thinks about your tits, and it's when he thinks about tasting your fucking milk that he knows he has to stop. He's way too far ahead of himself, all horny and engorged, wetness seeping from his tip.

It's inevitable that you'll end up naked at some point.

But it's not just because he's like a dog on heat, right now.

See, your dream of staying in this specific hotel comes in two parts.

The first is sweet; innocent pleasure found in the harbour view.

The second is far less innocent. It's still about the view, but more so about how much you wanna get railed in front of it.

Jungkook wises up to this pretty quickly, without complaint.

It's impossible not to - primarily because he's reclined on the bed, legs spread, cock hard as he strokes his thick shaft, watching you strip for him by the time night has fallen.

He takes in the sight of you under the silver moon; ethereal in the way she beams on you. The curves of your body are accentuated by the shadows, his lips desperate to devour every inch of your skin.

You're made for the moonlight, he thinks, made to be more than just a being of the sun.

He's always thought he belonged to the night, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he belongs to you.

It's not long before he's taking in the rest of you in; your scent, the way you sound, the tremor of your sternum as you laugh while he dapples kisses down your body.

You're celestial, laid bare, your soul for the taking. His lips are tender against your skin, as if he knows he could steal it. Keep it forever.

He's trying not to. He doesn't want to keep you, not like that, and not forever. He wants you to find happiness after him - but selfishly, he never wants anyone else to hear your laughter, not when it's coated in syrup, sweet enough to devour.

It's all very conflicting.

He can't wrap his head around it.

Can't make sense of any of it - but he can wrap his lips around your swollen pussy, tongue teasing as his fingers find their home inside you. He can make you forget the world, and that's exactly why you'll never be able to forget him.

His name is lodged in your throat as you come undone for him; a block of ice that melts with the heat of his limerence as he kisses through your post-climax comedown.

Body heavy on top of yours, his cock digs into your thigh as he ruts a little, unable to stop himself. He tries to hold back, but your tongue is in his mouth, hands are in his hair, and you're moaning.

The sound of your desire vibrates against his lips; has him shifting his hips until the tip of his cock is kissing your soaked entrance.

You tell him that you want him. Need him.

He shakes his head, and smiles, though he doesn't find much happiness in the admittance that comes with the gesture. "I'm no good for you, CC."

"Bit late for that, don't you think?"

His lips press into your throat; travel down to the hollow of your collarbone, skirt the tops of your breasts, and then he kisses right where he thinks your heart might be.

"You're so good for me," he whispers, lips brushing against the skin of your bare chest. You're more than he's ever deserved; more than he'll likely ever experience again. There's a fear - a very valid one - that this could be the last time. Part of him doesn't want it to happen. It will all feel so final, he thinks. Alternatively, perhaps it would give him closure - but what about you?

He's trying to do right by you, but it's so gut-wrenchingly difficult when all he wants is to give you what you want, instead.

He's slow as his hips begin to pulse, pushing ever so gently against your entrance before he retracts. He repeats this; once, twice, three times. Asks if you're ready. Waits for your nod. Feels his heart ache when you do. Sinks into you, slowly. Sheaths himself within your walls. Whines as he hits your cervix, balls ghosting your perky little ass as he does so.

Full capacity, you're stuffed with his cock, and yet he pushes just a little deeper to hear the way you gasp.

It won't take long to have him unloading himself into you. Doesn't even thinks he needs to fuck you. Your throbbing walls could milk him, even if he stays entirely still on top of you. He knows he'd make you so filthy, cunt throbbing, plugged with his fingers because he wouldn't want any of his creamy load to escape your pussy.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you, how he'd position you afterwards, how he'd keep you reaching Nirvana again, and again, and again, just to increase the chance of fertilisation.

Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.

He's always been thankful for your birth control, because he loves to fuck you raw, but he hates it now. Wishes your body would just let you mother his future children. Doesn't give a fuck about anything else.

You're it.

He thinks you're fucking it.

His lips wrap around your nipple, mainly to stop himself from saying things he can't take back. Doesn't imagine you'll react too well to him growling about how much he wants to see your belly all round, tits engorged and leaky, body destroyed (though he'd argue it was beautiful) thanks to his insatiable cock and need to keep your pussy as his.

His mouth is warm; wet and gentle but firm with its movements. He's doing it with intent. You know why. You know what he's thinking about, cause you're thinking about it, too; how you're built for him to ruin in the most beautiful of ways, and how it's only fair he should reap the rewards.

"I know, baby," you husk, fingers stroking his hair as he groans against your soft chest. There'll never be another him. Ever. "It's cause we're good for each other."

There's something going on with him. He's always fucked you well, fucked you right. This is more than that, you think.

You aren't an idiot - but as vulnerable as he may seem, now doesn't feel like the right time to ask. You've dated men in the past who grew irate when sex would be interrupted by matters of the heart, and you've been conditioned to not 'ruin the moment.'

Jungkook wishes you would. Wishes you'd tell him to stop, tell him that he shouldn't do this, tell him that you don't want him - but you do, you do, you do.

There's movement; your hips working against his own, your hot walls milking his length.

He knows he shouldn't let himself indulge in such a ludicrous fantasy. You'll never get the picket fence. Never get the rose garden. Never take the kids to basketball practise on a Sunday, and fuck in the car as soon as you get a moment of peace together.

On the contrary, you think he should indulge in these little dreams - but there's hesitation, and it confuses you. All of his movements stop. His forehead rests against yours. He's inside you, still, but not how he was.

"You wanna stop?" You ask with a voice so tender that Jungkook just wants to melt into you. His lips find yours, pressure controlled, restrained.

One hand is supporting his body above you, the other holds the underside of your jaw. There's no further discussion, just mewls; groans of want, need, desire. Your legs wrap around his thighs, encouraging him to follow through on the pleasure that the hardness of his cock is promising.

He could do it. Make you his. Fill your sweet little cunt up so well like he always does. Have your back arching, body at his disposal. It'd be so easy.

Or at least, it would be if he wasn't getting soft.

It's not you. Fuck. God, no. Nothing to do with you. He's just so inside his head over everything - the way he feels, the fact he knows you arent built to last - that he's finding it hard to focus. That family he thought of? The happy one he could have with you? It'll never exist.

Jungkook can't think straight, let alone keep his prick straight.

You can feel that his cock isn't as firm as it was, but you think maybe it's just a blip. Maybe Jungkook trying to make himself last longer? You're not really sure of the mechanics involved in that, but it seems plausible.

You move your hips to give him a little encouragement, your pussy stroking against his shaft ever so gently. You're wet - so fucking wet - for him, and it gets him even more wound up.

Why is his body not responding in the way he wants it to? Why won't his head just let him fuck you like he wants to fuck you? Unfair, he thinks, so unfair.

You don't mind the fact he's not rock hard. He's only human. It's natural for things to not always go right, and it's not like he'd be the first boy you've ever known to have performance issues. It happens to everyone at some point or another - yourself included.

"What do you want me to do?" You offer, because you think it will help; think that by showing you don't mind helping out, it will make him feel more comfortable.

But he knows you've noticed and it's fucking mortifying. This never happens to him.

Then again, he's never fucked a girl he likes as much as he likes you. Naive of him to think he could trust his body not to betray his mind at such an important moment. Only fitting, really, considering that it's his mind that will betray his heart when it matters most.

It's a cycle, and Jungkook's struggling to get to grips with the pedals. He'll fall off, crash and burn, if he's not careful.

"Shit," he hisses as he bridles his hips and pulls himself away from you. His back meets the mattress with so much force that your body shakes, cold and alone without the weight of him on top of you. He lies next to you, staring at the ceiling, cock limp, jaw tense. So fucking embarrassing. "Dunno what's wrong with me."

You tell him that it's normal, nothing unusual, and that you don't care - but it's not normal. Not for him, and especially not when it comes to you. He's been a walking boner since the moment he met you. Hard as a steel pole for weeks. In fact, if anything, he's barely soft these days.

"Just give me a moment," he says, though he doesn't move. He's trying to focus.

He breathes, in and out, slowly, his eyes glued to the ceiling, tattooed hand draped across his sternum. In, and out. He remains flaccid, cock resting shamefully against the top of his thigh.

This is, he thinks, hands down the most mortifying experience of his adult life.

You don't give a shit, but he's so uptight; lips pressed shut, eyes hard, as he seems to look anywhere but your direction. It gets you feeling all insecure. You didn't think you were the problem at first, but now it's starting to feel like you are.

The awkwardness is uncomfortable, and the fact that you're naked is even more so.

You're both on top of the quilt, so you can't even hide. Instead, you have to reach down the bed for the closest piece of discarded clothing - Jungkook's flannel shirt.

It's about now that he wants to die. Not like a brutal, slow death (the kind that he knows he deserves). He just wants to be zapped like a fly with an electric bat. The kind you see Ajummas with during the summer, wafting them around in the air, tasing everything they come into contact with.

He rubs his palm across his face, and when he's done, his hand comes to rest over his pathetic cock. The worst part of it all is the minuscule trail of precum that has oozed from the tip of his cock and onto his thigh, tangled in his leg hairs.

He could have fucked you. Could have fucked you so well.

But instead, he's watching you get dressed - although he isn't even doing that. He can't even bring himself to look at you.

He had asked for a moment, so you decide to give him just that. You head towards the bathroom unannounced, and Jungkook wants to tell you to stay, but he can't get any words out.

Door locked, closed, metal threaded through a loop, you're alone - and you fucking hate it. You're embarrassed and ashamed and confused. Your acceptance of his performance issue was genuine, but it doesn't stop it from hurting. You think his desire is dwindling, and you don't know what you'll do if it burns out completely.

You breathe. Take a second to reset yourself. Everything is fine. Everything is okay. Jungkook is just having issues. It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, you tell yourself, though you don't really believe it, and then you head back towards the bedroom.

When you return, Jungkook's got his underwear on.

He's sat with his back to you, facing the sea view, legs crossed, knees raised for his chin to rest upon. There's a crease in his stomach, his posture pathetic and feeble.

You'd never tell him, because you know that he trains so hard at the boxing club, but you sort of like it when torso creases like this. It makes him seem human. Soft; his hard exterior subdued, just for you.

The bed shifts as you walk across it and plonk yourself down beside him, mirroring the way he sits. There's a tugging in your chest, like your heart is clawing against your ribs, begging to be let out so it can go and sit beside Jungkooks. You tell it no, that it has to stay put.

But then he inhales a sharp breath through his nose, and you can hear he's torn himself up over what just happened. Your head rests on his shoulder, and your heart pacifies. His bottom lip is beneath his front teeth, the pressure so great that it feels as if he could burst through the skin. He doesn't ease up.

Silence remains. You can hear the waves crashing through the double glazing, and you wonder why you find such peace in something so hostile. The sea could kill you without a care in the world, and yet you'd let it, if meant your final moments were as peaceful as this.

"I'm sorry, CC," Jungkook eventually whispers. His voice shakes, and your lips press a gentle kiss onto his shoulder.

"You don't have to be."

Oh, but I do, babe. You'll never know how sorry I am.

You continue, knowing Jungkook won't clarify any of his misgivings. "C'mon," your head knocks back. "Let's sleep. Check out is early."

And so he settles into the sheets with you. Doesn't really say much. Just spends an eternity looking at you. Such a sight to behold; a work of art framed by the sea view.

That's the thing about works of art: you can see all their imperfections up close.

You've an eyelash that sticks out straight, while the rest of them curl. There's a small scar just below your ear from a childhood accident. He must have pressed a thousand kisses against that spot and never realised before.

He's never paid much notice to your piercings - lobes, double; helix, single - but he notices now that the stud in your cartilage has a stone in it. Opal, he thinks, but isn't sure. He wonders why you chose that one. Doesn't think you chose it just because it's pretty. You put too much weight on intangible things like fate and karma to have not chosen something specific.

You'd had a field day when you found out he was a Virgo, but he didn't have a clue what you meant when you said, "Saturn in your seventh house? Curious."

He was even more confused when you apologised for the fact you have Mars in your seventh. At the time he'd made some juvenile joke about sticking his seven in Uranus, but he wishes he'd listened more carefully, now.

It was the first time you'd shown belief in something other than the power of peach teas to remedy a bad mood, and it was significant. Not to him, admittedly, but to you. In turn, it made it important to him.

There's very little he actually can say about you - concrete things, like your childhood hangout area downtown, or the career path you had dreamt about. He knows how you laugh, what kind of humour gets you, but not what makes you sad. Doesn't know how you grieve.

How much of you does he really know? Or has he just been infatuated with the idea of you?

After all, you're everything he was hardwired to hate. Perhaps he's fooled himself. Maybe the wool he's been pulling over your eyes is over his, too.

He's the one who's been knitting, though. The crochet is a product of his own making. He's only got himself to blame.

But of course, neither of you are to blame. Not really. This was never meant to be more than what it is. You're just a friend from Daegu, after all.

It doesn't feel like that, no, but for all intents and purposes, that's what you are. You aren't his girlfriend. He's never asked for more, and nor have you. Keeping things simple has only served to make everything so much more complicated.

"Hey," he whispers quietly, just to get your attention. He's embarrassed, and it shows in the way he's nibbling down on his lip, but he doesn't want to be. Deep down, he knows that there's no shame to be found in what happened, and yet he can't help but think maybe you like him a little less, now.

Maybe that would be good. Maybe you should like him less. Actually, he's certain that you should.

But he doesn't want that. The idea of you looking at him with anything less than utter adoration has his stomach in knots. He's so used to it now; the way your pupils widen, lashes flutter. It's juvenile, and he knows it doesn't mean as much as he thinks it does, but he's convinced that your eyes don't lie.

He and you both are nothing but spinners of yarn; the tellers of tall tales, romancers of wrong-doings. Rumplestiltskins' of sorts, spinning gold where there once was straw.

You murmur a noise, but your eyes are still shut. It isn't enough for him. Needs to be greeted with your eyes; to be welcomed home. And so, he tries again, thumb stroking your cheek, the side of his head nestling into his pillow as he shuffles in a little closer. "CC?"

A delicate breath huffs from your nose as you smile, curiously smitten with how tender his voice sounds. Part of you is tempted to feign sleep a little longer just to have him addressing you like that again, but you find your eyes open - and once you're looking at him, it's borderline impossible to stop.

"Morning," you smile, even though the moon is still peering in, checking in on the lovers she's nurtured to a point of no return.

"Morning," he smiles back. The clock on the wall behind you read 2:24am. "Missed you."

"Been right here," you counter, as if the chime in your stomach isn't ringing like Jungkook's phone always seems to do whenever he's getting lost in you. His thumb strokes at your cheek again, then pushes your hair behind your ear. He wants to see all of you. Every inch of your skin, every fleck of colour in your iris, every strand of hair; wants it all. The hollow of your collarbones, the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your chest beneath his flannel shirt. All. Of. It.

"Too far away," he pouts.

"Too far?"

"Too far," he doubles down, still stroking hair behind your ear just because he can. Your head nestles into the pillow as you figure out what he's after. 'You' is the simple answer, but what exactly he wants from you is unclear.

"I can be closer," you whisper.

All he does is nod. He doesn't want to ask for what he wants, fearful of repeating his earlier mistakes - and to be honest, he doesn't really want to fuck, anyway.

But Jungkook hasn't fucked you in a long time. Sure, he's been sleeping with you - having sex with you - but he can't qualify it as fucking. It's too brash. Too careless. Inaccurate.

The way he fucks himself into you lately is deliberate; a facilitator of the way he feels. And he's not gonna call it what it is, because the term makes him uncomfortable, but it's undeniable.

Jungkook fucks you like he loves you. Kisses you like it will be his last, touches you like it's still the first. He's tentative. Tepid. Tactful.

More than anything, though? He's absolutely fucking terrified.

The fear doesn't leave; not when your body grinds against his, not when you end up on top of him, not when he's kissing you like he means it, stroking your skin as if you bruise like a peach. It never dilutes. Never ceases.

He can be rough, if he wants to be - but he doesn't.

He wants softness, with you, always.

And he'll only have himself to blame when he loses it all.

────────────

There are 38 boxes of hair dye facing Jungkook, and he thinks they all look the same.

You had been in Daegu for less than a minute when you reminded him to swing by an Olive Young to pick up some hair dye - and how could he ever refuse any of your requests?

It's so simple making you happy. A peach tea from a drive-thru on the way home, no complaints when you change what's playing through the aux after 20 seconds because you get bored, the way his hand squeezes your knee at red lights. Making you happy is the easiest thing in the whole wide world - but of course it would be.

There's no hardship that comes with your happiness. Everything Jungkook does is second nature, as if he's been doing it his whole life, and not just a few months.

"See, this one is ashy," you say, and he pretends as if he understands. It's been twenty minutes now, and no conclusion has been reached. You thought it would be easy, an in and out job, but Jungkook is full of surprises. It's not like you mind though. Learning his ways - how he behaves when no one else is watching - is a luxury that very few are able to indulge in.

He catches your gaze occasionally, and the way you marvel at him without even realising it. It makes him smile. Make him blush. Has him scared you're gonna start noticing his imperfections.

You won't - and even if you do, you'll file them under 'endearing habits' or 'cute quirks'. He's nothing short of perfection as far as you're concerned.

Foam or serum? Powder or liquid? He didn't remember it ever being this hard before.

But of course, it wasn't. He wasn't actually the one who had dyed his hair blonde. Namjoon's sister had; a trick to foster intimacy with him when he wouldn't reciprocate her longing gazes after casual fucks.

He hadn't told you that, obviously. Didn't have a death wish - but he did remember that, for a short period of time, her attempt at faking closeness seemed to have worked.

It was a moment of madness for Jungkook, one too many sojus and he'd been seduced; a couple more and all of his clothes were on Naejeon's bedroom floor. He did as he always had done with her; took her from behind, spanked her ass when he was done and offered to drive her home after the alcohol had worn off - but he'd been foolish and gone back to hers that evening. While he was still a little bit worse for wear, he'd agreed to let her do his hair. He thought it'd be fun. She thought that maybe he'd realise there was more between the pair of them than just a good time after dark.

It wasn't long, and it wasn't love, but Naejeon had him reassessing whether or not it was just fucking, through the simple means of hydrogen peroxide coated strands of hair.

As much as he lamented the time he had spent with her towards the end of their arrangement, for a while she had been good for him. He'd become kinder, more gentle, and it seemed you were the one who reaped the rewards.

"And ashy is..." he carries his words on, as if the answer is on the tip of his tongue, but you know him well enough now to know that they're not. He's overwhelmed by the choices, simultaneously wishing he could pick without a care in the world, but also worrying about making the wrong decision.

"Bad."

"-Bad, yeah, that's what I was gonna say," he bullshits, but you don't mind the white lies all that much. He goes to say something, then cuts himself short. "And why is it bad again?"

It's the fourth time you've explained colour theory to him. "It's bad because you need a warm tone over the blonde, otherwise it will go green."

"I like green," he speaks with a small pout, not realising the green his hair will go isn't the same green as the trees in May. It will be murky, and grotty, like the streets in April rain.

"So do I," you smile. "But not for my hair. How about this one?"

His eyes follow your hand to one of the thousand boxes: a deep crimson red. It's not a shade he was expecting, nor one that he thinks will work on your hair. You know it won't, so you add "we can just bleach a little bit first. Like the underneath layer, or something."

His head tilts, a dimple forming as he tries to imagine what it will look like. You can see he isn't sure, and that he feels a little hesitant. He wants to do this. Wants to reinvent himself with you - an artist fixing up an old oil painting, filling in the cracks, restoring it to its former glory - but he's scared that what's done cannot be undone.

Ironic, really, that it's his hair that he's scared of. Consequences have meant little to him as of late, and yet here he is all pouty, huffing through his nose a little bit because the poor baby can't decide.

It makes you laugh how childish he can be. He just needs a little push you think; a helping hand.

"You trust me?"

The question is asked so flippantly that it would seem unfathomable for the trust between the pair of you to be broken. Flirtatious in your tone, he knows this is all just fun to you. Maybe he should loosen up. Maybe it should be fun for him, too.

Yes is the answer to your question - not that he'll give it to you. Words are dangerous. They can be used against him.

"I think you're mad," he tells you, but there's a smile that he just can't hide. It rests on his lips, crooked and glorious; sun breaking through a storm. It's yours, you think. Mine, all mine. "Get the bleach, you little fucker."

"See," you grin back, all big and pleased, and Jungkook thinks he'll never be able to smile without you. "You do."

You do as you're told; grab the bleach, get in line. Jungkook stands behind you, kisses your hair, tells you he likes it enough as it is, but that he's excited to do this with you. And then he's whispering some bullshit about how he wants kombucha, but the one he likes is sold out, as per usual.

When you go to pay, his card is already in the machine. It's on him. Everything during your trip has been. There's something charming about it; chivalrous. You've never needed a man with a white horse, but you got yourself a boy with a red Pony regardless.

Scarlet in colour, his car screamed danger when you first met him, but as you ride in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, hand beneath his on the gear stick, you feel safe. There's a world out there around you and yet none of it can penetrate the metal body. You like to think it's bulletproof.

It's an old car. A heap of shit, if you will, especially by today's highway standards. You had made a point to pay your respects a little longer at the road safety shrine at Haedong Yeonggungsa when you visited in Busan.

A bullet would tear through it - but how lovely it is to pretend that you could be invincible together.

You ask if he fancies doing his hair at your place.

It's the first time you've ever offered.

You asked if he trusted you earlier that evening, and now you're the one showing him that you trust him.

This is bad. Really bad, in fact. In too deep; six feet under. He's sinking, buried in the way that he feels for you, but thinks that it's just his guilty conscience that's tickling at his tummy.

Your apartment isn't too dissimilar from his; a little one-room, cheap and drab, but brightened by your personality. There are photos on the walls, pictures with friends, postcards of art, memories of times you barely remember, now. Your bed is sort of hidden, a shelving unit separating it from the rest of the room. The first thing he notices about it is how many pillows you have. Plushies, too. He looks bewildered, but you simply shrug and smile. "Never take me to an arcade."

Your statement only serves to make that an insatiable desire of his. He's obsessed with the idea of you in front of the machines, neon lights glowing in your eyes, lips parted as you aim for yet another ridiculous plushy.

In fact, it's all he wants to do now, go to an arcade with you. Considers saying fuck it to the hair dye, and heading downtown instead.

But you usher him into the bathroom, and say, "c'mon, buddy. I gotta bleach mine first before we can put colour on."

Perched on the closed lid of your toilet seat, Jungkook watches on in awe as you get to work on your hair. The way you called him buddy plays on loop in his head. He thinks it's a joke because of the fact he told Taehyung you were just a friend, and he'd be right to consider that. He realises, rather quickly, that he doesn't ever want to be just a friend to you. Impossible, he thinks.

Mindless chatter takes hold as you paint bleach onto your hair. It's only on the underneath layer, and it washes out to be the most god-awful orange, but it's fine. All you need is a base for the colourful dye to stick to.

You've done this before, he assumes, but doesn't like that he's picked up that trait of yours - so instead, he asks about it.

"Shoulda seen me in high school," you smile. "Rebellion was my middle name."

It's said in jest, but Jungkook wonders just how true that is. You're the black sheep of a family you're pretending doesn't exist.

"Did it win?" He teases. "The rebellion?"

He likes the idea of your defiance being nurtured at an early age. You've always had fight in you, or so it would seem. It's something he finds attractive, the way there's bite behind your bark, and yet he appears to have you tamed.

You don't look at him as you smile, putting on a pair of latex gloves and reaching for the tub of crimson dye. The plastic container fits into your palm like it was made to be there. This new identity? The one that matches Jungkooks? Made for you.

Painting the dye onto your hair without much care, you shrug. Consider telling him about your family. Stop yourself at the last minute.

"Rebellions endure," you tell him, all matter of a factly and as if you know what you're talking about. You don't. You're a sham. Wouldn't know rebellion if it bit you in the ass. Stupidly, you think that disowning your family counts as an act of rebellion - but you did it all so quietly that no one even noticed. Rebellion would have been publicly denouncing them - also would have saved Jungkook a whole lot of hassle, that's for sure. "There's no winning. Just perseverance."

He doesn't agree. Thinks that life is a rotating door of winning and losing; a turnstile in the subway that will let anyone through given they can pay for the fare. That's what life boils down to for Jungkook; who has money, and who can spend that money.

The ones with the wallets always win.

Give it a week, and his wallet will be fat enough to run with the big boys - and yet he's never felt less powerful in his whole entire god damn life. He's watched girlfriends fuck about with his friends, his family disintegrate, his mother die. You - and your stupid fucking smile, the way your eyes always land on his lips before they meet his eyes, the smell of your gasoline tainted hair - trump it all.

He's a loser in this game, whether he 'wins' or not.

There's no winning without you.

There's a clamminess to his palms, a beating in his chest that goes a mile a minute, far too fast for a healthy heart. You're a comedown short of a cocaine upper, and Jungkook knows that his addiction has grown out of hand. Cold turkey is going to leave him in tatters, but he can't seem to ween himself of your body, your touch, the way your pinky loops with his. He knows what this is. Knows that the way he feels is far too much for what you are.

You catch him looking, his stare stern, and hard, and it has you smiling. He looks so serious - angry, almost - but you know he isn't. He's just thinking. Contemplating. He does it when he eats, too, and he's never angry when his belly is full. When you smile, the furrowing of his brows eases, and he begins to smile, too.

"What?" He questions, his eyes so fond that you can't believe you get the luxury of a man like him looking at you like that. Lucky bitch, you think. Luckiest in the whole wide world.

"Nothin'," you grin back, and he rolls his eyes. He looks so pretty, a strand of hair hanging over his forehead as you wait for the dye to process. His will be brighter than yours - just the tips of his hair where the bleach once was, but you think he'll look so pretty with a little colour against his honey skin.

He won't be able to hide the way he's paired with you. You've always scoffed at the couples who walk down the street in matching shoes, matching clothes. You think it's cringe. Vomit inducing. Gross.

But you're also so smitten that your lips are constantly curved into a smile, eyes fond as you look at him. You're absolutely infatuated.

So is he, but chooses to downplay it. Has a smirk on his lips as if he isn't obsessed with every little thing you do. "This is so dumb. Can't believe we're doing this."

"You suggested it!" You protest.

So hot, he thinks as you whine. He just wants to have his way with you, right then and there on the spot. Feels like he can never be close enough to you.

"So? Didn't think you'd agree," he smiles as he sinks his lips onto yours and forget all above the fact he's supposed to be careful.

Within half an hour, he's spraying you in the face with the showerhead, when he should be rinsing your hair instead. He laughs when you squeal, not caring for the fact you're both still fully clothed. A kiss is gifted and received, then given back, water from the shower hitting you both.

You're both in black, so the running red dye doesn't matter, despite the grout in your tiles turning pink.

"This doesn't seem like the most efficient way to rinse out hair," you husk against his lips, but he ignores you. Presses your back to the wall, and supports his body with a palm on either side of your head. The shower is clamped beneath one of his hands as the head sprays directly onto the wall, but he doesn't care.

"Yeah you're right," he agrees, his showerless hand cupping one of your breasts and squeezing it through the fabric of your soaked shirt. "Would be far easier if you weren't wearing this."

You laugh now, 'cause he's just so bloody predictable. A one-track mind, but you're glad he's thinking like this again. He's so much more himself when he isn't in his head over things.

His shut down yesterday has scared you; left you thinking that maybe he didn't want you anymore. The way his lips are on your neck, rough, teeth present, not caring about the crimson water running down your throat, suggests otherwise.

"You're a menace, Jeon Jungkook," you whisper, voice airy and light as it dances around the room, weaving between the droplets of water that pitter-patter on the ground. A menace; a maverick. Both could be true. When you look at him and see the way the dye is dripping down his skin, too, you think 'masterpiece' may be more apt.

He holds the showerhead over himself, letting the water run faster, more freely. The red feels never-ending, as if he'll be forever tainted by the colour of your love.

He then does the same to you, deliberately aiming straight for your face just to fuck with you. He loves how cute you sound when you squeak, body instantly shifting to defend itself.

"No, no, no," he koos, pulling the shower away and hugging you close just so that you don't retaliate against him.

The way his clothes stick to his skin is uncomfortable, but you love the way his muscles feel beneath the drenched cotton. His chest is strong, arms even more so. Needless to say, he's obsessed with the way you look too: his shirt over your shoulders, water collecting in the fabric and forcing it to stick to the contours of your curves.

Reaching for the taps, he knocks the temperature down a little bit.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. The shower pours onto your feet, but you can feel it travel up your legs. There's a shift in your position as Jungkook says 'You should lift my shirt a little bit."

You feign naivety. Pretend like you don't know what he's going to do. "Like this?"

It's inched just a little further up, resting just above the lace trim of your underwear. You're a tease; Jungkook your favourite victim.

He nods. Swallows. Rests his lips ajar as he struggles to breathe. "Just like that, C."

The heady nature of the steam fogging up the bathroom fails to hide the fact he looks nervous; intent on succeeding where he had failed the night before. He watches as your lips part, brows furrowing.

The way your chest heaves isn't lost on him, but he finds himself lost in you, and the way you look at him when he begins to hit just the right spot with the steady stream of water. You grip onto his arms, rising to the tip of your toes. A moan husks in your throat, and he smiles.

Crown of your head to the tiles, you let your head tip back, eyes closing. Your showerhead isn't something you often indulge in for pleasure by yourself, favouring your hands or a toy instead - but there's something so deeply erotic about the way he's watching your body respond to the water that he's controlling.

Occasionally he'll dip his hand down to your clit, not wanting the showerhead to take all the responsibility for what Jungkook knows will be his favourite part of the day. It's noticeable, the way a little extra moan will escape your lips whenever he uses his fingers. It's ego-boosting. Cock-swelling.

Your nails begin to dig in deeper to his muscles, no doubt leaving a print on his skin. Your whines, sultry and slow, take dominance over the running water which has been soundtracking your build-up.

"That's it," he keens, finally slipping his middle finger into you. He curls it, and the way you silently gasp has him smirking. He's still got a firm grip on the shower, his wrist moving in small circles to make sure he hits all the right places. "You gonna come for me, C?"

You're not there yet. Just a little further. A little more. A little - oh, fuck -deeper. You wanna tell him yes, yes you will, but all you can do is nod. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at him when you know you're going to finish in record time. The way you moan is sinful, and it only gets worse when you feel his tongue circle one of your nipples through the soaked shirt. He sucks, and lets it go with a pop.

"Keep-" you try and speak, but it's lost to the pleasure that's running down your spine.

He laughs. "Keep what?"

The question is answered by the way his lips wrap around your other nipple in place of a question mark. His tongue works at the swollen bud through the shirt, massaging it just enough to have your hips grinding against the pressure of the water, riding on his finger.

It's when he adds a second finger that things really start to become out of your control. Nothing you're saying makes any coherent sense. His replies are simple hums that vibrate against your chest as he sucks on it.

The thing that tips you over the edge is his third finger. The sounds you're making are lewd, and filthy, reserved only for him.

"The way you take me, baby," he grits against you, amazed by everything you are. "God, you take my fingers so well, don't you?"

"Kook-" you try, but are cut off with his lips against yours. His tongue is in your mouth, your hands in his hair, heart pressed against yours - and then you're unable to think, let alone kiss back. Your moans melt into his mouth, onto his tongue, and he devours every single one of them.

"Shit," he moans right back. "Yeah. Fuck my hand like that. Like that, CC. Coming all over my fingers aren't you?" His teeth graze your neck. "Filthy fucking slut."

The hands that are in his hair drop to his throat, and squeeze. His eyes are on yours as you ride out your high, but it's a warning you're giving him. He knows this. He likes it.

"Not like that one?" He teases, jaw hanging slack in a crooked kind of fashion that makes him look like he's from an 80's movie. You shudder a little, the ends of your orgasm still washing over you.

On the contrary; there's nothing you'd enjoy more than being bent over his leg and having him call you nasty little names while he leaves handprints on your ass. You're just fucking with him. Know that he'll take the graze of your nails as an indication you wanna fight. And you do. Just in such a way that you end up fucking, too.

You're still shaking as he withdraws his fingers. He looks at them, how they're coated in your juices, and debates who should get the honour of licking them clean. His eyes are on yours as he licks a stripe up his index finger.

"Fucking hell," he husks, lips wet from your mess. No one's ever tasted as good as you before. He doesn't think anyone else will ever compare.

He was gonna be strong about this; gonna take a sample and then give you the rest - but he just can't help himself. He sucks on his fingers - index, middle, then fourth - one at a time, before all three are in his mouth.

If you were breathless before, then you think you might have stopped breathing altogether, now.

He stares at you. Sucks. Withdraws, but only a little. Pushes his fingers further into his mouth. Closes his eyes. Groans. Moans. Grunts. Begins to withdraw. Opens his eyes. Releases his fingers with a kiss at the tips.

His eyes look down your body, then up to your eyes. "Where were we again? Ready to shampoo?"

The visual of him sucking on his fingers plays on repeat in your head. You need to see it again.

It's almost embarrassing how paper-thin you are when you shake your head, and say, "rinse and repeat. Gotta do that again."

He raises a brow. "Which part, C?"

There's a playful nature to him, pleased and protected in how easy he finds it to get you coming undone. He feels safe, now. There's security to be found in your eyes; a sanctuary, a dwelling, a hearth. Somewhere to curl up on the cold nights. A place to congregate. Someplace to call home.

You'd give him a key, if you had one. Put it on a chain around his neck. Maybe you'll just match your door code to his, instead. Cute couple things. The kind of shit that makes you roll your eyes and gag a little.

Ironic, really, when you think about it, as you wash the remainder of the dye from his hair. He reciprocates, but you don't think he's done it properly. It's only now that you pull his shirt off your body and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a loud slap. He sits on the closed lid of your toilet, still fully clothed, drenched, ruby red hair framing him perfectly.

It suits him, even now, before it's styled pristine in that rugged kind of way he manages to perfect so effortlessly. He watches as you run the water through your hair, and you're surprised when you glance in the mirror to find him looking at your face. You thought his eyes would be elsewhere.

In all honesty, they had been - you just caught him at a good moment.

Smiles are exchanged between the pair of you without your consent. Funny, how everything with him is involuntary, but in the best possible way. You don't have to think about happiness, it just comes.

"You look like a mermaid," he tells you, cheeks dimpled and bright. You cast your eyes to your legs - which are very much legs and not a tail - and give him a questioning look. "The hair," he clarifies. "I mean the hair. Bet you'd look fit as fuck with a tail though."

"My lord," you groan, tilting your head back in jest. "I'm dating a dude who's into fish?"

"Dating, eh?" Jungkook's ears grow red and hot, but he hides them well.

He wouldn't mind it if you were dating. Would quite like it actually.

You ignore him for a moment, caught out in the admittance of how you view the relationship between the pair of you. You don't feel embarrassed as such, you just didn't want to be the one to elevate the status of what you are.

"Not anymore," you say. "I prefer men who like girls with feet."

"I'd let you give me a foot job any day of the week," he protests almost too quickly. You reach over to knock the tap off, so Jungkook reaches behind himself to pull the towel down from the rail. He stands as it falls, opening it up for you to wrap around your body.

Gestures like this are normal for Jungkook; thoughtless thoughtfulness. You notice it often, and you always say thank you, but he just shrugs. He doesn't see it as a gesture. He's doing what he wants to do, and what he wants is for you to feel comfortable. He wants to ease your burdens.

Perhaps it's guilt. The knowledge that he's about to be the biggest burden you've ever encountered.

Or perhaps it's the language he speaks when words aren't enough.

Perhaps, just maybe, he's in lo-

The moment is cut short when Jungkook's phone begins to ring in the kitchen. You usher him out, tell him to get it, and head to your bed. Flopping down, still wrapped in your towel, you listen in to the conversation - "Jin? Yeah. Yeah. Back in Daegu. Tonight?" - and notice the way his posture changes. His back grows tighter. Voice becomes agitated. He's whispering, but is seething. You sit up, eyes trained on him.

He glances over to you, brows hard, eyes narrow. He looks away. Looks back again. Looks like he might fucking cry.

"No Jin, tonight is a bad idea. It just is, alright! No- Fucking hell, would you listen to me alright? Jin, she- No! No."

He looks at you again, eyes wider than the full moon peering in through the kitchen window. Divine feminity washes over him and berates him for his choices - but you mistake it for the sheen of a good man.

It's guilt that glitters in his eyes when he looks at you. He thinks you're gorgeous, but knows you must be a little bit stupid, too.

How the fuck did you let him in this far? Why didn't you see right through his facade? Why didn't you just cut him off?

God, he adores your brain - is absolutely enamoured with it - but fucking hell.

A beautiful fool is what you are, and to play a fool is to lose.

He wishes you never agreed to go on that fucking date. He only asked in the first place because he couldn't bring himself to let you get hurt, but it's gonna be so much worse now. Infinitely more destructive. Physical pain you'd have gotten over. Maybe even forgiven.

But this?

Jungkook's standing on dynamite. If he even takes one step toward you he'll catch the tripwire that will strike a match on the wick, and everything will be in fucking tatters.

It already is.

And all the while, you're reaching into your wardrobe to find him a pair of sweats big enough for him.

"I don't care what Joon says!" He hisses into the phone as you finally find the pair of sweats you had in mind. They're far too big for you, but hopefully they'll do the trick for him. "How far am I? From Kangs? 'Bout half an hour."

You close your wardrobe and look at him, head tilted, brows pinched together. He's barely a five-minute drive from Kangs. Ten tops. You figure he must just want more time with you before his boys steal him away.

"Jin?" He says into the phone, but is met with what must be a response he doesn't like. "Jin? The fuck man! Just listen to me! Please! Plea- fuck."

His words are interrupted by the crack of his phone hitting the steel sink basin in your kitchen. Shoulders hunched, he rests his palms against the counter, his breathing accentuated by the way his back is moving.

You're not scared, but you are cautious. You know he boxes. Know he has the potential to lose his temper.

If only you knew how well he's controlling his emotions in this moment. He should be given an award. A medal. A plaque. Jeon Jungkook, Container of Emotions, 2022.

Or perhaps 'Liar of the Year' would be more apt.

"You good?" You asked, edging towards the kitchen, sweats in hand. "Here, change into these. You'll catch a cold, otherwise. I'll put the heating on tonight."

Jungkook shakes his head. Stays silent. Sniffs. Is cold when he finally growls, "no, you won't."

"It's fine," you promise. Your heating bill is never that expensive. "I don't mind."

"C-" He begins, but cuts himself off.

When he turns to face you, his eyes are black. Just like they are in your nightmares. You always thought you'd die if he ever looked at you like this. The way your skin crawls has you thinking you might.

"What?" you speak so quietly that Jungkook wants to set himself alight on the gas stove top behind him.

He closes his eyes. Hangs his head in shame.

"You trust me, right?"

Something about his tone, his demeanour, has you frozen. Your kitchen light is off, bathroom too, and there are shadows on his face that obscure his intentions. 'No' echoes in your head, but you can't bring yourself to speak it into existence. 5 minutes ago, it would have been an unequivocal, unwavering 'yes.'

He tries again. Eyes wide. Still focused on the floor. Petrified. You mistake them for being honest.

"Tell me you trust me, C."

"I-" you choke on your words, heart lodged in your throat. He refuses to look at you. Heat gathers on your lash line, and it confuses you. He confuses you. You don't understand what he's asking of you. He's in your home. You invited him here. Is that not proof enough?

"C," he demands an answer. His eyes are on you now, finally looking in your direction. They're black, and they look right through your skin, as if he's watching the way your heart beats beneath your ribcage. You find yourself cowering into a shadow of the woman you are, and it's just another thing he adds to the list of reasons to hate himself.

You're meek and pathetic when you nod in response and say, "of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"

He's never seen you timid. Never seen the way you used to be before you left your family and became a human in your own right. There's something deeply unsettling about the way he's managed to revoke you to this version of yourself, and he knows this just as much as you do.

He sniffs back a sob. Turns away from you. Rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and turns to face you again. Jungkook is struggling to survive inside the vessel of his which has been taken over by a fucking monster.

"Yoongi," he speaks quickly, not wanting to waste time. "Your co-worker, right?"

You nod. Say nothing.

"He lives around the corner, right?"

There's no reason for Jungkook to know that. No feasible reason at all. You can feel your pulse. You're panicking. Why does he know that?

"Take the fire exit and go to his, okay?" He says. "And fucking stay there until you hear from me, alright? Don't leave his place. Stay with him."

He expects you to nod. Expects the pathetic demeanour that's masking who you really are to agree with him. Yes, Sir. No, Sir, Three bags full, Sir.

But you stopped letting men tell you what to do a long fucking time ago. You don't take orders from any man - and you especially don't take orders from boys.

You stand straighter. Taller. Raise your chin, and look at him through your nose. For a second, you almost forgot who you were.

"What the fuck is going on, Jungkook?"

The question is stern. Sterile.

Fuck.

He's so taken aback by the way you address him that he feels winded. Cannot breathe. Will die.

"You said you trust me-"

"Yeah, and you'd never given me reason not to trust you before now, but what the fuck is this?" You gesture between the pair of you. "You say jump, I say how fucking high? Nah, fuck that, Kook. What's going on?"

He paces, pushing a tense hand through his damp hair, before rubbing his face with his palm. The red runs through his fingers like a warning sign. Danger. You better run, too.

"C, you just gotta trust me-"

"Trust?"

You laugh now. At him. Trust? When he's behaving like the sketchiest dude you ever met? You think the fuck not.

"I don't trust you," you spit, and rightly so - although you know you're being reactive. You should be calmer. Evaluating the situation, considering why he's asking this of you - but you've seen red, and it clouds your better judgement. "It's earned, not owed. Either you tell me what's going on, or you get the fuck out of my house."

"C-"

"Do not try and reason with me, Jungkook," you assert. "You tell me, or you go."

And that's when he realises.

That's when he knows there's no coming back from this.

"I can't," he whispers, the crack in his voice so painfully tortured. "I can't do either of those, C."

"You're gonna have to."

"C-"

"Kook."

"Plea-"

No, you think. You told him not to try and reason with you. What does he think he'll achieve? You'll magically say yes?

Incorrect.

"Get out."

"I can't."

"I'll even open the door myself, if I really have to."

"C-"

"You've got thirty seconds."

"C-"

"Twenty."

"You gotta just-"

"Ten."

"You're not even giving me a second!"

"Five-"

"Fine."

"Four."

"You want the fucking truth?" He shouts.

"Three," you smile. Yes. I do.

"You really want the truth so fucking bad, do you?"

Oh, you big fucking baby, you taunt internally. Men. Always too good to be fucking true. Always have to do something to go and fuck it all up.

You toy with the possible answers of what the truth could be. Fucking someone else? The other woman planning on showing up for a fight? Maybe the mother to a child of his, or something like that. He seems to be good at running from his responsibilities, so it would make sense.

"Two."

He pauses.

And then he thinks fuck it.

You want the truth? You'll fucking get it.

"I know who your family are, C. Know all your dirty little secrets. Everything. And I also know that if you don't shut the fuck up and listen to me, you're gonna get real fucking hurt tonight. That's why you have to trust me. You have to get out of here. Something bad is gonna happen thanks to the past you keep trying to hide, so I need you to trust me. I don't want you to get hurt."

Bull. Shit.

This might all make sense to you one day.

But for now, all you can focus on is the audacity that the man in front of you has.

You reach over to your front door, and open it wide. His time is up.

"I don't fucking trust you. Now get out of my apartment before I call the police and have you arrested for breaching the peace. Clock struck one, Cinders. Time to flee before I find out who the fuck you really are."

He looks at you, helpless and confused. This isn't what he had expected. Not in the slightest.

"C-"

"One. Now fucking leave."

────────────

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carlos-in-glasses · 6 months

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An update to the list!

I'm blown away by the fact that anyone would give their precious time to my fics - I want you to know that I always strive for it to be time well-spent. Thank you, thank you. I'll update this list as more fics are posted. Running from most recently posted to the first❤️:

Search And Rescue - (15k, E) - On their first Valentine's Day as husbands, Carlos surprises TK with a trip to adopt a retired police dog.

Where All This Love Comes From - (107k, E) - TK reflects on meeting Carlos after years of addiction and self-destruction, while Carlos seeks closure by uncovering two unknowns: The identity of his father’s killer, and how his father truly felt about Carlos as his son.

You Can Leave Your Hat On - (6k, E) - The heating breaks in the loft so TK and Carlos find another way to stay warm.

Suddenly, in the Silence – (10k, E) - TK wonders if he's being haunted by Gabriel, while Carlos questions his faith.

Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines – (14k, E) - A coda for 3x08 that also explores how 9/11 impacted TK and Carlos as children.

Release the Hand to Relax the Animal – (15k, E) - TK and Carlos have tantric sex.

When Soulmates Swim – (53k, E) - A season 1 canon compliant AU. TK and Carlos find each other and themselves when they each take up swimming.

The Centre of the Maze – (21k, M) - TK and Carlos have never been on the easy path, but all have lead to the wedding.

With Infinity Folded Into It – (8k, M) - After TK proposes, Carlos remembers the first time they said I love you. And he bakes a babka. Sort of.

Fire Island – (12k, M) - TK and Carlos visit the legendary Fire Island and learn from an older couple about life at the height of the AIDS crisis.

The Light of Our Life – (2k, T) - A coda for 4x12. Carlos buys TK a bearded dragon.

The Heart Behind the Shield – (34k, E) - A coda for 2x08 and 4x04 combined. Carlos and TK work through their kidnapping traumas and Carlos and Gabriel share an important moment.

Afterglow of a Supernova – (13k, M) - Carlos and TK have dinner with Carlos’ high school crush and his wife. Insecurities rise and jealousy ensues in an unexpected way.

Man to Man – (15k, E) - A coda for 2x12. In 2010, Carlos comes out to his parents. In 2021, in the aftermath of the housefire, Carlos feels more empowered to talk to Gabriel and embrace his life with TK.

Chasers – (13k, E) - A coda for 3x13. TK is alone with Cooper, Carlos is alone with his thoughts. Both recall times they’ve chased the next high, other men, or each other.

The Ruins of Wonderland – (14k, E) - The severe winter storm doesn’t happen as forecast and Austin receives a manageable snowfall – without TK plunging into a frozen lake. Nancy’s 126 hang goes ahead. TK attends, but so does Carlos…

In Your Adorable Glasses – (4k, T) - Carlos is struggling to find the perfect poem for the wedding; TK tries to help but sits on his glasses.

Wrestling Angels – (8k, M) - Carlos wishes he could invite his seventeen-year-old self to his wedding to TK.

A Naked House – (8k, M) - TK, Carlos and the 126 attend a murder mystery event in which a real murder takes place and TK vanishes…

Teardrop on the Fire – (11k, E) - TK discovers a birthday card Carlos had written for him during their breakup.

Bath Time and Black Magic – (7k, E) - Carlos is naturally upset after being kidnapped by a satanic cult, so he and TK have a bubble bath and talk about it.

A Rainy Day in Austin – (5k, T) - A 3x15 coda. TK and Carlos drive to the greenbelt to release Lou.

Sensitivity – (5k, M) - TK opens up to Carlos about his past, and Carlos finds himself falling for him even harder.

#My fic #cig fic #tarlos fanfic #fic masterlist #tarlos

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readingreylo · 1 year

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The best Reylo Fanfics I read in 2022

(Not necessarily written in 2022)

My 2021 wrap up was such a hit I thought I would do another one! While I didn't read nearly as many fanfics this year, I did discover a few new authors whose bodies of work are just *chef kiss*.

(Don't forget to check out my All Time Favourite Fic list and my pinned post with all my rec lists!)

And in no particular order...

Similar Creatures by quamquam20 | @quamquam20 | Explicit | 36k | Complete | Historical AU | 1700s | Venice | Pretty Woman retelling | Sex worker!Rey | Mafioso/enforcer!Ben | "no kissing on the mouth" | Angst | HEA | Multi POV | "As the Hammer of the Medici, Benjamin Solatti has a lot of practice crushing dreams and wringing every coin from nearly empty pockets. Sent to Venice to collect on a debt, he doesn’t have time for pleasure. Nobody knows the winding alleys and canals of Venice quite like someone who works them. So when street-smart Rey notices a lost Florentine noble, she’s more than happy to offer her services. Worlds apart, they lead very different lives. Brought together by chance and an irresistible proposition, those same differences might be what tear them apart when their time runs out."

Happenchance by PurpleSugarQuills | @purplesugarquills | Explicit | 5k | Oneshot | Modern AU | Office Party | Mistaken Indentity | Mention of sex work | Rey POV | "When Rose hires an escort to be Rey’s date for their company’s fundraising event, Rey’s livid. Until… Well, until she spots him in the hotel’s lobby. Tall and gorgeous, with dark hair nearly brushing the collar of the suit he fills out sinfully well. Maybe Rey doesn’t hate Rose. Maybe she should write Rose a thank you note. Or, Rey thinks Ben is an escort. Ben is not an escort."

Here's to more amazing fics in 2023!🥂

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo au #reylo fic rec #jess made something

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strrwbrrryjam · 3 months

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so back in 2021 i wanted to do a rewrite of avatar: the last airbender but with avatar zuko- i actually wrote a lot of world building and was planning to like rewrite episode by episode but gave up on it before then, so- I'm just going to post it here-

Prior To Story.

Canon Story

Kyoshi died in the year 82 BG at the age of 230.

Roku was born in the year 82 BG and died in the year 12 BG.

Azulon was born in the year 0 AG and died 95 BG.

Monk Gyatso was born at 78 BG and died at 0 AG.

Aang was born at 12 BG and woke up 100 AG.

Canon Divergence

Kyoshi died in the year 52 BG at the age of 260.

Roku was born in the year 82 BG and died 0 AG.

Zuko was born in the year 52 BG.

Monk Gyatso was born 22 BG (in the South Pole).

Aang was born at 88 AG (in the South Pole).

Sozin had wished to wait until Kyoshi had passed for his plans for war, knowing her lack of hesitancy for ridding the world of Chin the Conqueror. News of Kiyoshi’s demise was delayed to the Fire Nation, thus it was assumed she died eighteen weeks before Prince Zuko, First Born to Sozin was born. When news reached Sozin, he began his re-education for the people of the nation. Installing propaganda into the Culture of the Fire Nation, making them believe that:

The Danger is Grave and Growing.

War will be easy and cheap, (but only if they act now.)

War will solve all (or at least most) of their problems.

The enemy is evil. Or crazy. Maybe both.

Peace is unpatriotic.

Sozin and Roku grew as close as brothers could. Each had attended each other's weddings as best men, and when there when their children were born. When Zuko had been born, with no spark to speak of, Roku convinces Sozin that it could very much be delayed, which is true, but very much of an understatement. Throughout Zuko’s life, Sozin is not present. Roku takes on the role of a father to the young boy, educating him in the way of the old Fire Nation, him disproving of Sozin's leadership, yet being none the wiser to what his dearest friend really wants.

On the day of Zuko’s birth, a dragon from the “abandoned” Sun Warriors Temple had flown down in the Courtyard. It was rare to see the said dragon and Zuko separated. Druk had been waiting for his companion for twenty years, to the point where he was a young adult at ten feet tall. Roku takes Zuko around the world to see the lies that Sozin is spreading are far from the truth, it is also where the Roku at the Southern Air Temple, when Zuko is ten, he learns of Zuko’s status of the Avatar as the Monk of the Temple shows him of the toys that prove of his Spirit.

Zuko began training at age four, even when his katas were cold. When Zuko is eight, he takes on the art of the sword, as he is ambidextrous, he learns to master the Dual Duo.

Zuko grows up under the teachings of Roku, learning that what Sozin is doing is wrong, but as he grows up and accompanies Sozin to his War Meetings. He holds his tongue until he learns of Sozin's plan for the Great Comet and the Genocide of the Air Nomads, it frightens him to his very core the fact that late into the night he calls for several messenger hawks to warn the four temples of the Air Nomads to run and hide. Many heed his warning and take refuge (along with Air Bison and Winged Lemures) in towns of the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribes as well as the Swamp. However, not all do and stay to protect the temples. When reports come that many of the Residents of the Air Temples have escaped, Sozin learns of Zuko’s betrayal and soon goes to kill his own son. Sozin burns the left side of Zuko’s body, his burn travelling from his eye to his ear, down his neck, ending on the back of his hand.

Roku interferes, distracting Sozin enough to bring Zuko to Druk, with supplies that include his Dual Dao, and ends up sacrificing himself to save them, sending Druk to fly to the South Pole.

On the way there, Zuko wakes up, still very much injured during a storm, causing Avatar State to freeze both Druk and him in an iceberg.

Before Avatar Zuko

Canon Divergence

With Zuko’s warning, while many Air Nomads, the monks at the Northern and Southern as well as the nuns at the Eastern and Western, stayed. There were many that had escaped and years into the hundred year war, Airbenders could be found all across the world, Swamp, South Pole, Si Wong Desert, Ba Sing Se, etc.

Due to the help of the Airbenders, abandoning their pacifist morales, simply for the fact that the Fire Nation would not offer the same mercy, while preferring to offer non-violence at first, then resorting to defending themselves at the expense of the lives of the Fire Nation. The South Pole is not as decimated as it had been in the canon story.

There are several villages and far more waterbenders in canon. Some tribes consist exclusively of airbenders, some of those of watertribe members and others of both airbenders and watertribe. While the South Pole is nowhere near the structure of the North Pole.

Waterbenders have learned to hide their waterbending, meaning that the Fire Nation raids have become few and far between. With raids becoming scarce, Kya lives. Aang, Sokka and Katara grow up together, being thick as thieves. Aang most definitely is still a master airbender, and while Katara is so much better than she was in the beginning, there are most definitely gaps in her knowledge. Bato and Hakoda still very much leave for war, and Gyatso stays behind with Gran-Gran and Kya.

Sokka, Katara and Aang are on a fishing trip when they find something in an iceberg…

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla zuko #zuko #atla druk #druk #atla roku #roku #atla sozin #sozin #atla gyatso #gyatso #atla aang #aang #atla sokka #sokka #atla katara #katara #strawberry speaks

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joeys-babe · 7 months

Text

Someday We’ll Be Together

Chapter 12: Since Lsu

————————————————————————

September 30, 2021

(y/n's pov)

its been..

18 days.

432 hours.

25,920 minutes.

1,555,200 seconds.

since i've talked to joe.

since our kiss.

since we cried on the sidewalk while it rained over top of us.

i had come to the decision to wait 2 weeks before possibly reaching out to joe, but now it had been 2 weeks and 4 days.

i did want to hear what he had to say.. but i was also nervous to hear what he had to say.

it was stupid for me to think the felt the same way, he could have any girl in the world; and there was no way he'd pick me.

over the past couple weeks, i've lost track of what day of the week it even was. i stayed in bed most of the time, busy feeling bad for myself.

gracie and jess had texted me everyday wondering if i had talked to joe yet. i'd tell them no and in they'd give me a pep talk in return.

they really wanted me to talk to joe, but i still had no clue to why.

it was 1 o'clock in the afternoon when my mom came in my room.

"good morning sunshine!" - your mom laughed

"not funny." - you

"i just thought i'd come in and check to see if you were alive." - your mom

"definitely alive, feel a little dead though." - you

"oh you're exaggerating. but.. you need to get up and out of this bed today. you, your father, and i have plans tonight" - your mom

"wait what? what are we doing?" - you

"we're going to the bengals game. joe got us three tickets but robin was the one to walk them over here. she said he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by coming over here." - your mom

"i don't know mom, i might not go. i don't know if i'm ready." - you

"this would be the perfect way for you two to talk, robin said he's going straight home after the game, win or lose. that's when you two can finally talk." - your mom

"i'm scared though." - you

"of what, honey?" - your mom

"what he's going to say." - you

"it's joe, y/n. it's the same boy you used to force to play barbie's with you. i wish you two would realize that you can't live without each other, and just stop fighting." - your mom

"it's hard to mom. it's hard to just see him as my childhood best friend when he's so much more to me." - you

"i understand, just tell me your decision before we leave." - your mom

"i will." - you

my mom gave me a small reassuring smile before disappearing out of my room.

joe hadn't left my mind once since that night at the bar and now i have to decide wether or not to go to his game.

on one hand, it was nice that he wanted to clear things up and the fact he invited me and my parents to his game today really showed he cares about our friendship.

but on the other hand he cared about our friendship.

to him i was nothing more than that, and at times it seemed like the only reason he talked to me still was because of how long we've known each other.

when i went downstairs for breakfast i immediately noticed robin sitting at the island with my mom. i had been avoiding her and jimmy too, only engaging in small conversation from time to time.

"hey honey!" - robin smiled

"oh hi! morning." - you

"you doing okay?" - robin

"uh.. i'm starting to get better, yeah." - you

"i'm really sorry honey, i hate seeing you hurt. especially over my damn son." - robin

"i'm fine, robin. i'll get over it." - you

"there shouldn't be anything you should have to get over! i raised him better than that. i mean has he even tried to explain to you why he did it.. or apologized?" - robin

"he has apologized, and he has tried to explain but i shut him down. he tried texting me, but after 2 days he gave up because i didn't answer. i'm sorry, i just can't talk to him yet." - you

"oh honey don't apologize, he really messed up. i understand you're side of it completely." - robin

i gave her a small smile before grabbing my breakfast and exiting the kitchen. before i got to the first step i turned around and asked robin something.

"hey robin?" - you

"mhm?" - robin

"is joe upset?" - you

"of course, y/n. that following tuesday, after practice joe went to the gym till dark. i had to call him and practically force him to go home. he's coming to a realization that he can't live without you and it's hitting him pretty hard. he won't talk much, to anyone really." - robin

"wow. i didn't know he was actually being affected that much." - you

"he's really upset with himself. he knows he messed up big time and wants to fix it. there have been a couple paragraphs he's showed me that he thought about sending you but i don't know if he ever did." - robin

"if he did i wouldn't know, i blocked him on everything.." - you

"that's your decision and i don't blame you. i wouldn't wanna hear from him either after what he pulled." - robin

"i'm just surprised he told you the truth." - you

"he wanted sound advice on how to fix the whole situation that's why. supposedly today was step one of his plan, you and your parents going to the game." - robin

"despite all of this, i cant but think about how sweet that is." - you

"i told you y/n, he really really cares about you. like a lot." - robin

"thanks for everything." - you said before walking upstairs with your breakfast

*time skip*

it was a few hours later and my parents had just left for the game. i decided to not go because i didn't want my first time seeing joe since the fight to be at such a huge event. both my parents and joe's respected my decision and said their goodbyes before leaving.

now that i was home alone i sat bored on my bed scrolling on my laptop looking for jobs.

i eventually gave up and picked my phone up off my nightstand to scroll through instagram. the first thing i saw was joe warming up and i couldn't help but smile, he looked so good.

when the game started i slipped one of joe's jerseys on and made my way into the living room.

once the game started i found myself zoning out while watching joe. he looked unbelievably good in his uni and it was hard not to watch him intently.

the whole first quarter every time the camera panned to joe he was looking up in the stands. it didn't take me long to figure out that he was looking for me.

(joes pov)

there was 2 minutes left in the first quarter and to my disappointment, y/n wasn't here.

i couldn't blame her, after all the shit i pulled i wouldn't come to the game to support me either.

but, there was a hope deep down that she would be here. the start of the 2nd quarter didn't make me give up either, i sat on the sidelines still staring up at the box my parents and y/n's parents were sitting in.

"joe. she ain't comin." - ja'marr

"you don't know that!" - joe

"i think she'd be here by now if she was going to come." - tee

i shrugged them off and while running onto the field with the rest of my offense i looked up at the box, she still wasn't here and that's when i concluded that she wasn't coming.

(y/n's pov)

i finished getting ready with 5 minutes in the 2nd quarter to spare. when i stood in front of my mirror i took in my appearance. i was wearing a black long sleeve turtle neck with the black version of joe's jersey over top, biker shorts, and black combat boots to complete the outfit.

hurriedly i ran downstairs, grabbed my phone, keys's, and wallet before sprinting to my car.

i wanted to make it before halftime was over so when joe ran back out he would see me.

thank god my mom left my ticket on the kitchen table or else i wouldn't be able to get into joe's box.

when the security guard opened and i walked in, both sets of parents' faces lit up.

"y/n!!" - robin smiled

"hey y'all!" - you smiled

"come here, you can sit by me." - your mom grinned

i moved over and plopped down between my mom and robin.

"what made you decide to come?" - your mom

"i was watching the game from home. every time the camera was on joe i noticed that he was looking up here. i assumed he was looking for me so i wanted to be here for him." - you

"you don't even have to assume, he's definitely looking for you." - your mom

"no doubts there y/n." - robin laughed

(joe's pov)

when we ran back out after halftime i refrained from looking up at the stands. i didn't feel like getting let down again.

i was mid conversation with ja'marr when tee came running up behind us to interrupt.

"joe! joe!" - tee shoved joe's shoulder

"what?!" - joe

"look!" - tee pointed at the stands

my eyes trailed to where tee was pointing to see that it was in the direction of my box.

at first i didn't know what i was supposed to see until she started vigorously waving with other hands.

it was y/n.

a huge smile formed on my face as i waved back to her.

"you're whipped, son." - ja'marr laughed

"yeah.. i am." - joe continued smiling at you

"come on, lover boy we gotta go. you can fawn over her later." - ja'marr

(y/n's pov)

watching joes face light up when he saw me was so incredibly cute. my mom and robin's audible "awwww's" made the moment even sweeter.

the rest of the game joe seemed a lot less distracted, and they won 24-21.

"do you wanna come see joe with us?" - robin

"i'm probably just gonna go head home. thanks for asking though, and also tell joe i said thank you for the ticket." - you

"of course. we'll see you tomorrow?" - robin

"yup! goodnight guys!" - you

i made my way out of the stadium fast to try and beat traffic. my parents plus jimmy and robin were going out to dinner tonight, and from my mom i learned that joe was heading straight home from the game too.

when i got home i took my boots off and changed into a more comfy outfit.

sitting at the kitchen island in complete silence, i contemplated texting joe. after seeing his face light up on the field when he saw me in the stands, i needed to see him.

i found myself zoning out, my thoughts never stopping for a second when my phone vibrated on my lap.

grabbing it immediately, disappointment washed over me when it was just a message from my mom.

make it home okay?

i texted back a quick "yup 👍" before putting my phone down again. i was getting up from my seat after deciding to just go to bed when my phone buzzed again.

this time when i picked it up, my heart started beating out of my chest. it was a text from joe.

can i come over?

for a second i thought about what i could send back. something simple? something that shows how much i miss him without being too greedy? a simple yes?

after a few seconds of panicking i typed something up and sent it without thinking any longer.

please.

a smile wouldn't leave my face as i made my way to the living room. i watched through the window that overlooked the road, and started blushing when i watched joe fly out of his front door. his pace across the road was quick, practically running after he looked both ways.

once i could hear his footsteps on the front porch i started towards the front door to unlock it for him, but once i got to the hallway he was already standing there.

"i forgot you had a key." - you laughed nervously, unsure of what to do now that you were face-to-face with him

joe moved towards me and wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his head in my neck as my arms were around his neck.

i heard him mumble something incomprehensible, and when i asked him to repeat himself he pulled his face away from my neck. joes arms were still around my waist, my arms around his neck and he looked down into my eyes as fondness filled his.

"i can't do this anymore." - joe

"you can't do what anymore?" - you

"y/n, i want to clear up everything. tell you the truth." - joe

"then tell me, joe." - you

joe unwrapped his arms around my waist and grabbed one of my hands, pulling me into the living room and sitting on the couch.

"i'm so so sorry for what happened weeks ago. it wasn't what i planned at all." - joe

i heard his apology, but the only thing i heard was "planned".

"planned?" - you searched his eyes for answers

"planned. i wanted you to go to my game, and win or lose i was going to take you somewhere after. thankfully we won, and now i can admit to you why i was so persistent on you going to the bar with me. it was my plan to kiss you, but when i did.. i was so worried that you had just gotten caught in the moment and didn't actually want to kiss me. i totally panicked and the first person i saw was lexie. i'm truly so sorry y/n, and i know i can't explain it away. nothing happened between lexie and i either, she was being a total bitch and i'll tell you our conversation later. that is, if you still want to be friends?" - joe

friends.

"joe, over the past weeks i've realized that i can't go without you. i accept your apology, but i just have one question.." - you

a smile formed on joes face when i said i accepted his apology, relief washed over his body and the way his body physically became more relaxed showed that.

"ask away." - joe

"what were you going to do after you kissed me, if the lexie stuff didn't happen? what was the whole point?" - you

i watched him tense back up and his gaze left my face, joe looked at his feet as he thought about how to word his next statement.

"i was going to admit something to you." - joe

"admit.. what?" - you

"something i should've told you back when we were still at lsu." - joe

"which is?" - you

joe sighed before scooting closer to me on the couch, he took one of my hands off my lap and held it in his.

"in high school i came to the realization that you were the most beautiful girl in the world. when we were at ohio state together i started getting butterflies every time you said my name.. every word that left your mouth made me blush as long as it was directed towards me. when you went along with me to lsu, that's when it really hit me. you're the only girl i've ever truly truly cared about, y/n. no other girl i've ever been with has mattered to me as much as you do. you understand me more than anyone else, and i'm so grateful to have you in my life." - joe

my heart rate got higher and higher as words spilled out of his mouth. was joe really confessing to me right now? he felt the same way?

"what are you saying?" - you

joe licked his lips before making eye contact with me and letting go of the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"y/n, i'm in love with you." - joe

i squeezed his hand as those words left his lips, i've wanted to hear those words for so so long.

joes eyes were still searching my face for a reaction when i realized i hadn't said anything yet. without thinking i launched forward and hugged my arms around his neck, now sitting on his lap.

when i pulled myself away from him i cupped his face in my hands.

"joe, i'm in love with you too. have been for a long time, and you have no idea how happy i am to hear you feel the same way." - you

joe couldn't get the smile off his face, and i couldn't either.

"can i kiss you?" - joe smiled

"of course." - you

joe leaned forward and pressed his lips onto mine, it felt like fireworks were going off around us as our lips connected.

after a few moments we pulled away completely breathless with our foreheads touching.

"god, i'm so happy you feel the same way. now you can understand why i was so pissed off when you went on a date with tee. it wasn't just because he was my teammate, i just couldn't stand seeing you with another guy that wasn't me." - joe

"it makes sense now. i'm really really glad things ended up working out though. i've been venting to my mom about you for the past 5 years." - you

"i vented to her too! i don't know how your mom was able to keep from telling you that i felt the same way." - joe

"she was hoping a moment just like this would happen, that's how. and you don't have to worry about other guys anymore, by the way." - you

"i know. all mine now." - joe leaned in and kissed you

"i love that you just did that. we just kissed and it was so casual. like i can kiss you whenever i want now." - you smiled

"you're so cute." - joe laughed

eventually joe laid flat on his back and i laid next to him, his hand on my back keeping me from falling off the couch.

"what time is it?" - you

joe picked his phone off of his chest and read the time out.

"almost one. 12:47." - joe

"i don't want you to leave." - you buried your face in his neck

"i don't want to leave either. can i just stay the night? i really don't feel like sleeping without you tonight." - joe

"sure, let's head up to my room." - you

joe and i made our way upstairs to my room, he was now laying in the middle of the bed in the room that he helped me set up.

i excused myself to go wash my face, and by the time i had gotten back joe was sprawled out on the bed looking super comfortable.

"someone looks comfy." - you laughed

"i'd be even more comfy with you next to me, c'mere." - joe patted the space next to him

i made quick work getting underneath the covers and getting comfortable.

"you really sleep in just sweatpants and a sweatshirt?" - you

"i just sleep in boxers, but i think it's a little early for that." - joe winked as he moved a hair out of your face

i giggled and returned to laying on my pillow instead of joes like i was moments before. i guess joe could sense my unsureness of what to do next because he smiled as he pulled me into his chest.

"you can lay on me." - joe kissed your head

my cheek was pressed against his left peck as my hand rested just bellow his right.

"your chest is so comfy." - you

joe laughed sweetly before kissing my forehead, as soon as he pulled away he pressed another kiss to it and another and another.

"you're gonna kiss your lips off, joe!" - you giggled

he finally moved away and moved onto his side, now he was leaning on top of me.

"that's the plan, honey." - joe smiled

the nickname had me blushing and giggling before i pressed another kiss to his lips.

"we've gotta make up for the 5 years of missed opportunities for kisses." - you

"i can arrange that." - joe moved down and kissed you again

after a few more kisses, joe laid back down and pulled me back to his chest. his arms were wrapped tightly around my waist and it felt so right.

"our parents are gonna flip when they find out about us." - you smiled

"our moms have been planning this since they found out i was a boy and you were a girl." - joe laughed

"i have a question." - you

"you're full of those tonight, huh?" - joe grinned

i laughed before continuing on.

"what happens now? about us?" - you

"well, i'm a little tired right now. so i was thinking tomorrow night i take you on our first official date. that is if you aren't busy and would like to go with me?" - joe

"of course i'll go with you. plus i'm never busy joe i literally live with my parents." - you

"hopefully that'll change eventually." - joe

"what do you mean?" - you grinned up at him

"if we start dating and have a serious relationship, i was hoping at some point you'd move in with me. i mean would you rather live with your parents or your super ultra-cool best friend/boyfriend." - joe

"i love the sound of that." - you blushed

"living with me?" - joe

"that… and also you calling yourself my boyfriend." - you

"who knows, i might be able to call myself that after tomorrow night." - joe shrugged and you hid your blush in his chest

"you're gonna be the absolute death of me, joseph lee." - you

joes laugh shook his chest, me included, as he rubbed up and down my arm. when he finished laughing he let out a loud yawn.

"you tired from your game? i haven't even congratulated you on your win yet, i'm sorry! i'm such a terrible almost girlfriend." - you

"you're a perfect almost girlfriend. plus there have been more important things on our hands tonight." - joe

"okay well, goodnight joey." - you kissed his cheek

"goodnight, y/n." - joe kissed your head and rubbed your back in attempts to lull you to sleep

it wasn't long before joes chest got into a rhythm of rising and falling and small snores escaped from him.

tonight i fell asleep on the chest of my favorite boy knowing he was just as in love with me as i was with him.

————————————————————————

authors note: some fluff to end the horrid sunday that this day has been. 😭

(some angst is def coming soon though 😉)

hope you enjoyed! ❤️

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #joe burrow series #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic

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ramayantika · 9 months

Text

A goodbye needed

From being born in Hyderabad to living in the northern part of India, that is Gurgaon and then the Western side, Maharashtra to Vishakhapatnam in the south and finally in the eastern states of Chhattisgarh, West Bengal, and Odisha, I do get to say that I covered eighteen years of my life in the four main directions of India. But my favourite city has and will always be Kolkata.

To be honest, my brother desperately wanted to live in Kolkata because of Eden Gardens in our GK book. I wasn't that interested until I arrived in Kolkata in 2016 to appear for the written test in my school. The exam went well and so did the interview. I remember my father lived in a small bachelor's one room apartment in Ruby Park. My eleven year old eyes were stunned as they took in the grandeur of the old buildings from the British era to the modern metros and malls of Kolkata. When I came back to Raipur, all I knew was Kolkata would be life changing for me.

And in 2017, I did come home. To Kolkata. A small roadside apartment facing a canal where you don't have crystal clear water but drainage water. Somehow the water wasn't stinky until the arrival of the monsoon showers. I lived there from 2017 to 2020. I was supposed to stay there until 2022 but fate had other plans but that's a story for another day.

I always call Kolkata home even though I am from Odisha. It was the only city that embraced all shades of me. I spent the first two years of my teenage there. The damp roads leading to my apartment have heard my songs above sweet love and true friendship. On quiet midnights, my tiny balcony knew the whispers of my soul, and the questions it asked about fate and the world. The monsoon rainfall told me how to appreciate nature and beauty. I learnt to dance with storms, and dream of stories that I now write and desperately wish to be a part of.

I met a teacher who told me in a tone akin to a whisper in front of the class that I am like a small pandora box, hidden from view but having the most wonderful and beautiful things to offer the world. The next month I danced for a school event and God since then I never looked back. Kolkata connected my soul to literature and culture.

I am no longer in Kolkata but each time my calendar notifies Rabindranath Thakur's jayanti, my heart goes to the old tunes of Rabindra sangeet; the beauty and tenderness of his songs that captured my heart and caused me to spill some of my poetry in the last page of my rough notebook.

I visited kolkata again in December 2021 after first term examinations of class twelve. My connection with kolkata broke like a plant uprooted from its soil. It felt as if I had been banished from home. All the months that passed, and all the seasons that changed showed me memories and dreams of what could have been in kolkata. But when I visited kolkata, I saw how some things had changed.

My home appeared....... different? I always say that my young soul blossomed in Kolkata. The same soul turned sad at the emotion that the city showed me. Perhaps that's how growing up is. To see that things around you change, people, roads, hearts everything but somewhere there still lies a calling that says, 'hey, I know things are different. But I am still here. Look at me, embrace the new me. Embrace yourself. You are changing too.'

Where it once used to be wonder, nostalgia filled my heart as I met my friends after two years. I passed through my apartment again and smiled at the balcony, my small corner for solitude. I saw a few towels hanging there.

Going back from Kolkata felt a little sad. I could not accept the change. I had been uprooted from my roots, and when I come back I see new flowers springing up. Without me?

Then after a year, I visited Kolkata again in July 2023. I had grown so had the city. When I passed by the same British era buildings and Howrah bridge, the same wonder struck my soul. I saw a few flowers growing on the pathway, getting their nourishment from the July showers. The empty space in my heart too was filled with flowers. My friends who are now in their respective colleges, doing their own things with their own friend circles now but somehow we come together. Just like old days before.

Home is always home no matter how far you go or how long you stay away from it. Home will always welcome you back. The fragrance of wet earth filled my soul with a warm blanket, as if telling me that all this while, I waited for you. I am different but I am still your friend.

Era sukher laagi chahe prem, prem mele na.

Shudhu sukh chole jaye emoni mayar cholona

This song will always remind me of Kolkata, the warm monsoon nights that were filled with a longing of love, friendship and magic. It will take me back to dreams and whispers of a fantasy that my heart still believes in that I would one day bring forth the wonder and beauty of my Self to the world. It will remind me that there must be tender days to be spent in reading poetry on a cool evening.

The day I boarded the train to Durgapur, my heart hummed the tune of Era Sukher Lagi from Choker Bali. As the train left the station, I waved at my young self through the window. It was farewell. I would come home later for my dance work, a thread that shall tie me to this wonderful city forever but I would never come home this way ever again and for the first time I was happy. And perhaps to witness an end to a heartwarming journey of nostalgia, acceptance to change and farewell, the clouds showered rainfall against the window just like the cool monsoon nights years ago.

All was well....

#samridhi writes #kolkata #desiblr

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russianperioddrama · 20 days

Text

Welcome to the Russian Period Dramas Bracket everyone! The order of things will look something like this:

Polls will start posting tomorrow. One group (A, B, C, D) will be posted per day, starting with Group A. Polls will run for a week. Once all polls for a round close, polls for the following round will begin posting within 24-48 hours (depending on mod availability). You may send in asks with “propaganda” if you wish.

Round 1 matches are listed out below for a full text version. Note that titles are listed in the format: English tittle (official/”official”* or translated) | transliterated title. (*There are occasionally some variations in what is the “official” English title. I tried my best here, usually prioritizing what is used by a major streaming service or wiki).

GROUP A

Ekaterina: The Rise of Catherin the Great | Ekaterina (2014) vs. Pushkin: the Last Duel | Pushkin: Poslednyaya duel (2006)

The Barber of Siberia | Sibirskiy tsiryulnik (1998) vs. Tchaikovsky's wife | Zhena Chaikovskogo (2022)

The Duelist | Duelyant (2016) vs. Life of a Mistress | Volnaya gramota (2018)

Catherine the Great | Velikaya (2015) vs. Poor Nastya | Bednaya Nastya (2023)

Detective Anna | Anna – detectiv (2016) vs. Gardes-marines Ahead! | Gardemariny, vperyod! (1988)

Bloody Lady | Krovavaya Barinya (2018) vs. Institute For Noble Maidens | Institut blagorodnykh devits (2010)

Union of Salvation | Soyuz spaseniya (2019) vs. Star of Captivating Happiness | Zvezda plenitelnogo schastya (1975)

Russian Ark | Russkiy kovcheg (2002) vs. Poor Poor Paul | Bednyy bednyy Pavel (2003)

GROUP B

The Silver Skates | Serebryanyy konki (2020) vs. Sins of Our Fathers | Grekhi ottsov (2004)

Bezsonov (2019) vs. Voskresensky (2021)

Sunstroke | Solnechnyy Udar (2014) vs. The Fall of the Empire | Gibel imperii (2005)

Matilda (2017) vs. Gloomy River | Ugryum-reka(2021)

The Road To Calvary | Hozhdenie po mukam (2017) vs. How the Steel Was Tempered | Kak zakalyalas stal (1973)

Admiral (2008) vs. Quiet Flows the Don | Tikhiy Don (2015)

Morphine | Morphiy (2008) vs. Battalion | Batalyon (2015)

Rasputin | Grigoriy R (2014) vs. Christmas Trees 1914 | Yolki 1914 (2014)

GROUP C

War and Peace | Voyna I mir (1966) vs. The Queen of Spades | Pikovaya dama (1982)

Pechorin (2011) vs. A Hero of Our Time | Geroy nashego vremeni (2006)

Eugene Onegin | Yevgeny Onegin (1959) vs. A Cruel Romance | Zhestokiy romans (1984)

Gogol (2017) vs. The Idiot | Idiot (2003)

Anna Karenina: Vronsky’s Story | Anna Karenina. Istoriya Vronskogo (2017) vs. Anna Karenina (2009)

Crime and Punishment | Prestuplenie i nakazanie (2007) vs. Brothers Karamazov | Bratya Karamazovy (2009)

Fathers and Sons | Ottsy i deti (2008) vs. Lady Into Lassie | Baryshnya krestyanka (1995)

Two Women | Dve zhenshchiny (2014) vs. The Emperor’s Love | Lyubov imperatora (2003)

GROUP D

Sophia (2016) vs. The Youth of Peter the Great | Yunost Petra (1980)

Furious | Legenda o Kolovrate (2017) vs. Alexander: The Neva Battle | Aleksandr. Nevskaya bitva (2008)

Viking (2016) vs. Iron Lord | Yaroslav: Tysyachu let nazad (2010)

The Terrible | Groznyy (2020) vs. Tsar (2009)

Godunov (2018) vs. Schism | Raskol (2011)

Land of Legends | Serdtse Parmy (2022) vs. Golden Horde | Zolotaya Orda (2018)

Conquest | Tobol (2019) vs. Secrets of the Palace Revolutions | Tayny dvortsovykh perevorotov (2000)

Elizabeth | Elizaveta (2022) vs. Cathedral | Sobor (2021)

#russian period dramas #russian period dramas bracket #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls #period dramas #perioddramaedit #russian tv #russian movies #russian media

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whoahoney · 2 months

Text

Alright yall, Deftones/septum piercing boy turned into a ghost, may he rest in peace 💀 but never fear….

the Pizza Guy is here. 😏👀

That’s right, a new white boy of the month in Honeyland but that’s okay, I’ve decided to award him white boy of the month, every month for the rest of the year (at least) because he’s my BOYFRIEND!

he actually asked me and everything, like whaaaat?

I love the story of how we met so much so imma write it out a little bit before I toy with turning it into an Eddie fic like I did with the chilis waiter 💀🫶🏻

Read on if you’re interested in my weird love life, it’s appreciated but never required!

TW: pregnancy sickness, crush on someone other than your shitty ass husband (it’s okay we’re divorced now 🥳😂)

Basically back in 2021, I was heavily pregnant with my second child and alllllways craving pizza. I already order dominos often enough they know my name and order when I come in, but it was much more often than normal while I was growing a human 😂

One day, I go to pick up my order at the dominos hot spot in town and there is a handsome Covid-masked boy there waiting for me.

I’d never seen him before so I knew he was new. I got shy and just accepted the pizza, trying to get back into my car as quickly as possible. But then he gave me the loveliest smile and wished me a good day and I thought about it a smidge longer than a married woman should.

The next time I saw him, he gave me tons of paper plates and napkins and full shakers of pepper and Parmesan, and that became a regular occurrence I didn’t think too much of. (Turns out he was STEALING FROM WORK)

The next time, he asked me about how I was feeling, about my baby, and what his name was going to be.

And then the next time, I was late picking up my order, and it’s protocol to call the customer in that instance, so he calls me and asks if I’m okay. Truth be told, I wasn’t 💀 I had BARFED all over myself (cause pregnant) as I was driving over there. I was so upset, clamoring around my car searching for an old hoodie to pull on, but I couldn’t find anything 🥲

Obviously I wasn’t going to tell him all that, so I told him I’d be there momentarily, that I had just been sick.

He offers to drive it to me, free of charge, but I was almost there anyway.

He didn’t even acknowledge the puke on my shirt and gave me the same smile he always did (that I couldn’t see cause of the mask lmao) and told me to be careful going home.

lemme tell you that when I got back, I had a text from an unknown number asking if I got home okay 🥺 my friend was utterly convinced this dude had the hots for me but I was married and pregnant so I had a hard time hoppin on that bandwagon, “it’s not like anything’s going to happen anyway”

I’d say a month after that, I stopped seeing him and assumed he’d moved onto bigger and better things than dominos.

Cut to January 2024, I’m swiping on bumble, minding my business and I see the cutest guy in a Metallica shirt eating noodles straight from the pot over the sink. I was already set on swiping right, but then I looked further at his profile and lo and behold, a selfie in a familiar domino’s uniform!! It had to be him.

I swipe right, we MATCH, I confirm it’s him, he REMEMBERS ME, and we plan a date.

He suggested that we meet at our “old spot” and he’d bring dinner.

And what does he bring??

A dominos pizza and a dozen red roses. 🥺

Turns out my friend was right, he confirmed that he had a “huge little crush” on me and that he’d bargain with the other drivers to get my order if it wasn’t his to take 😭 he’d give them the tips I’d give him if he ever had to convince someone to switch with him 🥲

I’ve dated some very kind and respectful people since July 2023 but this guy blows them all out of the water 😭

He’s so communicative, his boundaries and emotional intelligence are unmatched, we have the same taste in music, his love languages are the same as mine, he’s also a single father (and absolutely rocks it), we share the same values, every day he’s surprising me with some lore of his, or his kindness, or thoughtful nature 🥺

he plans every date, sends me his work schedule so I know when I can come in for a surprise visit if I want to, he brings me snacks, pays for and pumps my gas, opens every door, and won’t even let me lift a finger in my own house!!! All without me asking.

And don’t get me started on the sex bro… I— I can’t. 🥲🫠😮‍💨

If you read this far, I love you, I hope you’re doing well, I miss my tumblr/eddie hyper fixation so much, but I feel it coming back 🤍 I hope to finish our beloved stories and give them all the endings they/we deserve 😌🥰

Honey

#honey’s love life #personal post #honey’s hunnies #honey said

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 3 months

Text

Just a Kid - Epilogue

@evilwriter37@firerose

Summary: A Httyd Zombie AU set in the modern world. There are dragons.

At 15, Hiccup believes his biggest struggles are teachers who won't stop hounding him for his grades, a father who doesn't quite listen to him, or how unpopular he is at school. Every regular teenager's worst nightmare, right?

But then a new and mysterious illness that's been rapidly spreading amongst the populace takes a surprising turn and the day comes Hiccup wishes his former daily struggles had been the only struggles he would have to deal with.

He is, after all, just a kid.

Warnings: /

Rating: Mature

Words: 1 698

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Stormfly, Snotlout, Hookfang, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Barf and Belch, Fishlegs, Meatlug

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

THREE YEARS OF WORK

IT ENDS TODAY

I posted the prologue in January of 2021! I'm posting the epilogue in January of 2024!

And now on to the sequel! :)

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

--XOXOX--

Standing in the middle of a classroom, Snotlout can still see where the blood of his fellow students once stained the ground. On the tiled floor amidst all the dust, the dirt and leaves, there are dried brown stains of all sizes. Smears and footprints spread the stains all over the floor. Handprints are on desks, the wall, the blackboard and the door. Time has not washed them away.

School classrooms and hallways here are just big enough for a Monstrous Nightmare to stand in with a hunch, especially with all the tables and chairs pushed to the side. This wasn’t just any room, it’s where a bunch of teenage kids were holed up together and fighting for their lives. They’d been bitten.

Hookfang sniffs around. The air is stale. The reason why Snotlout would want to come here escapes him, but he’s been standing here. Quietly, unmoving. The Nightmare has tried to prod a response out of him, but he didn’t even complain. He hasn’t said anything in minutes and the dragon wonders if his human is broken.

He doesn’t understand the significance of the space they’re in.

“This is…” A girl’s voice. Dragon and rider look towards the door to find Astrid standing there, her hair length still kept above the shoulders.

She doesn’t need to say it out loud, it’s basically the room where it all began for them. It’s where Bjorn and most of everyone else lied sick for two weeks before they turned enmasse, when they realized what they were truly dealing with and the day they were forced to leave the last connection to their old life.

Bjørk school is completely abandoned now. Mrs. Bellum, Mr. Hoover and the infected students aren’t here anymore. They moved on a long time ago to begin their endless journey in search of a warm body to feed on, until their second death inevitably comes. The silence they left behind is chilling.

Astrid walks further into the room, it’s strange to be back home, strange to be in school again. It seems like a lifetime ago. She can’t even recognize it anymore.

Her boots crush pieces of glass on the floor. There was a big summer storm in August and it’s done a number on the building. The courtyard is full of shingles and a part of the roof is gone. A number of windows have been blown out and dirt, leaves, and sometimes entire branches fill classrooms and hallways. Not to mention the months of a lack of upkeep. There’s a significant layer of dust and webs everywhere they look.

“This place has seen better days,” she remarks softly. Their school looks the way they feel after everything they’ve been through since Outbreak Day back in March.

“No kidding,” Snotlout huffs humorlessly, it’s the first thing he’s said in a good couple of minutes. He wipes at his eyes, Hookfang comes closer and sniffs him, nudging him with his snout.

“I’m fine,” he tells his dragon, who shrugs it off like his human tells him to.

Astrid’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. Unlike the dragon, she knows exactly what happened here and who he lost here.

“Come on, Snotlout, let’s go find Hiccup,” she tells him and they leave the room together.

But out in the hallway, Astrid comes across a pretty sight that makes her smile and lifts her heart; a gorgeous blue Deadly Nadder. They ran into her shortly after they were forced out of Forrædersk. Like this, every one of the teenagers have somehow gotten their own best friend in dragon form.

Stormfly is her name. She squawks when Astrid meets her. Her human girl approaches and hugs her horned nose, she’s in need of one. The dragon chirps contentedly.

“Where is everyone else?” Snotlout asks as they walk down the corridor, the occasional dry leaf crunching beneath their feet.

“Last I heard, the twins are goofing off in the gym,” Astrid replies. That’s certainly where she heard a lot of shouting and laughter. Who knows what the four of them are doing there, so long as they stay safe and don’t start a fire like a couple of weeks ago, it doesn’t really matter.

“Psh, of course they are,” Snotlout shakes his head as the two move on.

-XOXOX-

Hiccup and Toothless are in a different part of the school building; they find him in their English class, where they used to be taught by the once cheery and colorful Mrs. Bellum. A familiar bookcase with famous English literature is the first thing they saw when they entered. It’s the very same one, he’s seen entering this very room for every year he had this woman for a teacher. It was strange to see it again.

At first, the Night Fury had no idea what meaning this location had to their humans, but standing inside this room, he can make an educated guess what.

In the back of the classroom, there’s a wall of pictures and they all depict different humans of about his human’s age. Astrid’s picture is among them. But the spot Hiccup stares at is blank.

Toothless nudges his shoulder, clearly having a question.

“What are you looking at?” And he’s not the only one asking. Turning around, they watch Astrid enter. She’s followed closely by Snotlout, but Hookfang and Stormfly stay outside this time. These rooms have their limit and so does Hookfang, who would like to stretch his wings soon.

Hiccup looks back in front of him, back at the blank space.

“Students of the month,” Snotlout reads, then scoffs. “My picture was never on Mrs. Bellum’s wall.”

“Maybe because you made life hard for everybody else in class?” Astrid suggests the first reason that comes to mind, hands on her hips. Her raincoat makes some noise as it moves.

“Nah, that can’t be it,” Snotlout denies it.

Their English teacher had this wall to praise certain students; those that delivered hard work, those whose grades went up, those who needed the encouragement… She could never put just one student per month.

“So what are you staring at?” Astrid repeats the question. She can’t help but notice the way Hiccup shifts his weight off his stump.

Almost half a year since his amputation, he’s still trying to get used to the prosthetic they found him. They couldn’t believe their luck when they came across one that fit him perfectly on the orthopedics floor of the hospital in Forrædersk. It was probably meant for someone.

After a couple of moments of silence, this is what he says; “I think my dad is alive.”

“How do you know?” The girl asks.

“Mrs. Bellum used to have a picture of me right here,” he points the blank space out. “But none of the others have been taken. The only one who would’ve wanted to have my picture is my dad.”

“Then that’s good! Right? You were hoping to find proof that your dad was alive, he is!” Astrid encourages him. Alvin told him a lot of things in the time he was held captive and Heather couldn’t provide any clear answers either.

“And if Hiccup’s dad is alive, maybe my parents are too! Maybe all of our parents are!” The news hypes Snotlout up.

“Yeah… Which means we missed them. By a couple of months,” Hiccup deflates and Toothless purrs, giving him a comforting headbutt. The boy scratches his chin, grateful for his attempt.

It’s not like it was his idea to crush his ankle and then lose a great deal of his leg beneath his knee. He needed a long time to recover, they haven’t been on the road all that long. And as it turns out, traveling by dragon back is a lot faster than by car. Dragons don’t have to stick to a set path. Although it takes a little bit of a change in navigation.

“Hiccup, we now know that they’re alive. This trip home wasn’t a loss,” Astrid tells him and Hiccup forces a small smile.

She’s not wrong, but he still wishes they could’ve gotten here sooner. It’s almost winter, who knows how long their parents stayed in Bjørk hoping to find their kids? Who knows how long his dad and Gobber waited for him? Waited until they had no other choice but to admit that they weren’t here? Was Stoick as disappointed in missing his son as he was? Do they believe he’s dead?

Astrid wants to take Hiccup’s shoulder, but he inhales deeply and turns around to face the three of them.

“Let’s go find the others, the sun is setting and we need to set up camp and make a fire before we lose too much light,” he decides and off they go, in search of Fishlegs, Meatlug, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Barf and Belch.

-XOXOX-

The sun is setting and the beach is getting chillier. By now, his friends have retreated for the night, dinner must be almost ready. The only one still with him is Toothless, who lies curled up around him. He doesn’t appear to mind the sand as much as his human does and still comfortably snoozes away.

Hiccup realizes he’s done telling their story. And just in time, too, he’s run out of pages to tell it.

Ah well, a new chapter in life, a new book right?

Closing his very worn notebook, he turns to his dragon, who must’ve sensed a change as he places his head on his lap.

“What do you say, Bud? Ready to leave? Find the others?” He asks, a relaxed smile on his face. It really was a good idea to write about everything that’s happened. If anything, it helped him put his thoughts in order, give everything a place.

Toothless warbles an agreement and stands, stretching his back and each of his limbs. Hiccup pulls out a plastic bag to put his notebook in, he’s been using it to keep it safe.

The dragon helps him to his feet and they turn only to realize that they’re not as alone as they once thought. Toothless begins to growl.

Up on top of the dunes, stands a pair of brothers.

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sometimes-men-need-help-too · 10 months

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Men share harrowing stories of abuse at hands of partners at historic conference in Belfast

Psychological and emotional forms of abuse tend to cause a more negative impact and greater feelings of fear than physical aggression.

That has been the finding of many studies, and it was a key theme at Northern Ireland’s first conference focusing on male victims of domestic abuse.

Dr Elizabeth Bates, a psychology lecturer at the University of Cumbria, told guests that female perpetrators used coercive control and gaslighting more often than outright violence, though it should be noted that many men have also been physically and sexually abused by female and male partners.

While most of the guests at the summit were women — possibly because they make up three-quarters of Northern Ireland’s community and voluntary workforce — male victims were also in attendance.

One man who did not wish to be named described how his former partner, who he was with for a decade, took control of his finances, sleep, food and, essentially, his entire life.

“I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I was on the edge of going over the edge,” he told this newspaper.

“I didn’t know there was this support for men suffering domestic abuse.

“To be honest, I didn’t even know if I was in an abusive situation because a lot of people think it’s [just] about physical abuse.

“Call me naive, but I had accepted a lot of things as being normal, and they weren’t.”

He began working 10 to 12-hour shifts, sometimes seven days a week, because he feared going home.

“My job became my safe place. I was getting to the point where I was just going and sleeping in the car because she would come and wake me up, start arguments and tell me I would be getting no sleep that night,” he said.

“That drained me. It was hard. The person I had loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with was treating me this way, and I just didn’t understand it.”

When the man eventually sought help in 2018, he found support was not as readily available as he had expected.

He went to his GP but found they were not a lot of help.

After that, he contacted Women’s Aid, which referred him to the Men’s Advisory Project NI (MAP), the agency that organised yesterday’s conference.

Through MAP, he was referred for free counselling sessions that he attended for 11 months.

“It was like a weight off my shoulders, just being able to talk to somebody who listened and wasn’t judgemental,” he said.

Coercive control is when a person behaves in a way which makes you feel dependent, isolated or scared.

‘Gaslighting’ is a term used to describe when someone manipulates another person, using psychological methods to make them question their sanity or powers of reasoning.

Dr Bates said many male victims of domestic abuse she interviewed had experiences with these kinds of techniques, particularly around their relationship with their children.

“She was unable to control me physically so instead controlled me using our son and my access to him,” one man said.

Legal systems and social norms can also be manipulated to this end.

One father said: “She [his former partner] regularly disobeys court orders over contact and her and her partner make regular threats to my safety in front of the children.

“The police do nothing and the court orders are not enforced by social services.”

The PSNI received 118 reports of coercive or controlling behaviour In 2021/22.

It became illegal following the passing of the Domestic Abuse Act (NI), which came into force in February 2022.

That same year, 1,297 men reported to police that they had been victims of harassment.

In many cases, a victim’s personal characteristics, such as their age, sexuality or mental capacity, will be targeted by abusive partners.

One elderly man said: “She [his former partner] convinced me I had Alzheimer’s and tried to force me to sign a legal paper to declare me incompetent.”

‘Outing’ — where a perpetrator threatens to reveal a victim’s sexuality to others, or suggests they will disclose their HIV status —is a common form of abuse in same-sex relationships.

MAP reported that 49% of gay and bisexual men have experienced at least one incident of domestic abuse since the age of 16.

Some 70% of the men the charity supports are heterosexual and have faced abuse from an intimate partner.

You can contact the Domestic and Sexual Abuse helpline (0808 802 1414), the PSNI or the Housing Executive for 24-hour support

https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/life/health/men-share-harrowing-stories-of-abuse-at-hands-of-partners-at-historic-conference-in-belfast/15469094.html

#mens rights #male victims #male victims of abuse #abuse

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